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Category Archives: Perfectionism
Confessions of a Star
Catchy title, huh? Sounds like a Jackie Collins novel or something worthy of a Rubert Murdoch style tabloid. Well, if that is what you are hoping for you may find this a little lot disappointing. But it is time that I tell you the truth. I am a fraud.
Got you all excited again, didn’t I? No. This won’t be an expose on how I am really a man who has joined the glamorous and exciting world of blogging by passing as a frazzled housewife. Because how old is that story??? No, I am indeed a frazzled housewife.
But I am also ill. I haven’t talked much about it here because it’s not my personality. I am not a wallower (is that a word? spell check says no). I try to be positive and funny in my life and most especially here. And so when things are tough, I hide from my blog and even at times, my blog friends. But no more. I am here to tell you the truth. The whole truth and nothing little but the truth.
I have… something. That cleared it up for everyone, didn’t it?
I have a neurological disorder with an undiagnosed source.
That really didn’t make it any clearer, did it? If you still feel confused, join the club. On my 37th birthday, I fainted at my birthday dinner and embarked on a journey that seemingly has no end.
Basically, my nervous system stays in a fight or flight mode. It causes me to have crazy low blood pressure, be exhausted all the time, and have dizzy spells. But there is another element. I am losing feeling in my feet. We don’t know why but I have nerve damage that is worsening. The worst symptom, however, is that my nervous system can misread input causing soft touches from my children to feel almost scream worthy.
You know the phrase, “mind over matter”? Well, my mind is getting its behind kicked by whatever is the matter. It frustrates me and makes my dreams seem so much harder.
Truth is that I think I haven’t spoken of it, because I have been afraid. I have been afraid to acknowledge its impact on my life. I have been afraid that it will give it a power in my life that I’m not ready to cede. I hide how rough it is from friends. I think most of my family would be surprised to know just how much it bothers me. I finally acknowledged to my husband how much I worry.
Whatever this is, it’s not going away. It is likely to get worse over time. This is my reality and I need to stop running from it and learn to accept it.
So I am going to write about it, sometimes. Maybe I’m not alone. Do you have a secret burden that is standing between you and your vision of your life?
The truth is out. I’m not going to let this beat me and I’m not going to hide from it any more. It is part of who I am for better or worse. And that my friends is my star confession.
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Posted in Blogging, Dreams, Illness, Letting Go, New Year, Perfectionism
Tagged Grateful Heart, Illness, My Life, New Year
26 Comments
But I Don’t Want A Pole in My Bedroom…
As the days dwindled toward my birthday, I became keenly aware of the vast amount of advertisement directly targeted at me. And well, it ain’t pretty, folks. It’s down right disturbing.
It seems the list of products to make me me a better cook, to organize my house, to get me in shape, to keep me young and beautiful and just in general, to make me better while also inducing comfort is as insane as the run-on sentence I just wrote. Whether it is Space Bags or Face Lift in a Bottle, I have noticed that all the women are right about my age. And they (and therefore, I) have a problem. And this product will solve my problem!
I am a lover of self-improvement as much as anyone. But things are getting ridiculous. No wonder I’m the neurotic mess that I am.
It used to be that the standard was “I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in the pan and never, never let you forget that your a man”. And at that time, a bottle of Enjoli seemed to be the fix to that.
But now I am supposed to have a house decorated by Nate Berkus after having been purged of all unnecessary things by Peter Walsh utilizing Container Store products. And as a mom, waiting until school is much too late for my children to learn to read. And of course, there is a product to fix that,”My Baby Can Read”. This can then be followed by teaching them French, English, German, and Italian via ”Muzzy”.
It seems, my bra gives me back-fat and I have parenthesis on my face which of course, can be fixed by some new injectable junk to remedy those persnickity half circles. In other words, I don’t just need to “look good for my age”, I need to look young — unnaturally so.
And then I thought I had found the worst “As Seen on TV” product — the Pajama Jean — but no, there was more. I don’t need to just bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. It seems to make him never ever forget that he’s a man, I need to start stripping. Yes, that’s right. For just a few monthly payments of $19.95, I can get a video teaching me how to do a pole dance and yes, it comes with its own collapsible pole.
