A (Hopefully) Lovable Disastrophe
When I was in preschool, they apparently did some sort of assessment. I still have the form they completed in my box of random mementos with which I can't bear to part. That assessment tells us that 3 or 4 year old Sara knew her letter sounds very well (I could read!), could not bounce a ball (stop laughing), and got her feelings hurt very easily and cried very easily. Not a lot has changed - I still have my letter sounds down and love to read, lack coordination, and get my feelings hurt and cry very easily.
Only, that's not how it all went down. Instead, I got delayed at work, which meant I dropped the skis off later than I expected, and got to my littles even later. Plus, the littlest little dilly dallied and when we got to the Nordic Center I didn't know where the start was and when I finally got her up there, the starting gun went off before I got even one of her boots snapped into her skis. And everyone saw. And we looked ridiculous. And if there is anything the oldest and youngest girls in this house hate the most, it's feeling and looking ridiculous. The littlest little cried tears of embarrassment and this mama cried tears of guilt, shame, and frustration. My only job that afternoon was to make it all work. And I failed. I was not perfect. And everyone saw it. And that soured my mood. And that artful small talk. It did not happen. I chatted with my friends, sort of, and spent the rest of the meet skulking in the background, convinced that I had no right to be there.
What is clear to me just by the process of writing this post is that #ProjectNorway can't be about perfection. If it is, then I fail before I've even started. If I've learned anything over the course of the last eight months, it is that there are way too many variables that are far beyond my control. And even those that are within my control can't always reach perfection.
What if running late was reframed as dedication to the career I love? What if the littlest little's dilly dallying was an opportunity to take a deep breath and enjoy that moment? What if instead of feeling guilt when she cried tears of embarrassment, I took solace in the fact that it was my arms she turned to for comfort? We didn't have to look and feel ridiculous. I didn't have to allow my own guilt and shame hang over me like a cloud and impact my ability to connect. The truth is, the only person who was probably judging me harshly, was myself.
I'm so excited that so many of you are joining me on this journey and have begun whatever your individual process is for becoming a healthier, holistic you. I hope you will join me in adding grace into the process. We deserve it.
Hopefully yours,
Sara Renee
P.S. I might forget about this whole "extending grace toward myself" thing. If I do, please give m the friendliest of friendly reminders. *smooches*
As I think about how much of four year old Sara I still carry around in my 37 year old body, I wonder if my quest for self improvement is even possible. If I am still basically the same-ish person that I was when I was four years old, why the heck am I spending so much time trying to change?
Measuring Up
Maybe this is yet another instance of casting an all too critical eye inward while the imprint of every other woman I know or have read about lurks in the back of my brain serving as the unattainable model of perfection. That one friend is super into fitness and can run marathons with the same level of exertion that it takes for me to walk to my mailbox. That friend is a social activist who is actually doing something to save the world instead of just saying she will one day. That other friend has an immaculate house and can host dinner parties that rival Martha Stewart's. And that girl over there? The model of serenity? She never shouts as her kids as they make her late to work (again) and she certainly never forgets her work laptop at home or falls down the stairs in public..with cameras documenting it.
Don't even get me started on all of the women bloggers who are my heroes. They lead these amazing lives, with amazing families, and write these amazing words. Even when they are vulnerable and "real" they do vulnerable and "real" the best..way better than me. And they all seem so put together. They are self actualized. They are improved. They are the finished product. How can I ever measure up?
I recently read For the Love by Jen Hatmaker (totally recommend it, by the way) and she addresses this issue eloquently. She writes,
"The trouble is, we have up-close access to women who excel in each individual sphere. With social media and its carefully selected messaging, we see career women killing it, craft moms slaying it, chef moms nailing it, Christian leaders working it. We register their beautiful yards, homemade green chile enchiladas, themed birthday parties, eight-week Bible study series, chore charts, ab routines, “10 Tips for a Happy Marriage,” career best practices, volunteer work, and Family Fun Night ideas. We make note of their achievements, cataloging their successes and observing their talents. Then we combine the best of everything we see, every woman we admire in every genre, and conclude: I should be all of that. It is certifiably insane.”
