35, From Survive to Thrive

Last year, when I turned 34, I remember writing that, “Instead of being just fine, I want to thrive. I want 34 to be more of what I’ve been doing, more of what I want. More prioritizing of health! More physical movement! More ways to fill my soul! And maybe, just maybe, one more kid.”

Well, the kid part certainly happened. I’m realizing now just how contradictory my statement was. The last sentence completely nullifies my first three intentions. Having a kid, for me anyway, meant eating less healthy food, less exercise, and less soul-filling activities. Being pregnant meant spending the first three months bed-ridden, the next three months eating as many pastries I could get my hands on, and the last three months of it barely able to walk on a slight incline on the treadmill. Soul-filling activities were replaced with trying to fit in as much work as possible before my maternity leave. 34, in reality, was really about surviving.

Still in the infant phase with Gertie, I’m recognizing that 35 likely means more of the same survival skills 34 required. I barely leave the house and I don’t see that changing much this year. I try to cook healthy meals and exercise, but I’m not sure how much more time I can devote to the kitchen and gym, especially when I start working again. With two kids now, I have to cram even more into the same hours. Not an easy task.

As I go to bed on my last day of my 34th year, the laundry is piled up on the bed, wrinkled and unfolded. Toys and cushions are strewn across the living room floor from Bub building an obstacle course. (He succeeded. It’s definitely an obstacle to carry Gertie from one side of the room to the other now.) I find myself burnt out from responding to my three-year-old, who constantly wants my attention, and my two-month-old, who constantly needs my attention.

Maybe it’s okay that I don’t have the energy right now to come up with different intentions for this year. Maybe it’s okay that 35 is about letting things simply be, about letting myself live life without pressure for perfection or for big moments. Maybe 35 is embracing the imperfection, relishing the mess, and noticing the tiny beautiful things.

Good Is Enough

I’m the type of person who throws her hands up in the air and gives up if something doesn’t go perfectly. “Why do anything if you don’t strive for perfection,” I used to wonder.

Then, I became a mom and very quickly learned that perfection in motherhood simply doesn’t exist.

When I packed my hospital bag to deliver Bubba, I only packed him a swaddle to wear. How does one put a baby in a car seat when he’s only wrapped in a SWADDLE? Pretty sure I blushed when I realized my naivety and had to ask the nurse if we could keep the hospital onesie he was in. She reassured me that this happens all the time and that the nurses keep a box of new clothes for moments like this. Within minutes she was back with a brand new outfit for Bubba to go home in.

“Don’t worry, I never pre-washed clothes with my kids.” She saw the look of hesitation on my face. I didn’t see why I couldn’t just keep Bubba in the onesie he was wearing or wrap him in the swaddle and walk home. Forget the car seat, I thought. I would rather do either of those things than put him in clothing full of factory chemicals. 

“Thank you so much,” Steve said, kindly accepting the gift from the nurse. I snapped back into reality. That moment was my first lesson in letting go of perfection as a mother. Steve and I fumbled our way through putting clothes on a day-old baby and buckled him into his car seat. I kicked myself for not bringing him a clean outfit from home and debated whether to give him a bath right away. Guilt crept over me.

Since bringing him home, my mind has been churning worries nonstop: is this organic, is this plastic-free, has this been washed, is he too close to the wifi or microwave, is that glitter on his head, what kind of chemicals are in those diapers, did I wash my hands before holding him…I wish I could put this kid in a bubble.

Despite how exhausted I am, I lie awake at night crying and stressing over the mistakes I’ve already made as a mother: using tap water for his formula his first few weeks, placing him too close to our wireless devices when he was tiny, accidentally pouring bath water into his mouth, the list is endless. I make mistakes all day, everyday.

With all the toxins in this world, I’m at my wits’ end worrying about keeping my bairn safe and healthy. With all my worrying, I worry about keeping him happy from my anxieties. Worrying about worrying is worrisome.

“Is it okay to not strive for perfection,” I wonder, “Is good enough?”

“Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good,” I hear a voice in my head reply back.

I can still be a good mother even if I’m not perfect. I can still be a good mother if I accidentally make a mistake. I can still be a good mother if I feed my baby formula. I can still be a good mother if I spend time during the day doing something for myself.

As I write this blog post, I can’t remember the last time I showered, there is a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, half the laundry is folded and half of it is still in the dryer, my pump parts need to be washed, which reminds me...I need to pump. I haven’t eaten dinner and I need to hydrate. There are a million things on my to-do list that I haven’t done but for now, I’m going to hydrate, eat, and pump. “Good enough for today,” I tell myself.

Pursuing Perfection

“What do you consider your greatest weakness?”

“I’m a perfectionist.”

Perfectionist

noun

a person who refuses to accept any standard short of perfection

I used to think being a perfectionist was a good thing. To be the perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect teammate. I want to excel at everything, to be kind to everyone, to look beautiful at every angle. Striving to be the best, to be flawless - how can that be such a bad thing?

It’s a bad thing because perfection isn’t real.

It’s taken me years to realize that perfection is the root of so much pain and suffering in my life. Growing up, I was so far from being perfect that I perpetually felt immense pressure and disappointment. Self-deprecation and I were best friends, and she was always in my ear whispering that I wasn’t good enough and that I could have done better.

When I let a petty thing ruin my day or when I obsess over things outside of my control, I know that’s perfection knocking at my door. A couple weeks ago while riding my bike to the grocery store, I was heckled by a driver. Apparently, my waiting behind him at a stoplight bothered him. I sobbed to myself while walking through the ketchup aisle - sad that someone was mean to me and disappointed in myself that I let a complete stranger ruin an otherwise perfect day.

I feel perfectionism breathing down my neck when I receive constructive feedback - actually, when I receive any type of feedback, be it positive or constructive. When it’s constructive, I feel heartbroken and unworthy. When it’s positive, I feel like an imposter. If I get five pieces of feedback and one of them is constructive, I’ll only focus on the constructive and not the four positives. There goes perfection, trying to rob me of a joyous moment.

It also doesn’t help that being a perfectionist and a highly sensitive person (HSP) can work against each other. As an HSP, I’m hyper-aware of my environment, super sensitive to criticism, and try to avoid getting upset at all costs. For years, I thought being an HSP was a downfall, a disorder. My perfectionism was an attempt to compensate for my HSP shortcomings and a way to protect myself from future criticism and pain.

Somehow the older I get, the more perfect I want to be. I want to be the perfect spouse to my husband, the perfect mother to my children, and the perfect daughter to my parents. The sandwich generation pushes perfection from all sides. When more people need me, the more pressure I feel to be everything to everyone. My mind is either analyzing the past (“how could I have done that perfectly”) or planning for the future (“how will I make it perfect”). I’m rarely focusing on the present.

I have to make a conscious effort to ignore perfection when it doesn’t serve me, which is most of the time. I have to deliberately acknowledge it and choose not to pay attention to it. This might sound easy, but it is the hardest thing I’ll do each day. It doesn’t mean perfectionism will someday go away for me. It might be a part of me for the rest of my life, but I strive for a better relationship with it.

I’m learning that when I seek perfection, I only perfect disappointment. The mantra in my head right now: let go of perfection and seek to be present instead.

“In truth, the notions of perfect or imperfect are simply constructs of the mind and have no actual basis other than thought has created them.”

— Mel Schwartz, A Shift of Mind