Now I am all for keeping it spicy with my husband. And if the pole works for you, swing on, baby! I just feel like the marketing to my insecurities has gone insane! I don’t want a pole, restalyn, or pajama pants masquerading as jeans. I don’t want to be a MILF! Men get sexy and distinguished as they age, I get a four letter word.
So what’s a girl to do? I could spend hours ranting over the disparity of the sexes, the ridiculousness of Madison Avenue and QVC, or I can do one simple thing.
I can turn off the TV.
(Let’s see how that works out.)
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Posted in 40, Beautiful, Getting Older, Perfectionism
Tagged 40, Beautiful, Getting Older, My Life
17 Comments
I Only Thought the Earth Below Me Was Shaky
So I have been suffering from a terrible case of isuckitis. It has had me couch-ridden watching bad television and feeling pitiful. For those of you not up on the latest diseases, isuckitis is pronounced I-Suck-i-tis. I have been swirling in a pool of frustration, self-pity, and overstressed mommyness.
I have hated my hair, been disgusted by the state of my apartment and the state of my bank account. I have been running around screaming things like, “Nobody in the is family listens to me” and “I just need a little help!” (as I pull something out of the dog’s mouth or the four year old’s hand).
I have ignored my blog and then felt guilty about it. I have ignored my bloggy friends and then felt guilty about it. I have used my ugly voice. I have heard this same voice and cringed.
And so I had succumbed to isuckitis.
There is nothing like a truly earth-shaking event to shake me out of the pettiness of my problems.
I, like all of you, am chilled to my core by the growing devastation in Japan. Much like Haiti’s earthquake last year that woke me from my hair nightmare, I have shaken my isuckitis in the face of real tragedy.
All of those in the disaster area are in my prayers. All of those waiting to hear from loved ones are in my prayers. All who are touched in any way by this heartache are in my prayers.
And this Mama is going to kiss her little tsunami-makers and be thankful that the destruction in her home is made by toys not water. I am going to kiss my husband and be thankful that I am looking for him outside, behind the car not on a list of names.
And, finally, I am going to hug myself and appreciate that I am alive and that unlike the failing nuclear cores, I can control my meltdowns. I can release a little steam before I fall deep into China Syndrome territory. And I can feel safe and secure in my home and family, knowing that I know where my children are, safe with full bellies.
And that my friends is the best cure for even the worst case of isuckitis.
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Posted in Gratitude, Perfectionism, TV, Uncategorized
Tagged Grateful Heart, Mommyhood, My Life, Perfectionism
11 Comments
Play With Me Mommy
I don’t talk about my health much here. I have, however, talked about my Control Issues. Unfortunately, I have some health issues that affect my energy and stress levels.
Less Than Awesome Health + Problems Letting Go = Trouble Stopping Whatever the H-E-Hockey Sticks I Am Doing and Just Be
When it comes to taking time to play with kids: Take the above equation and multiply by 2.
Did I lose you yet? Yeah, I thought so. Let me step back. I love my kids. I am very involved in many aspects of their lives. I “do” a lot with them. I help with my son’s homework. I sing the ABC’s with my daughter while she washes her hands. I teach them the 50 States while riding in the car.
I am really good at “doing” things.
And as I have mentioned before, I have really high standards and a great difficulty letting others help me. So with limited energy, ridiculous expectations, and two kids, it is very hard for me to sit down and “play” with my children.
That is hard for me to say.
When my daughter sits down with her Barbies or Strawberry Shortcake, she says, “Mommy, will you play with me?” Sometimes, I sit down with her but truthfully, my heart has not always been in it. My body is there but my mind is often running my “To Do” list.
Earlier this week, I wrote about how tightly I have been holding on and how I haven’t been truly enjoying my children being children. And so this week, I have tried to be more conscious with my children. I have tried to just “play”.
Why is it so hard? I’m not sure but it makes me sad that it isn’t easy to just sit with a Barbie in hand and enjoy. If I have an agenda, if I have a goal, I can rock the casbah. But ask me to sit aimlessly, even with either of my two favorite munchkins, and I am as fidgety as Julia Roberts in her first meditation in “Eat, Pray, Love”.
