Day 22: You Aren't Good Enough

As I continue to stare at the title of this post, I start to believe it. It becomes real for me, and then the seeds of doubt and inability and yuckiness of it all come together in this giant heap of a mess that is me, and the words jump at me, growing infinitely larger:

You Are Not Good Enough

We know about the beast of perfectionism, and how its goal is never-ending and, with that, never attainable. But this is something more. This is something that is spoon fed to us from the day of our birth. It's shown to us in news feeds of perfect families without a care in the world, it's shown to us in every commercial ever made, and it's even present in our daily interaction with teachers, friends, family.

I'm going to put this out there, just so you know how this story ends. You are, in fact, GOOD ENOUGH. Always. We've talked about perspective around this joint, and that, my friends, is what it comes down to. Even still, I think it's time we revisit how we view ourselves. If we can't change the perspective we have of ourselves, how can we embolden others around us?

When this is spoken to me, "Hey Kristin, next time you do this, do you mind doing y instead of x?" I hear instead, "Hey Kristin, you've done a horribly terrible job. Do you mind never trying to do anything of worth again? And in the meantime? Just know that everyone does a better job than you."

Wait, what? Maybe that's taking it to the extreme, but in this season of changing diapers and always being someone else's need, maybe I just feel like my good enough isn't, well, enough. Something tells me I'm not the only one. Something tells me that there are way too many of us sitting at home telling ourselves that we've failed. That we've failed and we will never make it up.

The thing about this unspoken weariness and never-ending feeling of unworthiness? She has a companion, and her name is guilt. The problem we face with guilt is once it starts? It's like a tiny snowball gaining momentum down a hill. Guilt tends to slowly build up, but as it gains traction it gets larger and larger until it's out of control. For me this has a common result: I will find myself just sitting in space not doing anything because I haven't done anything. And then feel guilty about it, because that's what we do.

Here's where I'm wrong (and perhaps you?): Guilt is our own doing. Is it real? YES. But. We make our own lists of to-dos and, as a result, set ourselves up for success or failure. I don't know about you, but what if we nipped it in the bud? What if we woke up with one goal in mind, and that was to be good enough for this day?

I'm not saying settle for mediocrity, but rather know in your heart that you're doing today's best. Not only that, but know that today's best looks different from tomorrow's best. And sometimes your (self-determined) worst is Jennifer's best, whose is different from Karen's best.

Are you following me here? What a relief! The best part of sharing my heart is not just getting it out in the open, but knowing you're going through it, too. Power in numbers!

background source

I don't have any epic quotes or life-changing words of wisdom to share here, but what I do know is this: You're not alone. We're in it together. Even if you're tired and broken down, you have a sister here that is in it with you.

You're doing it, aren't you? You're getting through the tough ones, one day at a time, and you're doing it. Way to go, friend!


xoxo, k.

Day 7: Drain and Re-Spin

Yesterday, in the standards of playing princess and doctor while making sure I'm not overrun by dog hair and dust, it was a pretty good day. The kids let me clean the kitchen as they diagnosed and treated "silly-belly-itis," we used a lazy Monday as an excuse to stay in pj's until 11 am, and said kiddos were being quite sweet and helpful to one another, and to me. Win.

And then.

As I started taking clothes out of the wash, I noticed that they seemed rather... wet. Absentmindedly, I reset the load to "Drain and Spin," anticipating that it would do just that.

So when I came down to check in with the load after the kids had settled nicely into quiet time, I hadn't really prepared for a machine full of water. With my clothes in it. The ones I needed to wear.

The next hour was a blur of me problem shooting with the washer people (lovely that they are, they had no explanation), and eventually scheduling a repair man. We somehow got out of the house to run our errands, which included my sweet girl's ballet class.

We dropped the library books, got the gas, and pulled up to ballet with myself feeling quite satisfied how I had handled everything. Even Miss E's bun looked pretty darn good (if I do say so). But as I turned to my little ballerina to talk about her upcoming class, reality hit: We hadn't grabbed her ballet bag. We had no shoes. No ballet belt. Nothing.

