We celebrated my daughter's 3rd birthday yesterday. It was 72 and sunny with a cool breeze- what a beautiful day for my beautiful girl.
My little "Nyah" (her nickname for this blog and part of her middle name for those who know her) has ushered untold wisdom into my life since her arrival 3 years ago. Probably the most profoundly difficult truth is the fact that perfection as a woman and as a mother is really a mythical creature. Not that I truly believed it was attainable before I had her- it's just that I had not let go of the possibility; that I still believed it existed somewhere in the blissful waters of mature womanhood...
Although some people seem to have always understood the grace of simply being human, my personality sets me up for disappointment most of the time. I am naturally very analytical (which my husband says is a trait named after me- ana/lytical), and I am very insistent about the pursuit of quality control. Some of you will understand this in the terms of being a Lion/Beaver, a D/C, or a Choleric/Melancholy- not exactly the most easy going of personalities...
Understanding all this, the myth of perfection is something I have had to embrace- for my own sanity and for the sake of my family's happiness.
For me the myth of perfection could really be summarized in these terms:
-My house will never be perfectly clean, ever.
-Clutter will never be a thing of the past- mail will keep coming and backpacks full of papers will persist.
-The days of showering blissfully every morning are over. I have mastered the art of faking fresh.
-My fluffy blue housecoat will be worn long after an acceptable time in the morning, as it is now.
-My house shoes are not cute, they are functional.
-I now define my workout regime by how much housework I've attempted and how many laps around the house I've made chasing my children. Real workouts are now considered a luxury item- no longer a chore but a welcomed treat.
-Any project that I start will have to live with the reality of constant interruptions and periods of exile.
-My email box will always be out of control.
-If I have a "perfect day" of playing with my children the house will be a disaster; conversely, if I have a "perfect house" at the end of the day my children will not have been my priority.
And I could go on...
Lately I've come to really own the fact that the closest we can get to perfection is aspiring to great faith and being a conduit of great love. These things, consequently, do not originate from me at all- they exude from a vulnerable place of Divine submission to the fact that only God is perfect, and I can only aspire to reflect His perfect truths. In this place I can let go of the anxiety of mythical pressures and I can embrace the grace given to an imperfect humanity.
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4 comments:
When your children are grown and have their own homes, then your house will be clean, there are rooms you will not go into for days, you will do laundry once in awhile instead of nonstop, etc, etc, etc...perfection is not a clean house. Raising children who are loved and love is as close as we will get...love you Aunt Booby
The days I try to keep a perfectly clean house, I ask myself at the end of the day, 'Seriously, who was I trying to impress?' The kids don't care, the husband is fine with a little mess. Was it really worth the stress of picking up ALL DAY LONG? Well blogged, my friend...
It seems that trying to be perfect is most exhausting. It doesn't help anyone and most of all yourself. I use a phrase that helps me accept myself, "well, if I were perfect, I'd be in Heaven" so what I am trying to be so perfect about wouldn't matter anyway. Life and what I do with it is the real goal I need to achieve.
I absolutely love your blog..thanks for sharing your insight and encouragement!
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