“Perfectionism is a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from taking flight.”
– Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection
For months I have been agonising over this blog – finding the perfect name, the perfect template, the perfect image, the perfect pseudonym (after some word association exercises… which I’m still not 100% happy with – I’m not good with role play/make-believe), the perfect avatar… When I had the blog looking the way I wanted, it was trying to write the perfect first post. I felt that my blog would somehow be flawed, inadequate, if it wasn’t perfect from the very beginning.
However, I think I’ve come to realise that if I keep focusing on having every post and every element of this blog just so, I’ll never get it off the ground. I’ve come to realise that this blog is a work-in-progress. And I am okay with that. For the most part.
One of my biggest faults (or imperfections, if you will), has always been my strive for perfection. I flogged myself at University – berating myself for anything less than the highest grade (and then not believing I was worthy of that grade). I put my body through hell for years, punishing it with excessive exercise and not enough calories – criticising it when it didn’t perform how it should; never feeling thin enough, toned enough, good enough. I take on far more at work than my capacity allows – if I say “no”, or take a personal day, the guilt consumes me. Then I have to find the energy to ensure my personal life doesn’t suffer. I’m a perfectionist. I put 150% into all that I do, and it’s exhausting.
But nobody is perfect.
I’m scared of the dark.
I say “yes” when I mean “no” (otherwise known as, “I can’t say no”).
I spend too much time on the internet and in front of the TV.
My hair won’t stay put.
I have a tendency to over-share.
I’m addicted to my phone.
I buy magazines and forget to read them.
I eat too much chocolate.
I spend when I should save.
I forget to hang the bathroom mat.
I cry over silly little things.
I let stress get the better of me.
I find it difficult to just ‘take’ a compliment.
I can’t stand mess, and I’m fussy over things that don’t really matter.
I am me. And that’s okay.
As Brené has said over at Ordinary Courage, “Authentic and messy is the new perfect!”
Welcome to the blog!