Learning to rest
Comments (2) I’ve been a task oriented person my whole life. When I was a kid, I used to write myself checklists complete with the amount of estimated time it would take me to finish each task. Yep, super geek training started early. My nine-year-old checklists looked a little like: wake-up, brush teeth, wash face, get dressed, eat breakfast. It wasn’t that I was going to forget to dress myself in the morning, I just loved the sense of satisfaction I experienced checking off each block with my number 2 pencil and annotating how quickly I completed the list. Later in life, the Army became the perfect place to hone my skills. The military thrives on regulations and certifications, in other words, big, huge checklists. For over ten years, I identified myself with how well I accomplished my tasks to the Army standard.
It’s an understatement to say my last year and a half at home with the boys has been an amazing transition, but I think with no “super mommy” evaluations, my perfectionist mindset went into overdrive. In my head, I ticked off check marks within my new list: raise genius boys (hopefully they take after their father), keep immaculate house (with three boys and a dog, who am I kidding?), write inspiring memoir. This tiring method of living my life wasn’t exactly making me a joy to be around. Hubby made a comment at the beginning of this year that it seemed like I was never satisfied, always wanting to do more faster, better, more efficiently. His words made me angry and then, I hate to admit, incredibly depressed. I didn’t know how physically evident my self-inflicted pressure had become.
I’m not sure what prompted me to bring this subject up to a few girlfriends last Friday night, but after I did, I broke down. ”I CAN’T DO THIS!” I practically screamed at them. I told them that my biggest worry was that I would never be able to do everything I felt I was called to do as perfectly as I thought I should. These insightful women listened and prayed and encouraged me throughout the evening until, very suddenly in fact, I felt relief. Trying to perfectly order my life to the point of exhaustion was not living a satisfied life. I decided during my week off to give up the control.
What does giving up control look like? Well, my week didn’t involve bonbons and foot massages, but it did require me to stop worrying about how many books I’d read to my children lately or how many words I’d spelled wrong on my website or how much dust had accumulated on my coffee table. Instead I wrestled with my little boys and enjoyed a couple really long conversations with my husband (right next to a HUGE pile of dishes I might add). I still desire raising my boys and writing an inspiring memoir, but I’m not in complete control of that any more, nor do I want to be. I’m at rest knowing I’ve been called to do those things, and I am at peace with the fact that callings are never meant to be perfect.
Themocracy