My house is a mess.
I didn't write as much as I wanted to this weekend.
I didn't get to the yardwork, either.
I have four loads of laundry still sitting in baskets and they didn't get put away.
The truth is, Saturday was my daughter's birthday, and it was her Dad's weekend. I was just plain sad. My divorce made my life better in a lot of ways, but this wasn't one of them. I hate not being with my kid on her birthday. So I sat around and watched Netflix and wrote a little and hated what I wrote and tried to keep my mind off everything - unsuccessfully.
As for the yard work - the wind was blowing with cyclone force all weekend and the temperature dropped fifty degrees or so and I was too much of a wuss to try to battle the forces of nature.
I sat there in my untidy house yesterday, feeling like I had a failure of a weekend, when I realized that I was talking to myself like I'm trash.
Why do I do that?
If I saw one of my friends having a weekend like that, I'd tell her she deserves to take a break once in a while. I'd tell her to stop beating herself up. Everybody's allowed to have a bad day, or a sad day, or a hard day. Or a string of them, if need be.
So today, I give myself permission to be human. To fail sometimes. To not be at the top of my game. It's okay. I'll get back there again.
And then I'll give myself permission to celebrate all that I've accomplished - even when it hasn't been an easy ride.