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Tag Archives: Perfectionism
Do You Pick or Leave It Alone?
When I have a pimple, I pick. I admit it. I know I shouldn’t. My face holds more than one lasting reminder that picking at pimples is not a good idea. And yet, I can’t seem to stop myself.
I was the same as a child with a scab. My mom would explain to me over and over how I was making things worse. And of course, she was right. But that didn’t stop me.
Unfortunately, this need to pick is not limited to pimples or other skin abrasions. I do this with everything. I simply can NOT leave things alone.
Make a point with my husband? Sure. Six hours ago. Yep, I am still pick-pecking away. Interesting political discussion? It was. Until I got the old soap box out. Now it is a monologue worthy of Jon Stewart (but not nearly so funny.)
But like all picking (I’ll just leave that metaphor right where it is), it’s best in private. Uncomfortable conversation with a friend… I’ll be picking at that scab for months. Heck, try years. I can still remember an embarrassing incident from my 14th summer. Time to let that scab heal, don’t you think?
I did not, however, marry a picker. (Well, at least in this circumstance… enough said). He is a leave it alone guy. Which makes him perfect and perfectly annoying to me.
Sometimes it is wonderful that he can be so Zen-like (or forgetful — this is debatable). In the classic opposites attract way, he can remind me that it doesn’t always have to be so hard. Sometimes, you can walk away.
Until it’s not… Sometimes, I don’t want to let it go. And I don’t want him to let it go. I want him to stay in the game with me and fix it. Or tear it apart until it hurts, possibly bleeds and requires a tiny band-aid across the cheek. (Not that this has ever happened…. More than once.)
So tell me, so you pick or can you leave it alone? Is it my over active memory compared to my husband’s blissful forgetfulness or is he onto something? And if so, is there a way you can share it with me without me admitting that he is right and I am wrong? Because I am pretty sure he will suddenly decide to never let that go.
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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
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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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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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