All parents who aren’t of the narcissistic persuasion have guilt. Some of it real, some of it imagined.

Under the category of “imagined,” I suffer from the usual varieties of working parent issues including lack of time, lack of money and lack of energy. For example I rarely get to actually “play” with my kids, but then again I don’t remember my parents ever really playing with me, and I turned out just….

Well maybe I can squeeze in a little more play time going forward. But not with dolls. I hate those fucking things.

Under the category of “real,” I may as well lead with the fact I enjoy my cocktails. During my brutal divorce, rum became my best friend and sole companion. I gave myself permission to drink away my pain. Then when my dad was dying, I gave myself permission to drink away my grief. When I was broke, I gave myself permission to drink away my stress. And now that things have settled a bit, I just give myself permission. More on that later.

So guilt pops up daily and I am only beginning to attempt to filter the real from the imagined in order to avoid the self-loathing I’ve become accustomed to. For instance, I am lucky to have many wonderful friends who live far above my tax bracket. The other day when I was discussing the upcoming vacation I had planned, and how much gas the road trip might cost me, my dear friend told me that her kids don’t consider a vacation a vacation unless they board a plane and are carrying their passports. Guilt came, immediately followed by the desire to stab her in the eye with a fork. My filter was working!

So as I navigate guilt and self-loathing, I have come to the conclusion that it’s helpful to approach it with a serenity prayer attitude. I’ve discovered that many of the things I can change fall under the “real” category, and many of the things I can’t usually fall under “imagined.” Still very much working on the “wisdom to know the difference” part.