Your best didn’t help anything.’

Those words finally broke the pin that was holding it all together. Those words shred me to ribbons. 
Said by my daughter, in a moment of exhausted, frightened, frustration.

As I lean against the bathroom door, gutted, snot and tears running down my face, in this moment, it crashes in how right she is. 

My best did not salvage her summer. 
My best has not stopped the the nerve damage in her face from making her self conscious at an already precarious time. 
My best did not ensure the pharmacy would be able to get the medications she needs to start right away. 
My best has not hastened the wait to get them tomorrow. 
My best does not reassure her it is temporary. 
My best has not changed my work schedule to be more present for my daughter, my husband.
My best has not armed my daughter well for the pressures of this world. 
My best has not alleviated my husband’s chronic condition. 
My best has not stopped friendships from drifting. 
My best has not sorted my clutter out. 
My best has not supported my friends in helpful ways. 
My best has not defeated my mental monsters.
My best has not gotten me physically back on track
My best has not been a stellar role model

This week has felt like spears coming from all angles.
A long seemingly continuous few days of various life dramas. 
Nights of broken sleep. 
Then my daughters nervous energy about starting school in classes where she really doesn’t know anyone. Hyperaware of her few chicken pox scars and crooked smile.
Tonight, after a long wait at urgent care walk in, to be given a prescription and a referral, only to be told by the late night pharmacy, we need to go to a different one tomorrow as they don’t have what we need. I tried to soothe my frazzled child. I gently remind her I’m doing my best.

‘Your best didn’t help anything’

Her spear hit the pin holding me together and knocked it loose. It all comes out in a torrent of silent tears, behind the bathroom door, as to not disrupt her falling into a sleep she needs.

I sit hours later in the dark, writing, silent tears again, as to not wake the household that so much needs it’s rest. My head pounding. I feel overwhelmed by life, broken by the weight of it. Punished for reasons I’m unclear on. I’m so tired I can’t help but feel this is all personal.
In the silent dark, I try to let it run out of me, the fear, the frustration, the anxiety, the sadness. 
Try to find the pin that was knocked loose, jimmy it back into place. 
And hope that by the light of morning, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, if I can find my way to it, my best just might be enough to help something.