Real Life #totallyfiltered
I know in my head that I shouldn't compare. My journey is not another's journey and the things people write about on facebook, twitter, or post about on instagram are all very glossy, filtered versions of their true lives and true selves. They take snapshots of their lives, apply the Valencia filter (my personal favorite), and bada bing, bada boom...you have the perfect life. The quest to be the best and to meet this self-imposed benchmark for improvement has the potential to rob me of the joy of this journey and to cause me to view my Sara-ness through glasses of gloom and doom. What if I slack and don't do any of the things I said I would do? What if I just continue to inhabit the muckiest of muck? What if I don't self improve enough? What if? What if? Putting yourself out there means you have to be accountable and somehow, being accountable, means being perfect.Real Life #nofilter
This ridiculous expectation for perfection is perfectly illustrated by the sequence of events that unfolded on Tuesday after school. I had the afternoon perfectly planned. My oldest daughter had a ski meet and I was going to drop off her skis at the Nordic Center, scoop up my littles from the school, bundle up the littlest little and have her ready to participate in the Fast Track race they were holding. After that, I would proudly watch my oldest daughter ski in her meet while artfully engaging in small talk with all the other ski parents.Only, that's not how it all went down. Instead, I got delayed at work, which meant I dropped the skis off later than I expected, and got to my littles even later. Plus, the littlest little dilly dallied and when we got to the Nordic Center I didn't know where the start was and when I finally got her up there, the starting gun went off before I got even one of her boots snapped into her skis. And everyone saw. And we looked ridiculous. And if there is anything the oldest and youngest girls in this house hate the most, it's feeling and looking ridiculous. The littlest little cried tears of embarrassment and this mama cried tears of guilt, shame, and frustration. My only job that afternoon was to make it all work. And I failed. I was not perfect. And everyone saw it. And that soured my mood. And that artful small talk. It did not happen. I chatted with my friends, sort of, and spent the rest of the meet skulking in the background, convinced that I had no right to be there.
What is clear to me just by the process of writing this post is that #ProjectNorway can't be about perfection. If it is, then I fail before I've even started. If I've learned anything over the course of the last eight months, it is that there are way too many variables that are far beyond my control. And even those that are within my control can't always reach perfection.
Perfection Reframed
#ProjectNorway is about reframing these experiences and allowing myself the space and right to celebrate all that makes me Sara...even the stuff that has stuck with me since I was four years old (or even earlier). Even imperfections. It's about finally taking all that mindfulness stuff I've been preaching at work and actually applying it to my own life. it's about taking each month, each week, each day, or even each moment as it comes. And finding the joy and beauty in every moment - even the moments that unfolded on Tuesday afternoon.What if running late was reframed as dedication to the career I love? What if the littlest little's dilly dallying was an opportunity to take a deep breath and enjoy that moment? What if instead of feeling guilt when she cried tears of embarrassment, I took solace in the fact that it was my arms she turned to for comfort? We didn't have to look and feel ridiculous. I didn't have to allow my own guilt and shame hang over me like a cloud and impact my ability to connect. The truth is, the only person who was probably judging me harshly, was myself.
Moving Forward
All those goals and guidelines and rules I posted about previously still matter. I know that working hard to integrate them into my life in an intentional and meaningful way is sure to make me a better me. However, I missed a key element in all of that planning and goal setting. Grace has to be part of the equation. I can strive for greatness, but still love myself when I falter or stall. 15 minutes of fresh air might not happen every day, but it will happen most days. Some days I might have two caffeinated beverages or enjoy a piece of chocolate (or two). Instead of getting stuck in shame when those things happen, I'm hoping I can take them for what they are, dust myself off, and keep on moving in the general direction of progress. This will be the true challenge. This will be when self-actualization really happens. I can love myself even when I'm ridiculous and vulnerable and frazzled and the opposite of the zen-like Nordic goddess of joy I'm striving to be. In fact, maybe that's when I really need to love myself.I'm so excited that so many of you are joining me on this journey and have begun whatever your individual process is for becoming a healthier, holistic you. I hope you will join me in adding grace into the process. We deserve it.
Hopefully yours,
Sara Renee
P.S. I might forget about this whole "extending grace toward myself" thing. If I do, please give m the friendliest of friendly reminders. *smooches*
Oh, Sara - do you have any idea how many women are in the thought pattern that they don't measure up? I "ran like a girl", still can't throw a ball more than a few feet, had a private audience with the school principal because I was reading at a 4th grade reading level when I was in Kindergarten at the age of four (yes you read this correctly) and have a note in my possession that reads ; " I tested all of the children today for handedness of bean bag and ball throwing. Each time Jane had a turn with either she was consistently left-handed. She does not know this note is about her handedness - let's just keep her the relaxed comfortable happy child she is."
ReplyDeleteI am continually amazed by those of you with full time jobs and more than one child and wonder in amazement at how you all do it. I knew I couldn't. I had the luxury of having just enough that I could be an at-home mom while our girl was born through age 8. (What else was I to do in rural ND?) When I see you, I see a loving and caring mother, an awesome social worker, a creative girl scout leader, and now an excellent blog writer. Your girls are most times happy and well-adjusted, the high school kids miss you, your current FV kids love you, and people seek you out. Know that all of us who are caring people are the hardest on ourselves.
(A note about coffee - my daughter tells me she read an article that a good way to cut back on coffee is to not take it first thing in the morning, but try and wait until you feel yourself petering out a few hours later. It is supposed to be more effective.)