Permission to be Imperfect
I am the opposite of a Pinterest Mom. Don't get me wrong- I love Pinterest, but I can't bring forth the magnificent artistry no matter how hard I try or how easy the pin claims to be. Take, for example, my cloth diaper board. I literally named the board about my toddler's poo pants "Haute Fluff" because I thought that shit was adorable and high fashion. Behind the screens, I dealt with more leaks than I can count and a broken dryer, spiders crawling in the sunning diaper rack, and the reality that I will never be *that* green no matter how hard I try. This is why my third baby is in sposies and my middle child pees the bed at age four.
The point I'm trying to make is that I'm not perfect. Although in my vanity I do take 8 selfies before posting the shot online, I know that my imperfections are part of me and they are too numerous to count. However, there was a time when I thought that accepting my imperfections meant that I could label them all. I couldn't have been more wrong. I was judging the hell out of myself and literally putting myself into a pit.
When a friend handed me the book, "No More Perfect Moms" I had no idea why she gave it to me. I had no idea that I was striving for perfection because I felt so strongly that I was missing the mark. I had a house that was never clean, a marriage that was falling apart, a toddler that said "shit" and a baby who nursed all day long. As for me- I had no self identity. In fact, I didn't even know I was missing a self identity at that point.
What I was shocked to find in seeking help- and I feel terrible admitting this- was that the people who I thought were even more messed up than me were perfectionists. Although I failed the first test horribly because I was clearly judging everyone around me, I learned an extremely valuable lesson. Everyone wants to do the best they can. Let that sink in for a moment.
I sucked at it (in my judgmental opinion) but I wanted to do the best I could at being a Mom.
I decided to let that opinion be my norm. Along the guidance of the esteemed philosopher who coined the phrase "fake it till you make it", I added an internal monologue of praise for everyone I met. Things like, "you're doing great mama" "I'm glad you're here" "thanks for showing me that" started to scrub away some of the negativity in my head and ultimately washed away the harsh personal bashing.
If you had told me three years ago that you were granting me permission to be imperfect I would have snorted, because I was already misguided in believing I could identify an imperfection. But truly knowing and honoring the journey of growing into myself- and being able to love myself along the way- is actually one of the sweetest gifts in this life.