I realize how quickly these precious days will be gone. The days of my kiddos asking me to play will be gone before I know it. And I don’t want regrets. So I am trying. To “do” less. To “be” more.
Because when it is all said and “done”, “being” the best Mommy I can be should be number one on the To-Do List.
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Posted in Childhood, Letting Go, Mommyhood, Perfectionism
Tagged Childhood, Mommyhood, Sonny-Bunny, The Diva
12 Comments
My Knuckles Are White…
Because I am holding on so tight.
Some people raise their hands in freedom on roller coasters. They scream and laugh with joy as their bodies are propelled through space and time by forces larger than themselves.
That’s some people. That’s not me. I love roller coasters but I never raise my hands. I hold on for dear, dear life. I desperately try to control myself within these forces. As I am bumped and tossed, I hold on even tighter as if somehow I can defeat physics.
And as a mom, my life is much like a roller coaster.
I want to let go. I want to squeal with delight as I ride the coaster of life. I want to enjoy every moment of life with my family. I want to revel in the messy, creative chaos of my life. So if that’s what I want, why do I hold on so tightly? Why do I white knuckle life?
It must be fear. So then the question is, what scares me so? What is the worst than can happen if I let go of the bar, throw my hands in the air and wave them like I just don’t care?
That may be the question of my life.
In the ride of life, are you in the front of the train with raised hands or are you in the back holding on for dear life?
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I Am a Hypocrite
Okay, I admit it. I am a Hypocrite with a capital H. “Hello, Kettle. Have you met, Pot? Why, yes. Yes, I have.”
I spend a lot of energy and time telling my family that I need help around the house. I look at the things that need to be done and wonder why I seem to be the only one willing/capable/interested in doing them. And I feel put upon. Very put upon. Sometimes even desperate.
So you would think that in that state of desperation, I would grasp hungrily at the crumbs of effort that my children and husband provide. You might think that. You would be wrong.
I wish it were true. I do. I wish that I could just let go. But I don’t.
Why? Because I have standards. Ridiculous standards. Stupid standards. So if they are ridiculous, stupid even, why don’t I kick them down the street like the can in The Twilight Zone?
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the Million Dollar Question. If phrased in the form of a question, it would be Final Jeopardy. Dick Clark is talking while my back is to the big pyramid. You get the picture? Oh. You got it a couple of metaphors ago. I know. But I never met a metaphor that I didn’t like!
So back to the point, pre-metaphor. I need help. A lot. But why don’t I ask my husband to fold the clothes? I mean, he can do that with a broken leg. Well, it might have to do with the fact that he seems incapable of folding a towel the same way twice. He has this bizarre method that excludes matching edges and includes an origami style worthy of a master.
See, I fold the towels in half making sure that the edges are lined up. Fold again (again ensuring that all edges are lined up) and then do a tri-fold which makes the towels sit very neatly on the shelves. My towels may be old but they are neat in there. His do not sit neatly. But if they are clean, out of the basket, and in the linen closet, why do I care?
I don’t know. Well, I suspect that it has to do with parents, and old insecurities, and so on and so forth, but the why doesn’t really matter. because it needs to stop. Because right now, I can’t do it all. I have two children, a new puppy with serious potty-training issues, and a husband on crutches. I am failing miserably and I need to allow people to help me.
So I am starting today. My kids may stuff their clothes in their drawers as long as they get them to their drawers. My husband can fold the towels like a foil swan with Chinese leftovers, as long as he folds them. And maybe, just maybe, if I do that I might find a little time to do something besides worry about what still needs to be done!
P.S. My thoughts and prayers still run to Arizona. Also, today marks the anniversary of the tragic Haitian earthquake, the Haitians, as well as the people struggling with floods in Australia, remain in my heart.
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A Star’s Year in Review
Holy New Year, Batman! 2010 is ending. In a little over twelve hours, the clock will tick 12:01 and 2011 will be ushered into my life.
So here I stand again looking at the past year and taking score. When it comes down to me and time, time always wins! For the record, my closet is a mess, my French has not improved, and no, my kids did not hear a book every night. My thighs still meet in the middle. I have dropped off my children at school with wet hair and bags under my eyes that could have carried a family of four to Europe for two weeks. I have allowed stress to take over at times and yes, I yelled. I used credit cards and I didn’t save two months worth of expenses.
