Those unanswerable questions

Yesterday, a dear friend asked me "So who told you you couldn't make mistakes?"  I was so taken aback that I didn't immediately answer the question.  It just sort of brewed and simmered and came out of my pen this morning.  Making mistakes was/is a cause of shame in me.  I don't remember being shamed, in particular, by my mother although I do remember her mantra to me was "never do anything that I would be ashamed of".  Strange that I would remember that this minute and not while I was journaling.  What came out then was that to make a mistake, was to be wrong and to be wrong was to be set aside, separated, cast away, not a part of, no longer belonging.  I probably don't need to tell you, and I will anyway - those ideas and feelings have been following me as long as I can remember.  Most often, the remarks my elementary school teachers would make on my report cards were "Carol Ann does not take criticism well".  Later on in life, a boss pointed out that when a mistake of mine was uncovered, I didn't take it well.  And here it is again.
One of the most potent and remarkable things of the 12-step program of which I was a member for many years, was the understanding that when "stuff" comes up, it is because we are at the precise place and space to face it, look it square in the eye, acknowledge it, embrace it and come to peace with it.  So, dear reader, once again, I take that little blue-eyed girl in my arms, enfold her, stroke her hair, rock her gently to and fro, and with all the love and compassion in my heart, I tell her "You are loved.  You are loved.  You are loved.  Just as you are, you are loved."  She puts her hand on my cheek and pats it ever so softly and says "I love you, too!"
And, indeed, I do!
Thanks for it all!