Today, Tam and I are blog swapping. She's here to tell us a little about giving up on perfect, and I'm over at her place talking about being a work in progress. Welcome, Tam.
Giving Up on Perfect...
…Not easy to do. Especially when perfection becomes a survival skill.
When I was in elementary school my mother met a man who'd eventually help in giving me 2 younger sisters :) He also helped in forming some of the worst habits of my life. One being...a clean freak!
You see, my mom’s boyfriend was an abuser. He enjoyed all types of abuse. My older brother and I got to experience them all. But the one that had the biggest impact on me was the physical abuse.
If he found me sitting, I would get a beating. Wouldn’t matter if I had just vacuumed and was simply resting. A beating would follow.
So, I learned to stay busy. There was always something to straighten, organize, dust, fluff, pick up, wash, whatever...I would find something to do.
One of the chores I gave myself was keeping the faucets spic-n-span shiny! I quickly learned there was always chrome to keep spiffy. Handwashing, toothbrushing and cooking all caused water spots and grime. And keeping every faucet in the house sparkling became my safety net.
Fast-forward 15 years, I’m married and getting uptight day after day because I couldn’t keep my faucets shiny. I’d walk into the bathroom, notice toothpaste splatter and nearly have an anxiety attack. I’d check them throughout the day like my life depended on it.
I created a habit of keeping myself consistently busy so that I wouldn’t get in trouble for not doing anything. And I had no idea that that’s what I had done. Until one day I realized that I instantly became exhausted as soon as I entered another persons home. I mean, almost comatose. To the point where I wasn’t even watching my own children or engaging in conversation.
You see, as a kiddo, going to another home was a break for me. He wouldn’t hurt me there. I didn’t have to perform. I didn’t have to be perfect. I could just...be. And often times, that meant rest. Rest I so desperately needed.
I conditioned and trained myself to perform in a way that would protect me. But I didn’t require this survival technique anymore. I was safe. Not only with my husband, but with God. I had found my refuge. The mean man had no power over me any longer.
This revelation was lifesaving. Freeing.
Perfection was no longer needed. Not when love stepped in.
Tam is a wife of 1, mom of 2 and friend to many. Laughing at herself is a daily occurence. 'Cause, well, she ain't right. Visit Tam at inProgress and follow her on Twitter.
