Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa

I often wondered, in the classic nature vs. nurture sense, whether my cheery and pleasant disposition is the result of the horrible torment of my youth (dishpan hands, ring around the collar, etc.), or the tragic result of genetics.

Now that I watch my 8-year old, whose hands are soft and collars bright, riddled with existential angst and self-loathing, I've come to appreciate that it is all my fault. Of course, I could throw my hands up and say, "I have no control over the genes I gave her any more than I could have controlled the genes I inherited, so why worry?" But then, what kind of self-loathing individual would I be? What kind of example would I be giving my children?

Honestly, Dear Thing 2 is having a wicked hard time dealing with 3rd grade. She has a very high IQ and cannot understand the illogical actions of the other humans in her class. Then she internalizes it - "They are all acting illogically, so perhaps I am the one whose behavior makes no sense. There is something wrong with me." It breaks my heart because I grappled with the exact same feelings at her age (OKAY - I grappled with them until well after college, but I don't want to tell HER that). I don't have an answer for her.