Perfectionism. Mmmm. Can I say that my little friend has dogged my days, months, years for a very long time? Though I do have to mention, progress has been made in lessening its deathly blow to my spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical well-being, and yet it's still there periodically picking at me.
It rose its ugly head the other day with a decision I had come to, but I couldn't just accept that decision because I was fueled by grandiosity and approval seeking and just had to make sure I was doing "it" right. Of course, my sound decision was thwarted with another idea, and I quickly implemented it because the quick decision has got to have more merit than a well, thought out one.
And once again there I was with my perfectionism-buddy. I heard someone say that perfectionism is not going back over something to make it better but only to find the for-sure wrongness of it all. It becomes a negative excavation and soon I have dug myself down in a hole that has no light and I cannot see any truth of what is only the fear of what I believe consumes me internally, an awful form of inadequacy that can never be healed or made better because I am not perfect.
Can you imagine such a thing? Me not being perfect? This is a moment where I am definitely laughing because experience after experience with my imperfections shining through is flipping in my mind's eye like a slideshow. I also can reference those times when my greatest growth occurred out of a mistake or what I considered a mistake or me not doing "it" right.
Does the appearance of my life represent the essence of my soul and what kind of person I am? I believe not and yet sometimes I don't act like it. Sometimes I bend over backwards to make sure everything looks good "out there" so you'll think I'm doing it right, when in all actuality I am withering away inside my skin-suit.
It is a guarantee that I will fall down and will have to get up again. And in some ways that is the beauty of living this life. To adjust to the fact that by acknowledging my limits, my humanness, I can be more helpful to others, more available to my children, more vulnerable to love and laughter, more concerned with walking in the sunlight, more open to what can be instead of devastated by what can't.
Perhaps, life is really simple, like stopping at a stop sign because there's a stop sign or eating because I'm hungry or laying my head to rest because my body is tired or laughing because something said or done was funny or hugging someone because I love them or moving on to the next thing because it is the next action to take because I've given it my all and need to be done, regardless of what my perfectionism-buddy says, which always seems to entail worry and over-correction and an angry voice telling me I should do better.
Exhaustion doesn't lead me to fresh streams and easy dreams. Emotional blackmail and verbal abuse doesn't lead me to self-esteem and self-confidence. Starvation whether emotional, physical, mental, or spiritual doesn't set me on the right track for a happy life. Working within my limits, loving myself as I am, letting go of what I can't do and nourishing what I can do, all these things and more, fulfill me with hope and grace and joy and freedom.
There it is, loud and clear. By being imperfect I exercise the perfection of being human and seem always to have a bountiful well of growth, of change, of love, of laughter, of connected-ness with the human race. There is such grace in letting things be as they are, in letting myself be who I am, and in letting the revelation of the simplicity of life wash over me like sun-heated bathwater. It is a wonderment to behold.
It rose its ugly head the other day with a decision I had come to, but I couldn't just accept that decision because I was fueled by grandiosity and approval seeking and just had to make sure I was doing "it" right. Of course, my sound decision was thwarted with another idea, and I quickly implemented it because the quick decision has got to have more merit than a well, thought out one.
And once again there I was with my perfectionism-buddy. I heard someone say that perfectionism is not going back over something to make it better but only to find the for-sure wrongness of it all. It becomes a negative excavation and soon I have dug myself down in a hole that has no light and I cannot see any truth of what is only the fear of what I believe consumes me internally, an awful form of inadequacy that can never be healed or made better because I am not perfect.
Can you imagine such a thing? Me not being perfect? This is a moment where I am definitely laughing because experience after experience with my imperfections shining through is flipping in my mind's eye like a slideshow. I also can reference those times when my greatest growth occurred out of a mistake or what I considered a mistake or me not doing "it" right.
Does the appearance of my life represent the essence of my soul and what kind of person I am? I believe not and yet sometimes I don't act like it. Sometimes I bend over backwards to make sure everything looks good "out there" so you'll think I'm doing it right, when in all actuality I am withering away inside my skin-suit.
It is a guarantee that I will fall down and will have to get up again. And in some ways that is the beauty of living this life. To adjust to the fact that by acknowledging my limits, my humanness, I can be more helpful to others, more available to my children, more vulnerable to love and laughter, more concerned with walking in the sunlight, more open to what can be instead of devastated by what can't.
Perhaps, life is really simple, like stopping at a stop sign because there's a stop sign or eating because I'm hungry or laying my head to rest because my body is tired or laughing because something said or done was funny or hugging someone because I love them or moving on to the next thing because it is the next action to take because I've given it my all and need to be done, regardless of what my perfectionism-buddy says, which always seems to entail worry and over-correction and an angry voice telling me I should do better.
Exhaustion doesn't lead me to fresh streams and easy dreams. Emotional blackmail and verbal abuse doesn't lead me to self-esteem and self-confidence. Starvation whether emotional, physical, mental, or spiritual doesn't set me on the right track for a happy life. Working within my limits, loving myself as I am, letting go of what I can't do and nourishing what I can do, all these things and more, fulfill me with hope and grace and joy and freedom.
There it is, loud and clear. By being imperfect I exercise the perfection of being human and seem always to have a bountiful well of growth, of change, of love, of laughter, of connected-ness with the human race. There is such grace in letting things be as they are, in letting myself be who I am, and in letting the revelation of the simplicity of life wash over me like sun-heated bathwater. It is a wonderment to behold.
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