I have always struggled with perfectionism.
I used to vehemently deny it, insisting I was NOTHING like my mother. My mother struggled so hard to be perfect she did circles around the inside of our house “walking” off her derrière in an attempt to make it smaller (despite it’s already small size). Additionally, she fought to hide my dad’s Dementia from their best friends for fear of being ostracized. Now, instead of denying it, I just admit to being in perfectionism recovery with occasional relapses.
Why do we do this to ourselves? We actually make ourselves sick trying to follow the shoulds, musts and oughts of other people. If it isn’t our well-meaning friends telling us we should take off a few pounds “for our health,” it’s the media depicting what some crazy person thinks is the ideal woman’s body…oh, yeah, PLEASE make me have the body of Magdalena Frackowiak. Really? She is one of the world’s top models, adored by women around the globe, and she looks like she’s been on an extended retreat at Auschwitz.
It’s not just our bodies. It’s our homes, our careers, our children, our partners, how much we have in our bank account, or how many points in our IQ. I DID give up however, several years ago, believing I could ever be a perfect dog owner. Doesn’t matter how many dogs I have, they remind me daily (sometimes hourly) that I will never be perfect and that Cesar Millan would definitely identify me as “the problem” in this relationship!
I was having dinner with a really amazing woman last night….brilliant, beautiful, wonderful mother to two rock-star young women, and absolutely perfect teeth (I really hope she didn’t see me staring at them). But I found myself once again in a conversation with a woman about the whole thing of not feeling like she’s “enough.” It seems to be our signature discussion as women. We are either judging ourselves or others as not enough…not thin enough, not responsible enough, not motivated or driven enough. And what do we do with that…flagellation (not to be confused with flatulation, mind you which I believe is a man’s issue and they are MORE than enough at that!)
We beat ourselves (or others) up for not being perfect. And we often don’t even recognize it. We just have an inner feeling of pain. If you haven’t read Brené Brown’s, Gifts of Imperfections, I highly recommend it. Frieda Berlin, one of the inmates on the hit show Orange is the New Black, has been reading it this season. While Brené has written several marvelous books since this was published in 2010, it’s still one of my favorites as it’s about cultivating a feeling of self-worth in a world that seems to expect perfection.
What I’ve learned and what I help other women find within themselves is that they are ENOUGH. There ARE gifts in our imperfection…many more than in what we perceive as perfect. When we are able to see that, to FEEL that, we are free to be in the world as we are. Who we are meant to be. Perfectly imperfect women.
What made me think to write this this morning? I looked out my kitchen window at my flower garden which, this summer for many reasons, is ripe with weeds, last year’s mulch, flowers dying to be dead-headed (pun intended) and one batch of purple coneflowers from several years ago that described to resurrect and transport themselves to the WRONG side of the day lilies.
Instead of chastising myself or listening to the Lizard voice inside trying to convince me I’m a terrible neighbor, a deplorable suburbanite, I actually relaxed into appreciating my garden for what it is. I took time to gaze lovingly at the sunny Black-Eyed Susans that always make me think of my mom. I said a little prayer of thanks for the monarch butterfly that reminds me of my dad. I even found those random blades of grass making me laugh out loud for some reason. Maybe it’s their tenacity. I’ve pulled those same blades before, I swear, but they just seem determined to be a flower this year, standing tall and proud like all the other ornaments in the bed.
While there are weeds and clumps of clay dirt (and I won’t even go into the pieces of black weed fabric peeking up through the ground), this morning I was able to see the simple beauty of flowers in their state of nature…blooms amidst an erratic tall blade of grass, butterflies flitting amongst the already dried blossoms. It didn’t need to be Better Homes and Gardens this morning. Today I appreciate how, like me, my garden changes and evolves. If I allow my garden and myself to grow a little bit wilder, instead of trying to maintain it as a static Monet painting that never shows the messy side of life, I also miss those aspects that surprise and grip me on a deeper level.
So go get messy today ladies. Give yourself permission to be imperfect. Know that YOU ARE ALWAYS ENOUGH.
If you struggle with that same lizard’s lie that you are not enough, it’s time for us to chat. Take a step away from the denial or from the agonizing battle of self worth, and click here to chat with me!
