I Am A Failure At Life

I am a failure at life.

I never taught my kids to ride a bike. One child figured it out on their own. But then the tires went flat and needed to be replaced and I never made it to Walmart to buy the new inner tubes. Well, I made it Walmart. I just never bought the replacements. There are currently two bikes in our shed. Both in need of repair. Two children don’t even know how to ride them.

And it isn’t just the bikes. There are so many ways I have failed my children. So many opportunities they have not had. So many times I procrastinated something away. So many missed chances to have a family fun night.

It has even been so bad that my daughter felt a B was a failing grade. I never told her this. In fact, I was encouraging of the hard work she put in. But she watched me while I went through grad school. She has heard me criticize my work and efforts over and over. Based on her observation of me, she has learned that anything short of perfection is failure.

I have failed my wife again and again and again. The lying, betrayal, deception, silence, and who knows what else have popped up more times than I care to admit. She has forgiven me many times. I do not know where she gets the strength. I often think how much better she deserves.

There are times I lie awake at night feeling miserable. I start thinking about the things I have not done; all the opportunities missed; all the time wasted.

And I cannot shut up the thoughts that continue swirling.

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That’s why I drank.

I couldn’t deal with failure. If I wasn’t perfect at everything, it was not good enough. I beat myself up constantly with statements like, “How could you do so poorly?” “Why can’t you get this?” “What is wrong with you?”

I couldn’t deal with conflict. If someone disagreed with me, I would shrink into my shell trying to figure out what it was I was doing wrong to make someone not love me.

As a preacher, people leaving the church HAD to be my fault. If I would just preach better, teach better, visit more, answer more questions, solve more problems, then people would definitely stay and bring more people with them.

At least in addiction, I could pass out. Now, when I feel this way, I am just miserable.

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It is not only addicts who feel this way.

This coming weekend, my Dad will attend a church of about 20 members. My brothers will attend churches of a couple hundred. One of my friends will attend a house church with 10. I will attend church of 2000.

All of us have this in common: there will be people present who feel as if they are failures.

And they will probably be hiding it. Hiding it behind their Sunday best, their piety, their photo-ready family who is all smiling so pretty. They will be hiding it by talking about anything and everything other than their discouragement.

Or they may not be hiding it all. They may arrive with disheveled clothing and eyes puffy from crying. They may be wearing their emotions on their sleeves.

(Unfortunately, we may run away from them and try to make conversation with the people who can hide it better.)

And then we can all leave and go back to our daily routines of hiding behind our addictions—whether those addictions are drugs, alcohol, work, pornography, shopping, food…

Hiding from our struggles is so much easier than facing them. (Even when the hiding just creates more struggles.)

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Here’s the deal: I am not a failure. You are not a failure. Some days, I think I am. Some nights, I lie awake at night because I am telling myself I am not good enough. But that’s not the truth. I have made mistakes, I have said bad things, I have not come through in areas where I really wish I had.

But I am not a failure.

Actually, maybe I am. (Have I totally confused you yet?)

I am a failure at living an unrealistic life I created for myself with expectations that are too lofty for anyone to accomplish. I have failed at that life. Because it is an impossible life. I have failed to be the perfect husband, father, person because all of that was based on me doing all the things I told myself I needed to do to make myself complete.

So I am a failure at (that) life.

And I am grateful for that.

Now I can focus on taking life one day at a time, on being honest, on doing the best I can each day, on admitting my mistakes and learning from them, on facing my fears and not running from them.

If you think of yourself as a failure, I would like to ask what standard you are using to measure. Because my hunch is you’re not doing as bad as you are telling yourself.

Let us learn to give ourselves a break. Let us learn how to live in today.

Addiction Is Real

Addiction happens to real people.

The consequences that come from addiction happen to real people.

It is painful. It is messy. It hurts.

And too often, as with many issues, we talk about addiction in impersonal terms. We try to understand it, cure it, solve it, heal it. We don’t mean to, but too often we de-personalize it. Maybe we have seen too many movies and TV shows deal with it. Because when the show is done, the actor who portrayed the addict does interviews entirely cleaned up and we think the problem was resolved over the course of the production.

And then we see something that reminds us we are dealing with real people.

This post is from my friend, Zanna (she is the one who painted the background picture on this blog). Zanna is a real person dealing with the consequences of another real person’s addiction, her daughter.

to my beloved Attic crew and followers:

at this point in time, i’m willing to bet that there’s not one among us whose life hasn’t been touched in one way or another by addiction.

*deep breath*

some of you know that my daughter Casia has been dealing with a heroin addiction for quite some time. years. this last year has been the most challenging, and she started actively seeking help. she finally realized that detox alone was not enough, and got into a transitional home a little over a month ago. the program typically lasts 6-12 months, and so far the difference it has made in her life is tremendous. i recognize my baby again. i’d lost hope for that. LOST. HOPE.

this painting was made after a day spent trying to get Casia help, after hauling her tiny, fragile, traumatized, doped-up body around, trying to make some sense of what was happening, trying to understand, begging all that was holy to show me what to do.

i don’t know where we’d be today, where Cas would be, without the tremendous support of our circle.

so here it is. insurance won’t cover the housing program. Casia is looking for work, in the meantime i’m doing what parents do and finding a way. as you can imagine, this is not easy. the sale of this painting will cover Casia’s next month’s rent, a little pin money for her, and shipping to the buyer.

i’ll be sharing this multiple times to reach as many people as i can. please share freely!

Look Away (Portrait of My Daughter)
acrylic on 12″x36″ canvas, applied only by fingertip, painted in one sitting
2016
$600

thank you, friends

~z

And here is the painting:

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If you would like to purchase the painting, follow this link: https://www.facebook.com/ZannasAtticGallery/?fref=nf

Maybe you cannot purchase the painting. But will you do these things instead:

Pray for the people who are suffering from addiction. Addicts are not problems to be solved, but people to be loved.

Talk to the people in your life who are suffering from addiction. Let them know you care. Let them know you won’t turn your back on them.

Be honest about your own addiction. Seek the help you need. It begins by admitting to yourself that you need help, and the next step is telling just one person, asking just one person to help.

Addiction is real. The consequences are real.

And so is the love we can all share with one another.