I’ve spent most of my life striving for perfection, perfect student, perfect friend, perfect daughter, etc.
I have put myself last and instead focused on the needs/wants and whims of others and strived to be the ‘perfect’ wife, mother, sister, daughter and friend.
Yet it has taken me to get to my thirties before I have realised that the idea of perfection is insanity, it’s unobtainable and it’s completely against the human condition!
I am here right now to tell that irritating pain in the ass voice inside me to feck right off!!
I am NOT perfect, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want to be! Perfect means never making a mistake (hahaha… not gonna happen)
As a parent, I make mistakes every day, just like any other human on the planet.
Perfect means never learning, never growing, never evolving! I am learning more about myself and my limitations every day and to be honest, every day I like myself a little more.
Perfect means I cannot enjoy the general rough and tumble of life with young children.
Perfect means I miss the best of their formative years worrying if I could have done more/taught them more/been more fun that day or week or month.
Trying and ultimately failing to be perfect is bloody exhausting and I for one am done… my husband loves me exactly how I am, he has seen me at my very worst and during the greatest days of my life and he loved me the same on all days, the very same as he loves me today.
My children love me for being me, the mum I am, who kisses them, cuddles them, protects them and reads them stories. They don’t care that I’ve lost my shit three times already today and they’re only home from school two hours. All they care about is that when they need me, I’m there.
Throughout all the times I’ve lost my way, gotten bogged down in the “what if’s” and the “whys” and the “it’s not fairs” and when I doubted my worth to all of them and to myself I can hold onto this one concrete fact.
Despite all of my failings, doubts and fears I could not have loved them more!