But I am looking at 2010 as the year I did a little better.
I actually finished reading three books for myself (not the 20+ that I desired but an accomplishment, nonetheless!). I found time for myself . Not enough, but some.
I took classes in writing so I allowed people not related to me see some of my writing and one piece will be produced as a monologue in a student production this coming Spring!
I did exercise most days. Not as much as I wanted but I did more than last year.
I actually cooked this year. Not most days (thank goodness for my husband!), a lot from boxes (thank goodness for Hamburger Helper), and definitely not all organic! But I did actually turn on a burner and create an edible meal more than once! Not a single case of food poisoning! For those of you who know me, a HUGE accomplishment.
My blog got inconsistent love and attention from me. I successfully transferred over from 38 and Growing and many of you came with me (thanks, Thanks, THANKS!) and I got a wonderful blogging gig as a Dr. Smith’s Premium Parent. But life in the real world has been challenging (Read: Butt-kicking!) and at times, I have ignored my little creation, entered less than perfect posts, and sadly, I have not visited my dear friends as often as I would like.
So now I look to next year (now less than seven hours away — there have been a few interruptions in the typing of this entry). What do I want for 2011?
I adore the new year. I adore a blank calendar and the concept of a clean start. My head runs with all the things that I am going to do as if somehow the dawn of this January will be different from the preceding 30-something. I won’t bore you with the list, you probably have similar things that include food, exercise, debt, and organization.
But facing all those beautiful white square of the calendar, I do have things that I want. In the year that I turn 40, I want:
1) I want to be kinder to others. I want to see my fellow life travelers through the eyes of warmth and understanding. I want to remember the log in my eye before I see the twig in others. While I rarely use harsh words, I hold judgment in my heart and I want to let that go this year.
2) I want to learn to see myself through kinder eyes. I want to see myself for what I accomplish, not what I didn’t. I want to measure myself by the needs of my husband and children, not some arbitrary and irrationally impossible standard of perfection.
3) I want to be a better friend. That goes for my friends IRL and on-line. I want to listen better with an open heart and with mental focus. Too often, I spend phone calls with friends multi-tasking, I read my friend’s posts while watching the news, or spend actual face time with friends mentally reliving the day before or planning the next. In fact, what I want…
4) What I really want is to be more present in my life. I want to use all the wonderful technology in my life as tools, not distractions. I want to spend my days moving toward what I want, not running from what I don’t want. I want to live my vision and practice my dreams. I have no guarantee of a 2012 so I want to truly live 2011.
But most of all, what I want is a safe, healthy, and joyful new year for my friends and family. I wish you and yours, precious time with those you love, health to enjoy that time, and a good dose of humor when you don’t!
So to you, I raise a glass and wish you a very happy 2011. Cheers!
Auld Lang Syne
Robert Burns
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne
We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pou’d the gowans fine;
we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne
We two hae paidled i’ the burn,
Frae mornin’ sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne
And here’s a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine;
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne
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And So Happy Christmas…
Those of you who have been with me a while know that I often see my life through the lens of the silver screen. That is never more true than around Christmas time. I am a sucker for holiday films. Whether it is the great Alistair Sim in the 1951 “A Christmas Carol” or Natalie Wood in the original “Miracle on 34th Street”, the sense of redemption and hope of a better life gets me every time.
But the holidays also bring out my perfectionist streak. I try desperately to create the perfect holiday. And no, I have never experienced it and maybe wouldn’t recognize it if I did, but I suspect it would have Andy Williams on the radio with a tree worthy of a Bing Crosby musical. There would be no closets stuffed with the items that I didn’t have time to put away, and money would never be s source of stress as I look to demonstrate care for my loved ones. And there would be no fighting. Really, no scrapping, squabbling, bickering. NOTHING. Unless it was in song.
But whatever film that is, it is not my life. My Christmas is messy. I think if my Christmas did come out of a film, it would be “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation”. Clark Griswold always sets up unrealistic expectations for the perfect memory-creating event with his children and fails mightily. He gets electrocuted, banged up and locked in an attic. He worries that his bonus check won’t come in time to pay for his children’s big gift. And as I sit here with a case of laryngitis (I guess my husband got his Christmas wish — LOL), Mr. Hero on crutches, and a new puppy pooping all over my house, perfection feels very far away. But somehow in the end, the Griswold kids know that they are loved and certainly I hope that is true of mine.
