Failure and Success

By Ericka Waller

Art by Ryan King

Given that the human brain is predisposed towards negative basis, this often means that we’re prone to reflecting negatively on the things we have – or haven’t – done. The brain’s ‘negativity bias’ likely evolved for good reason – to keep us out of harm’s way. But it can also permeate through our daily thoughts, even when there are no tangible ‘threats’ at bay.  Here, Ericka Waller pens one of her usual “lists of failures”, but this time adds a second — of her day’s successes… Her honesty in addressing and exploring her ‘failures’ head-on shows that a change in perception, of appreciating small positive experiences, can help tip the scales towards happiness.

I’m the sort of person who writes To Do lists. I tell myself it’s so I can enjoy the satisfaction of ticking off an item. When you are a stay-at-home mum who cleans only to have mess made again, and cooks only to put most of it in the bin, it’s hard to feel a sense of achievement each day. Yes, I know, the payoff is three wonderful independent, confident daughters but come on, that dangling carrot rots away pretty quick. I don’t even bloody like carrots unless they are slathered in butter…

So anyway, I like to write down stuff that I know I won’t get done, then I add it to the “I’m a failure” rant I give myself when I go to bed. My normal list includes the following:

Failure one: My children

I failed to spend quality time with my children as a group or individually. I didn’t cook any vegetables with their dinner. Again. When I opened their packed lunches, they’d left the apple and eaten the crisps. Again. I’d said, I’d written as a to-do item, that I was going to cook homemade healthy food with them and I failed, again.

I asked how their day went and what was their favourite part and didn’t push for better answers than “fine” and “lunch”. I didn’t make them tell me something they had learned that day. I didn’t check if they had homework. I didn’t quiz them on spellings. I let them use their laptops and didn’t sit and watch it with them.

Failure two: My husband

I failed to get up and make him a coffee or help him find his shirt. I didn’t prep dinner. I threw away his receipts when I was cleaning. I asked him how his day was and didn’t listen when he told me. His job pays all the bills and I failed to listen to his problems. I switched off, got names wrong and offered advice when he needed to just rant.

I didn’t watch the highlights of the Tour De France with him or walk over to see that thing on Facebook he liked. I fell asleep with the youngest in the bed and left no room for him.  When he married me, I was young and slim and never ran out of energy, three kids, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and a hysterectomy later, and now he has to take the afternoon of work to drive me to various medical appointments and treatments. I can’t open bottles, carry heavy boxes or drive at night time. I failed to be the wife I said I would be.

Failure three: My Pets

I only walked the dogs once and that was on the school run. I didn’t give them a long run or go and throw sticks in the sea for them. The Labrador is getting fat on the leftover dinners and packed lunches and I should have taken him out chasing my bike. I didn’t let the tortoise out into the garden or get the love birds out to fly around, and the cat shat in the shower, again. A sure sign I’d failed her somehow.

Failure four: My parents

I failed to call my parents today, and I didn’t post my mum the new Kate Atkins book or write to my great Aunt Pat like I’d promised her too. When Mum phoned me, I was distracted because the kids were kidding around and I got off the phone too soon. She’s worried about Dad’s back and I now I feel I’ve failed to say the right words.

Failure four: Exercise

I failed to go on my bike or out for a run and I ate three biscuits and a can of coke. I’m supposed to be a role model to my children in all ways and they should see me exercise and eat well and live the ‘fit not skinny’ and ‘strong women’ values I’m always preaching about. Plus, I smoked when I said I was going to give up. I had to sleep in the day again, because I take cancer drugs for my Rheumatoid Arthritis and they wipe me out. I know other people on them who don’t need to sleep or rest as much and I feel like a lazy failure. I often think I don’t even have Rheumatoid Arthritis. I was misdiagnosed and I’m actually just wasting NHS time and money.

