Uh. You could say I have a few issues with perfectionism. If you've known me for any length of time or read some of my posts, you might pick up on a theme here.
For better or worse, I think my perfectionism crisis hit an all time high during my senior year of high school.
Be the best!
I am not kidding (as I coincidentally shudder) when I say that I was a straight A student, a cheerleader, class president and pretty much the leader of any and every organization I could be in. And all the while inwardly thinking that I also needed to achieve a perfect body.
Twenty years later and funny how I still want to hold onto some of that junk.
Clearly, for most of my life I have believed the lie that being perfect equates to being loved.
It may sound silly, but this ugly little perfectionism monster creeps even its way into this blog. There are days I think "why bother?" "Who reads this anyway?" "Is it worth the risk to put myself out there when clearly it isn't good enough?" "I should post more"... but then there is laundry to fold or paperwork to get to...
Blogging is vulnerable!
This past month my tendency towards the lie of perfectionism has been strong. About a month ago I found out I have several sacral stress fractures in my back, and I have been put on "rest" until January. I am finding I don't rest nearly as well as I would have liked to believe I could. Crap. I'll be brutally honest. It has been excruciating for me. Not until this month have I realized how much I relied on physical activity to define my worth and make me feel good about myself.
Time to practice what I preach, sister.
Here are the truths I am trying to remind myself.
I am really okay. Just how I am. I can be loved for who I am, not what I do.
As Christmas approaches, my girls are going to remember time spent with me and my "presence" more than any activity or present I can buy them.
Jesus is perfect. I don't have to be.
My body is allowed to go through seasons of change. I am allowed to age gracefully. Ten to twelve weeks of inactivity is not going to ruin me.
I won't be forgotten just because I am home alone lying on my couch.
I can wear clothes that reflect my personality. No one notices the size of my jeans as much as they notice the smile on my face and how I treat them.
I am allowed to ask for help. In big things and small. My friends and family will gladly say yes when they can step in and they are allowed to say no if they cannot. Their "no" doesn't mean I am not cared about...it simply means not now.
If I am lonely I can reach out and say that I need companionship in those moments. I am finding my "rest" time flat on my back is so much easier when I have a friend over or I make the time to talk on the phone.
I am allowed to make mistakes. I do not have to relive my life recounting conversations and events. I'm allowed to miss it. And when I do, I can trust it will work out.
Healing is a priority right now and the most loving gift I can give myself. I matter simply because God tells me I do.