Now that I've unlocked Pandora's Box of emotion, I'm not 100 percent on how to blog about it. These posts might follow a basic outline and they might not. I'm really not sure. Enough about logistics- let's get to the point.
While I'm still tearing down walls, this week I have felt frustration, anger, and fear. (I truly believe that the hardest emotion I will have to achieve and adopt will be "happiness and joy." The idea of just being predominately happy seems so weak in my mind. I haven't sorted all that out yet. I will some other day. Let's make that the end goal.)
This week (and all my life, actually) I've been haunted by the pressure of PERFECTIONISM. In my efforts to be "perfect" I have freely let my frustration and anger fly. This week I did not try to suppress my outrage or shut down- I just simply let it happen.
My name is Audrey and I am a recovering perfectionist. I stress and I stress. When the dogs can't grasp house-breaking I feel like a total failure. When the dishes have been in the sink for 2 days I feel like a total failure. When there is a load of laundry ready to be washed and I don't get myself into the basement to do it I feel like a total failure. Sames goes for the gifts not purchased for Xmas, the spare room that's not painted, the empty fridge, and every other thing that I just can't seem to master.
I know that I'm not the only person that puts these pressures on myself. I've also come to realize that my lofty goal of "perfection" is to mask the truth: I'm secretly not perfect. No one is. That's totally ok.
I have fallen victim to peer pressure and Pinterest Depression: I see other wives/moms/20-year-olds do it perfectly and blog about it. I think, 'Well why can't I master that? Why don't I have 3 laundry baskets stacked perfectly in my basement or a whole closet dedicated to wrapping paper and bows?'
The answer I've been giving myself has been: "Because you're a failure and you'll never be the perfect female/wife."
The real answer is: "Because I am a messy new wife with 2 messy dogs and an equally messy husband. We are adjusting to living with one another and we both work 40 hours a week (or more in his case). Sometimes dinner is steak and sometimes it's Mac & Cheese. Sometimes all the laundry gets done and sometimes Kyle only has one pair of work pants for the week. Sometimes he vacuums and sometimes I vacuum and sometimes no one vacuums. Enzo occasionally pees on the floor, Lylee has tracked poop in on her paws, and sometimes life's dirt gathers in the corners. It gets cleaned up. We don't live in a pigs sty, but we don't live in a white-wall mansion. And you know why? Because I'm not perfect."
I'm not perfect. I'm not perfect. I will never be perfect. No one is. Not even Cassie the Crafty Crone on Pinterest. No one.
I'm allowed to be frustrated with the dogs. I'm allowed to sigh at the number on the scale. I'm allowed to be happy when I successful get only half the laundry done. I'm allowed to celebrate a stocked fridge. Those are life's "perfect moments" and I have spent my (teenage) life overlooking them, trying to fix the big picture.
It's ok to set goals. It's ok to want to be organized. It's ok to get frustrated. It's NOT ok to put immense pressure on myself like I've been doing the last 13 years.
No more emotional walls. No more perfectionist labels. Everything will get done in time and I'm going to laugh, cry, and celebrate along the way.
While I'm still tearing down walls, this week I have felt frustration, anger, and fear. (I truly believe that the hardest emotion I will have to achieve and adopt will be "happiness and joy." The idea of just being predominately happy seems so weak in my mind. I haven't sorted all that out yet. I will some other day. Let's make that the end goal.)
This week (and all my life, actually) I've been haunted by the pressure of PERFECTIONISM. In my efforts to be "perfect" I have freely let my frustration and anger fly. This week I did not try to suppress my outrage or shut down- I just simply let it happen.
My name is Audrey and I am a recovering perfectionist. I stress and I stress. When the dogs can't grasp house-breaking I feel like a total failure. When the dishes have been in the sink for 2 days I feel like a total failure. When there is a load of laundry ready to be washed and I don't get myself into the basement to do it I feel like a total failure. Sames goes for the gifts not purchased for Xmas, the spare room that's not painted, the empty fridge, and every other thing that I just can't seem to master.
I know that I'm not the only person that puts these pressures on myself. I've also come to realize that my lofty goal of "perfection" is to mask the truth: I'm secretly not perfect. No one is. That's totally ok.
I have fallen victim to peer pressure and Pinterest Depression: I see other wives/moms/20-year-olds do it perfectly and blog about it. I think, 'Well why can't I master that? Why don't I have 3 laundry baskets stacked perfectly in my basement or a whole closet dedicated to wrapping paper and bows?'
The answer I've been giving myself has been: "Because you're a failure and you'll never be the perfect female/wife."
The real answer is: "Because I am a messy new wife with 2 messy dogs and an equally messy husband. We are adjusting to living with one another and we both work 40 hours a week (or more in his case). Sometimes dinner is steak and sometimes it's Mac & Cheese. Sometimes all the laundry gets done and sometimes Kyle only has one pair of work pants for the week. Sometimes he vacuums and sometimes I vacuum and sometimes no one vacuums. Enzo occasionally pees on the floor, Lylee has tracked poop in on her paws, and sometimes life's dirt gathers in the corners. It gets cleaned up. We don't live in a pigs sty, but we don't live in a white-wall mansion. And you know why? Because I'm not perfect."
I'm not perfect. I'm not perfect. I will never be perfect. No one is. Not even Cassie the Crafty Crone on Pinterest. No one.
I'm allowed to be frustrated with the dogs. I'm allowed to sigh at the number on the scale. I'm allowed to be happy when I successful get only half the laundry done. I'm allowed to celebrate a stocked fridge. Those are life's "perfect moments" and I have spent my (teenage) life overlooking them, trying to fix the big picture.
It's ok to set goals. It's ok to want to be organized. It's ok to get frustrated. It's NOT ok to put immense pressure on myself like I've been doing the last 13 years.
No more emotional walls. No more perfectionist labels. Everything will get done in time and I'm going to laugh, cry, and celebrate along the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment