Staring down at my swollen foot, which is a result of my knee surgery a couple of months ago, I realized my entire leg was kind of stiff and my foot and knee ached. I hadn’t slept well the night before (nor the 7,000 nights prior) and was just kind of done with the day.

We’ve all been there.

But compounding these long day symptoms, I’m emotionally spent at the end of each work day because my organization was acquired by a larger, sort of bully, company. My job is safe and has largely worked out, but there aren’t clear lines, roles or training for anyone. We all struggle to find meaning in our work or see how it connects to the bigger picture. I also have dear colleague-friends who are finding their futures don’t look so rosy. This weighs hard on me because I care about them, and know that I’m better because of them.

This work turmoil has been nine months in the making. It’s not new, it hasn’t passed, and it isn’t getting better.

But enough whining about work…

The shame I write about today is much worse in a lot of ways. Before you judge or think horrible things about me, ask yourself if you’ve ever had a bad thought about life. Oh, you have? Ok, so we’re even.

I bought some paint the other day, and a skien of that super chunky yarn. What was the yarn for? Hadn’t decided. The paint was for artwork in our bedroom. These items sat in a plastic bag near the stairs so that one of these times I was headed downstairs without arms full of laundry, I could take them down and put them with the crafting materials. I wasn’t in a hurry to put them away, either, because I thought I’d get to the painting in the very near future.

The night before, Blake had graciously picked up the main level so that Thanos (our robot vacuum) could run. That means he moved the bag with craft items. When I sat down in our living room chair the next day from mental exhaustion and physical pain, I played several games of Candy Crush (what would addictive personality be without things to which we became addicted?). It was in that chair I noticed the white yarn had a big blue spot. I lifted the bag to find that either when he (no doubt) tossed it across the room, or when someone who wasn’t paying attention stepped on it, the lid had come off the blue paint, filled the bag, ruined the yarn AND left a blue paint splotch on my shaggy gray rug.

I was upset. “This is why we can’t have nice things!” looped in my mind. “Why can’t he be more careful?” “He always does this – ‘picks up’ but never puts things where they belong!” “The kids are so careless with my things!” Money wasted, potentially carpet ruined, long day testing my emotions and I thought, “I really wish I lived by myself.” And I meant it more than I had in a long time. “My life would be better without ‘them.’”

A quick Google search for “I don’t want my family” yielded results that didn’t quite seem to match what I was feeling. Turning to the internet for validation of my feelings was probably not my brightest idea, but it ended up being exactly what I needed.

“My husband is an idiot and I can’t stand my kids” the article beckoned. I clicked. What I was hoping to find were words that could help me process this sudden and strong distaste for my role as matriarch of this house. What I got, was a God moment.

“I was a tired wife. The last thing I needed was a reason to despise my husband.

“I was a hurting mother. I didn’t need to be told that my children were a burden

“I needed encouragement for the road, not a new reason to chafe.” (tosowaseed.net)

The article didn’t commiserate with me. Instead, it encouraged me to refocus. Our families disappoint and stress us, but they are still some of God’s greatest blessings to our lives.

While reading the article, nearly in tears, Blake cleaned the blue off what he could, he got and used the spot carpet vac and managed to get the paint out of the carpet. He did this while I sat stewing… eventually feeling guilty.

The author went on to write, “It takes a loud voice to drown out those who tear down their own houses. Shout it from the rooftops: ‘I love my husband and my children, and I am grateful to have the chance to be a wife and mother!’ Say it. Mean it. Show it. You don’t know who you’ll encourage. It may even be yourself.”

Good one, God.