Perfection

I am far from perfect, I know that.

What is not as easy to acquiesce though, is that I do not have to be perfect.

Day in and day out my mind is telling me that if I don’t complete each item on the to-do-list with impeccability, I am nothing. Zero. Might as well go back to bed and not show my face today at all.

Not worth the air I breathe.

I make it to the bottom of the stairs and realize I forgot to pray:

“Well wow, what a piece of shit. When are you ever going to get this right?”

Didn’t set the coffee pot up last night:

“Seriously, it takes one minute to do, get it together!”

Not to work by 8am on-the-dot:

“It’s just two kids, plenty of women do plenty more, there is no excuse.”

You had also better believe that I am not asking for help along the way. That is the ultimate sign of weakness. If you see me as needing help then I’m not picture perfect, and again, who the hell am I.

I am worthless.

I don’t need help, what are you going to do? Something that I can very well do for myself? Why? I just can’t wrap my brain around that concept. If I’m not doing it all then you will think that I can’t, and you will know I am really nothing.

If I am not perfectly poised in polished perfection, then what and who am I?

I am unexceptional.

I am just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill human being.

Why is that so hard?

Wouldn’t it be easier to just relinquish control of it all?

If I were to let go, it will look like I dropped it.

We just can’t have that.

Or can we?

 

Shut Down

I shut this site down for a few weeks out of fear.

Fear of being out here, being seen.

That went against everything I stand for. Or, at least everything I’m trying to stand for. I fully believe that the only way to bring things into the light is to drag them there, sometimes kicking and screaming.

No, it’s not always easy to click the “publish” button after I have written something, but it is necessary. For me to release and for others to feel free to be 100% authentic in their own rite.

Yes, some of the things I write about are intense. And yes, I get scared of what people will think or say about me. Nevertheless, I’d rather have the truth out here, loud and proud, than some fake veil for you to see me through.

While this was hidden, I felt hidden. Today I am choosing to live my life in the light, and to do so I cannot hide.

Almost everything I have written about has reached someone, somewhere that needed to read it. They can feel seen just as I do, simply by knowing they are not alone.

For that I will risk the embarrassment, the open wounds and the brutal honesty.

I can’t tell you that I am with you, that I see you, if I won’t allow myself to be seen as well.

Human Jenga Tower

No, I don’t mean a pile of bodies moving around as if they are wooden rectangles carefully being removed and replaced one by one. I mean one body. One person, myself.

Upon awakening I gently slide a prayer sized puzzle piece to the right and hit my knees.  While I’m down there it’s not so tough. It’s the getting back up that is proving to be more difficult. As I place that piece up on top of my head my body already feels shakey.

Maybe today is the day it all comes crashing down, and after only one move.

No, we keep moving through the game. One small piece at a time. My next move is a tricky one.  It’s like when someone pulls just one of the blocks out, but not from the middle, from the end, so when you go to grab another one that tower has a real good chance of crumbling down. This is when I open the door as quietly as humanly possible, hoping for just five minutes of quiet time before someone is asking me for something. 

Bwahahahaha. 

Just kidding.  No such luck.  The sticking of my bedroom door, which I thought I fixed two months ago, wakes up my oldest.  Why is it that I can yell in my biggest voice for him to get his shoes on and he can’t hear me, but that damn door he can hear clear as a bell? 

As we walk out into the hallway I hear the baby stimming in his bed.  He is up. Of course he is.  He can’t sleep well either, except he doesn’t know to cry for me. That thought takes my breath away.  No time for that though.  Quickly I place this toddler shaped piece up on top the last one, and carefully we make our way down the stairs.

The tower is solid now, hardly wavering actually, while I’m dolling out the morning fruit, cereal, milk and TV shows. Usually they smile and laugh and kiss me. Usually they quickly remind me why I do not, have not, and cannot give up. They remind me that I have value.  If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were reaching over and straightening up my pieces just when I need it the most.  Not sure if that’s allowed as per the rule book, but that’s how this mama plays it.

I move throughout the day pulling out pieces here and there.  One for drop offs, one for work, one for the arrant anxiety attack in the middle of the day. Another one for pick-up, and dinner, and bed.

And another one still at they very end of the day. When they are all asleep, and I am back on my knees, saying thank you.  This is usually the last puzzle piece to move.  The tower is now seriously lacking support. Just one pinky brushing up against the wrong block and it’s all coming down.

We don’t have time for that.

No one wants to hear the roar of pieces scattering and shattering across the floor.

Most of all, I can never quite get the puzzle back into the box “just so”.

It’s been used.

Mangled.

Displaced.

 

 

 

Certainty

Every day is different.

Every hour, really.

At first I’m okay. Then, I overthink my day and become overwhelmed.

One day at a time. One hour. One minute. Much easier said than done when everything feels so uncertain.

So, what is certain?

Each day, I will wake up. I will because I have to.

I will take care of these children like my life depends on it. It does.

I will take care of myself, because right now that is one of the only things I can do. And I can do it well.

I’ve done it before. I will remember how, and I will do it again. No matter how unclear the future may be, that I can do.

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