Today I took a really
big giant step in dealing with my recent family drama.
And I went to yoga for the first time in a long time.
Both of these were painful things. And brave things. And not-easy-to-do things.
But I did them.
And now I would just like to curl up in someone’s lap and be very little and talk about giant flamingos and flying hippos and trivial things like how many kisses each cheek needs.
(PTSD Counselling 16)
"Do you hear the false dichotomy there?"
I raised my eyebrow. We were talking about my perfectionism. My need to be best. The impossible pressure I put on myself, the impossible standards and expectations. The intolerance for failure. The fear of disappointing people. The impossible pursuit of perfection.
"You only give yourself two options: either you are Perfect or you are Not Good Enough."
"Yes. Correct," I replied waiting for her to continue.
I didn’t see a problem with those options.
I DIDN’T SEE A PROBLEM WITH THOSE OPTIONS.
(One is impossible their other feels shitty! Those are crappy options! These are not the only options! There are a million shades of Being in between, my logical brain knows this, but there is this part of me that still won’t apply that logic to my own expectations for myself. THERE ARE A LOT OF PROBLEMS WITH THOSE OPTIONS!)
I defended my perfectionism, I gave it credit for my successes.
"Yes, that’s your perfectionism taking credit for your work. Your perfectionism is not very kind to you. It is possible to have high expectations for yourself and still treat yourself with kindness."
I have a lot to learn. (And that’s okay.)
(SEE! I AM LEARNING!)
I am suffering from a serious time deficit. I’m trying to keep my cool and keep pressing on, I know it won’t last forever, but it’s really weighing on me. The stress is making me irritable and reactive and nobody likes a grumpy bunny. I have a lot of responsibilities and not a lot of help at the moment which means very few windows for self-care and things that fill me up, it’s been hard to keep it all together. I have to choose every day which things I can let go of, which things just won’t get crossed off the list (again) and every night I breathe deep and remind myself “All in good time.”
wehadfacesthen: Jean Harlow in Dinner at Eight (George Cukor, 1933)