As this realization hit, Mr. C groggily woke, looked at me with tears on the brink, and signed for milk. We had no milk. We had no milk and no ballet stuff, and the weight of the slurry of the afternoon hit me like a ton of bricks. I hung my head trying not to show my face red hot with anger.

"It's ok, mommy. Just pray."

With those five words, the red drained from my face, and my world spun right around. I looked at that sweet little thing, and she was right. And she was watching my every move.

I think we've made it clear that no one is immune from imperfection. Thank God. So I did what she told me. I prayed aloud for peace in the stress and rush of the afternoon. I prayed for Miss E to enjoy her time in class, despite not having shoes. I prayed for Mr. C to have patience with his momma, and to embrace the hour we had just the two of us. Because they're watching. They need to see what my faith looks like, even when it's a little messy and things aren't going my way.

As "Amen" came across my lips, Miss E looked at me and declared, "That's great mommy. Let's go to ballet! I think we just need to ask Miss Emily if it's ok if I barefoot in class."

She uses barefoot as a verb, as in "I love to barefoot outside on the sidewalk." It's one of my favorites.

Here's my point: Sometimes days are undoubtedly hard. Sometimes they're not. Sometimes we almost have it all together, and then we watch things spin out of control. When that happens, stop. Breathe. You're only a prayer away from getting it all back together. Did we fix the problem? No, but thanks to my mighty three year old, we gained new perspective. If you can't see past it, look for a new perspective. It's there, and it will change your outlook. I promise.

xoxo, k.

Day 6: The Perfectionist

I'm sitting here Sunday night, with 10 different drafts in my arsenal, nothing speaking to me, finding nothing. to. say.

background

The perfectionist. She's in all of us, but only rears her ugly head when we least expect it. Unfortunately for me, I'm often left feeling paralyzed, and in this case, 2 hours and 38 minutes from Day 6 with nothing to show for it.

I have to say, though, since having kiddos the perfectionist in me has been brought down to a low hum. At least in some areas of my life. Right now? There's stuff on the floor. In multiple rooms. But this is the first time I've had a moment to myself since I woke up to, "Mommy, I made my bed!" And found every stuffed animal within a five mile radius of our house on my daughter's bed. "Thanks for being a big helper, honey."

But this writing space? Somehow the little thoughts of perfectionism have slid into the cracks of my exterior, and just like that she's taken over, deceiving me in believing I'll ever reach anyone on a cool Monday morning in October.

And it's got me thinking about this perfectionist. This thief of joy and benefactor of unattainable ideals.

When I'm a perfectionist, I teach my children it's not ok to make mistakes.
When I'm a perfectionist, I build a wall around myself that doesn't let others see my true self.
When I'm a perfectionist, I waste time worrying about...everything.
When I'm a perfectionist, my facade tells others their best isn't good enough.
When I'm a perfectionist, I miss the true beauty of this life, and as a result I'm robbed of what is pure and different in the world. Perfectionism makes us believe that there's only one way, which alienates us from our community, friends, family.

Perfectionism strips us from the very threads of the world around us. It deceives us into believing that there is something perfect to strive for. But these distinct differences of this world, that's what makes it go around. That's the beauty of it all! And that's what helps us to grow in relationships with others, break down barriers and move closer to a more fulfilling and rich life.

When we first moved last year, I invited a new friend over so our children could play together. Mr. Kuda had been traveling for work, and despite the fact that we had lived in the rental for a few months, we were not unpacked, and I just couldn't find it in me to clean up to the perfect house I wanted to portray. I was mortified, but something in me just couldn't get it done. I apologized profusely, but she told me to stop, and that she was somewhat relieved that I didn't have it all together all the time. Those were her words: I'm kind of relieved because that means you don't have it all together all the time. What a blessing! Not only to me, but to her as well. It was that moment that a friendship grew; just one decision made allowed her to get a glimpse of my true self.

What if? What if we let those barriers fall, just one brick at a time? What if we allowed others to see our imperfections? The healing nature of doing so is powerful, if only we have the courage to do it every single day.

That's your challenge today: Expose your imperfections, and allow others to see who you truly are. As we embrace the ways we don't have it all together, and in that we will give the greatest gift to one another: ourselves.

xoxo, k.