Speaking of kids. the best of Christmas really is for them, isn’t it? The magic. The unfettered joy. The belief. I have been enjoying listening to my kids learning about Christmas as they try to understand the complexities of God as baby concept. As they rode in the back seat, this is what I heard.
Little Diva (LD): Mommy, did you know that Joseph is God?
Me: No, baby. Jesus is the Son of God but Joseph is not God. Joseph was in love with Mary and helped raise Jesus like his own son.
LD: Oh… (Voice drifting off in confusion)
Sonny-Bunny (SB): Yeah, baby. God picked Joseph because he was the best babysitter ever.
And there you have it — the Nativity through the eyes of innocence. Mary had God’s baby and gave it to Joseph, the babysitter. (I guess he did carpentry on the side!)
That reminds me another favorite Christmas film, “A Christmas Story” with its unique view of a child’s perspective on Christmas and the single minded focus a child can have when it comes to getting the “big” present. Who can forget Ralphie’s face when he finally gets his Red Rider Bee-bee Gun? Now that’s magic.
But of all the Christmas movies, I think this is our Polar Express Christmas. My Sonny-Bunny is seven this year and while Santa continues to reign supreme, I see hints that this may not be true 365 days from now. He asks more questions and seems to have become savvy to the breaks in logic. He wonders how Santa can eat cookies at every house. How he can know exactly what each child wants even when they forget to write it in the letter? So far, I have answers but what happens when I don’t? I want him to always hear that special bell that only believers can hear. Forever. But if I can’t have forever, I hope that I’ll get at least one more year.
So as I lie in bed, waiting for the magic and mania to begin, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and to all a good night.
And for those, for whom Christmas bells do not ring, I say, “Shalom”, “Namaste”, and “Peace”.
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Posted in Dreams, Gratitude, Mommyhood, Perfectionism
Tagged Beautiful, Celebrations, Childhood, Mommyhood, Mr. Hero, Sonny-Bunny, The Diva
10 Comments
Perfectionism: Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be
I am a perfectionist. I admit it. But one of the things that I have learned is that perfectionism has nothing to do with being perfect. In fact, what I believe that I have learned most is that the more I strive for perfection, the less perfect I am.
For example, I can’t just put clothes away. I want them to be perfectly folded and well, frankly, color coordinated. Now that doesn’t sound too terrible, does it? Except that it takes a lot of time and energy. Something of which I am always in short supply. And that means that my obsession with my drawers either results in lost time with those I love or allows clothes to build up in baskets waiting to be put up “properly”.
In other words, my perfectionism often results in bad housekeeping or bad parenting. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sound perfect.
I “know” this but it is hard to do differently. I am fighting 39 years of programming. 39 years of not believing that I was good enough and trying to compensate with an incredible work ethic. Because I am a hard worker. It’s something that defines me. And it is one of the few things that I will say proudly about myself. Except that it is possible to use work to hide, to avoid, to deflect. I believe that I have done that. Many times. So there is also guilt for me.
So my head says keep going. Don’t stop. You’re not enough. You’re not doing enough. And what you’re doing is not good enough. But over the last year, a small voice has started speaking up. Maybe it is okay. Maybe simply putting clothes away is an achievement. Maybe it is enough. And good enough. Maybe I am okay.
I think that voice is my heart. It isn’t as loud as my head. But it carries a pretty strong stick. The reality that my children will be grown before I know it. The truth that marriages need more love and time than they do perfect hospital corners. And the belief that I didn’t get here for nothing.
The Army used to have the slogan, “Be all you can be”. While never an Army girl (Goldie Hawn as Private Benjamin would not be far off from what I would be like in the military), I always embraced the concept. But I think that I had it all wrong because really what I was living was “Do all you can do” and maybe, just maybe I should focus on the being in “Be all you can be”.
Maybe I just need to be. Need to be… a little less perfect. A little less afraid. A lot more engaged. And then maybe, while not perfect, I might actually be all I can be.
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