Failure five: Writing

I failed to work on my new book, or write that poem, or get back to that person who asked about putting something on my site. I didn’t promote my book or spend an hour on twitter ‘liking ‘everybody’s posts. I haven’t finished that feature on shops closing in the village or read the story my friend’s daughter wrote. I haven’t finished that book review or edited the book I said I’d work on.

Oh and I failed to clean the kitchen floor or the downstairs bathroom, and even though it was sunny I put stuff in the tumble drier. I didn’t weed the flower-beds or water the garden and I didn’t plant the Gazanias I got from the garden centre and now they are all dead.

Christ, reading back over this now, I feel more of a failure than ever. What the hell do I do all day if not any of the above?

This is how I fail. I tell myself I’ll do this and do that, and when I don’t I have proof to hate myself. My to do life is metal cilice that cuts into my thigh, it’s a hair-shirt, constantly punishing me. I lament myself and my inadequacies, never once thinking to write a list of what I did do that day.

Successes

So amongst the things I didn’t do, I must, to be fair (I’m a feminist, I’m all about fairness and equality) I’ve decided to list the things I will have achieved each day. Sometimes, it’s all too easy to focus on what we feel we haven’t done, and forget the many, many things we do. Especially for someone like me.

I will definitely have picked up some litter. I can’t to walk past it without picturing my Aunt tutting at me, as if she can see me. In my head I tell her I didn’t drop it, and then, in my head, she gives me a look that could wither an unripe pear and I pick up the litter.

I will have made someone laugh on the school run. Probably because I’m late, sweaty, swearing and clutching a dog-poo in my bare hand because I forgot bags along with after-school snacks, but still.

I will have kissed my children and told them I loved them. I don’t remember my mum or dad kissing me or telling me they loved me. They do now, addled by years of drinking and the realisation I’m their best retirement plan, but anyway…

I have to sniff my children’s heads at least every hour or so, then kiss them and say: “Who loves you, baby?” and they have to say: “You do, Mum (now get off and let me get back to Minecraft)”.

I don’t always give them my time or attention but they know from the way I clutch them to me as they run past, or wake them up by inhaling them too hard, that they are my own personal drug and I cannot get through the day without my regular fixes.

I will have always have something to say. To my husband, kids, the dogs, my cactus plant. I’m not fussy. I’m always brimming with a book I just read, or an idea for my book, or scandalous gossip.

Even if I’m miserable, I’m happy to chunter on about something. I’m excellent at swearing and have a colourful array of insults. My dad always appreciates my phone calls after I’ve just cleaned cat poo out the shower.

I will have answered the door, or the phone. I’m on too many charities and committees, and people are always turning up to ask if I’ll write a piece for the paper or help organise a fete. I will always make them tea –in a teapot — which I let brew and serve with milk in a vintage jug. Many people admit they only come for the tea and to stroke the pets. I don’t mind. I can’t say no to a friend in need and I can’t ever say no to tea. Because I am a sad, sad, women, I often have a jigsaw on the go. A couple of the older people in my antiquated village just pop in to help fill in the sky.

I will have opened my windows, made the beds and washed my face. Sometimes not till 9pm at night, but still — it gets done. I love having a made bed to get into so much I make it no matter how crap my day is/was or how bad I’m feeling. I always make my kids beds too.

I will have been true to myself. In my writing, in my arguments with the husband, in talks with my kids, in advice asked for by others. I will say what I think and I will tell the truth. I always prefix my sentences with ‘In my opinion, which counts for toffee’ but then I go on to say what I mean.

I will have lived another day and been grateful for it. Even if the best bit of my day was getting into bed, or listening to The Ramones on full blast after school run. I will have felt gratitude for my life. I have lost too many people to miss the lesson that age is a privilege not afforded to everyone. Ghosts of people who should still be with me constantly remind me that I’m still alive and kicking. They are also the reason, despite my failings, I get up the next day and try, try again.

Looks like my list of successes is very impressive after all….