confessions of a recovering perfectionist

I will be the first to admit that I am terribly hard on myself. Although it's true that sometimes I get carried away, and extend this to others--especially those people that I am close to--it is still nothing compared to the impossible standards that I often set for myself. There is no realm that this perfectionism does not touch. Motherhood? Check. Breastfeeding? Check. Birthing? Exercise? New projects? Relationships? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Eating a healthy diet, and getting to my ideal body type hover very high on this list. This perfectionism is pervasive and can be endless. It also creates enormous anxiety and it is about as far from loving as could be.

Every time a new year rolls around, I will buy a new journal, reveling in its untouched quality, and fill the first few pages with a gigantic list of resolutions. I will sit back after the work is done, look over the list, and feel exhausted by the year ahead, and anxious at the thought that I just may not be able to deliver. What a way to start the new year.

This year, I have toned things way down. There is no new journal--the old one, complete with messy scribblings and big feelings from last year will do just fine. Most importantly, I only have one resolution, and it's more of what I consider to be my life's work.

My resolution is to live authentically and with love. I will learn to love myself enough that that love then radiates out into the world and shines its light on those around me. I will go out into the world with this love filling my heart, so that I can love others through every interaction big and small. I will love myself when I mess up, am not my ideal weight, eat junky food, feel lonely, angry, or lost. And I will set an example for my precious daughter that this--love--is truly all that matters. It really is.