My kiddos birthday party was this past weekend, and it was a complete and utter disaster. 

For weeks I had meticulously planned this party (his first ever, since he's a Covid baby), but as the event drew closer the rational part of my brain began to realize **I had gone way overboard for this event**; the party was for too many people, costing too much money, had too many elements, and basically I was priming myself for chaos. So did I make the smart, rational choice to scale back the event, not overwhelm my easily overstimulated self, and set myself up for a successful day of emotional regulation?

NOPE.

I spent the week leading up to the party *spending more money on useless shit*. Adding *more plans to an already over-stuffed event*. Hyper focused on *perfection*, on making this *the greatest birthday party ever*. Doing all this to prove in some way that I am PUT TOGETHER. That I am some effortlessly successful, multi-tasking mama and woman from a great family with great traditions and a great head on my shoulders. (spoiler: parents are Narcs who abused me my whole life and... duh, gave me BPD) 

The week leading into the party, I knew I was spiraling but still couldn't stop myself.

The day before, I already knew I fucked up.

The morning of, my kiddo woke up difficult from several bad nights of sleep and *I was set off into a BPD meltdown before 9am*.

Crying in the shower about "Why can't things be perfect? Why is this so hard for ME and so EASY for everyone else!?".

We get to the event and the set-up is behind schedule, the temperature is boiling hot, and I am already teetering on the edge.

**What happened the next three hours? I don't even know.** Me running around like a chicken with their head cut off trying to shuffle people from area to area of my absolutely chaotic event. Hating myself every single second for being an absolute fool for trying to throw some fabulous party as if I'm fabulous, when in reality I'm a complete fucking reject. The food arrived 90 mins late, kids were melting down from hunger, and the adults were getting ancy. 

I spent virtually zero time with my kiddo, husband, or friends.

I spent more than half the event rage screaming at the food delivery to please for the love of god show up.

The other half of the event I was disassociating, isolating, and in complete and total self loathing. 

Took no family pictures, no group pictures, nothing.

At the end of the party (which everyone understandably left in a hurry... bc of course. the event had to be a wildly inconvenient 40 mins from where we live) I cried. I CRIED HARD. I CRIED FOR SIX HOURS.

My therapist and I began unpacking all of this today, and I'm sure we'll be doing so for the next few weeks. But ugh, fuck. 

I am so ashamed, I feel so exposed, and am really hating myself in this party's wake. 

I'm so disappointed in myself. Disgusted by myself. I feel like I made a fool of myself in the most public way and achieved the exact OPPOSITE of what I wanted to happen.  

I just had to push myself. I couldn't just accept that these type of large-scale, fussy events aren't for me. I couldn't just accept my limits, emotionally and stimulation wise. I couldn't just focus on what really matters (my kiddo having fun and me making memories with him) and instead went down the rabbit hole of keeping up with Jones' and wanting to impress people and fuck. Wanting to impress myself for once.

And I failed. Spectacularly.

FWIW the kids had a lot of fun, and I got compliments from virtually all guests. But to me? Christ. This is going to haunt me for years. **So -- Anyone else completely set yourself up for failure when it comes to big life events?**