Ever learn something about yourself that hits you like a ton of bricks? You know, like you are somehow surprised and baffled that there is an entire part of your being that has flown under the radar for like…your entire life?!
I knew I was a perfectionist by concept, but I never had any idea that its extremism literally impacts my life, my thoughts, my decisions, and my view of self on a daily basis. I thank God for showing me, for opening my eyes to the self obsessiveness of perfectionism in my life. I had never realized how living in a constant chase to perfection pushed me farther away from the only “perfect” I have in my life.
You see this world sets out a standard of “perfect.” A perfect that actually does not even exist, and I feel like I have spent my whole life trying to whip my body into “perfect” shape to live up to that standard. All the while feeling degraded, ugly, less than beautiful as I came up failing over and over and over again. It is a sad reality for most women.
But even more than that was this feeling of perpetual failure, like I was constantly coming up short. It is a terrible feeling to feel like a failure most of the time. Take this book stuff for example. It is hard work and it is vulnerable work. I put my neck out there on a day to day basis and, most days, to no avail. Without even realizing it had happened I had stamped “failure” on my forehead. I am either hot or cold, wearing black or white, a scathing failure or a huge success. My goodness woman! There is a such thing as the “in between” and, to be honest, its okay to live in the grey area most of the time. Life doesn’t need to be a series of highs and lows.
“It’s okay Maria. Be still my Daughter. I am Good and I am Yours and You Are Mine. Stop trying to be more than that.” God whispered these sweet words to me this weekend as I sat looking at His majestic ocean. Shortly after, I jumped into a freezing cold ocean for the first time in my adult life. I threw perfection out the window. No more not going onto the beach just to prevent sand from being everywhere and feeling imperfectly dirty. No more not jumping in the ocean just because it will bring the tempature of my body to an (in my opinion) imperfect degree. No more feeling discouraged because Your Daughter Needs a Hero gets an imperfect response. No more adult temper tantrums because those pants now seem to fit just a tad imperfectly.