Perfectionism weighing me down

I am ALL too familiar with this intersection. 

I am really struggling with perfectionism right now, which is leading to depression. 

It's no fun telling yourself in your head that you're not good enough all day. 

I think a one key to overcoming this is going to be looking at what I DO do, instead of focusing on everything I don't do. One time at the end of a hard day my husband and I had this conversation:

Mike: "what's wrong"
Me: "i'm just feeling really down on myself right now"
Mike: "Why?"
Me: "I don't know"
Mike: "You did so much today, you got this done and this done and this done.."
Me: "Holy cow, I did do all that today." I immediately felt better about myself and my day. The only thing that changed was my perspective. Instead of focusing on my failures I was thinking about my strengths. Instead of seeing all that I didn't do I was focusing on all that I did do.

I have done previous posts on perfectionism and worked a bit on it at CFC and throughout my recovery but I've never really tackled it. I can see that its slowly been creeping up on me. I just want to take my heart and soul back from perfectionism, it is so paralyzing. Dr. B, co-founder of The Center for Change once said to me: "perfectionism is a killer of the soul." Like the above quote says it's best friends with shame and fear which is not good. Yea, I don't like those words.

 I think I have developed perfectionism as a way to cope with things in my life that feel chaotic and out of control. I also think I was born with a perfectionist tendency and my competitive gymnastics fueled the fire a billion degrees. But "a problem without a solution is just complaining" so as I tackle this I am going to be coming up with solutions. So if you struggle with perfectionism too look back here for things that helped me and can hopefully help you too.  

Step one: getting mad at your perfectionism and taking your life back..."stupid perfectionism, get outta here!" 



Can't wait to get Brene' Browns book "The gifts of perfectionism" for Christmas! 

Free to be Me

Sorry about the absence, I just got back from a 5 day vacation in Cabo with my hubby for his work (which made it free so it was that much better)! It was a blast! Besides missing my girl an incredible amount we had SO much fun and were reminded of how much fun we have together. But it is good to be home. I love my comfy bed, my home, and my simple life. And I can't get enough cuddles from Mila. There truly is no place like home. But I loved the adventure! 

So while I was there I had one of those moments where I was like, "wow it feels SO good to be so recoverd, I wouldn't have even been able to do this 6 years ago." There were a lot, and I mean A LOT, of very skinny, very glamorous women in bikinis. And I was confident in who I was. That is amazing. I didn't wish I was one of them at all. I was happy to be me. To love adventure, to love having fun, to be genuine and real, to not be afraid to eat a little more on vacation and still love myself. I feel good about me and I know my weight doesn't reflect my worth. Take that, ED. 5 years ago I probably, no I would have had a minor panic anxiety attack and shrunk into insecurity and comparison. But I am over the weight. skinny does not equal happiness. Yea I may be insecure about some aspects of my body, that is just part of growing up in this world as a woman, but I don't love me for what my body looks like, I love me for who I am as a person, and I know I am a good person. 

It matters WAY more what you think about yourself then what others think about you.

While we were there my hubby said to me he is so glad he is married to me and that I respect my body and don't wear skimpy swimsuits because he knows my body is just for him and that it is sacred. He also said how he is so glad I love to have fun and be adventurous. I am so grateful I have a husband that loves me for me.

I am really learning to love being myself and just accept all of me- everything I love about myself and everything that is harder to love about me. Instead of constantly nagging myself about the person I should be or the person I wish I was and just fully embrace and accept who I am. I was given a key chain at CFC that had the words "free to be me" engraven on it. I think that is such a good saying for people in recovery from ED's. Healing from ED really sets you free to just be yourself instead of rigidly trying to become good enough. You are already good enough. You are loved just as you are, people just want you to be yourself, people just want you to be happy. We can enjoy the journey of becoming the best versions of ourselves but we don't need to try and be something we're not. Self acceptance is a healing process.

I love us

Giving it the last who-ra in the pool before we said our goodbyes to Cabo

In case you didn't know, I wish we cartwheeled everywhere instead of walked

 Mila having fun with her Auntie Steph while we were gone!

 By the way, I am planning on re-vamping a new and improved blog! I want to help as many people as I can so I want to get my blog out there but before I do that I want to change a few things. One being the name, I think I need something shorter and catchier,

so if you have any suggestions I could use them. I am thinking of aglimmerofhope.blogspot.com, thoughts? although it is taken but I'm seeing if I can get it. I also want to start posting something little EVERYDAY and get a little more personal with pictures and such. Anyway I'm really excited about it but want to think about it and do it just how I want it so let me know what ya think. 

Love you all!

For Moms, and all women who have ever felt bad about their bodies- so all of us.

Our culture is INSANE when it comes to their expectations on Women, especially about what our bodies are "suppose" to look like. Can't we just be human! Can't the world give women a little break? I want to shout from the roof tops that its OKAY to have cellulite! That their are more important things to be doing then obsessing and stressing about the size of pants we wear. Despite what all the commercials say dropping a pants size is not the best accomplishment you could do in the world, it doesn't even make the top 10, or even 20 list! God made all women minus maybe a small 2% to naturally store fat in the thighs, butt and belly. Our so called problem areas. Our bodies weren't made for looking at or getting 6 pack abs. They were made to survive, to be strong, to make babies. Even if for some reason in this life you can't have babies your body was still made to make them in the next life. 

What would happen if you just decided RIGHT NOW to LOVE your body just the way it is. To be okay with it because it is YOURS and no one elses. And to love everything about it, perceived flaws and all. Give up the fight with yourself  throw in the towel. If you don't love yourself right now, you won't at a magical number either. Every time you start telling yourself the lie, because that's what it is that losing weight will FIX EVERYTHING say to yourself: IT DOESN'T MATTER. It doesn't matter what weight you are! You can HELP people and LOVE people at any weight. When you love yourself you will take better care of yourself. So stop hating yourself, and start loving yourself. 

Read this, it is AWESOME, women need more of this (the truth) in their lives:

A friend of mine was totally shocked to see Kate Middleton's "still pregnant belly" the day after she gave birth. Sigh. Not only is that what you're SUPPOSED to look like after giving birth, it's annoying we're even TALKING about WHAT YOUR STOMACH LOOKS LIKE 24 hours after giving birth.

It's about the baby, not the belly.

My daughter Ruby was pretty obsessed with my belly while I was pregnant. Who can blame her? It is utterly amazing to watch a body shape-shift into a human incubator. Even if you're still a baby yourself and don't fully understand what's happening, you know the two things that really matter: Something's up and It's amazing.

I thought it was all-too-sweet the way she pulled up my shirt to hug and kiss my bare belly and was just devastated if she couldn't kiss "bee-bee" goodnight. I'd pull her close and tell her all about this miraculous thing happening to my body (and to our family!) while we snuggled. They were sweet and tender moments I will always treasure.

Obviously, her fascination with my belly didn't end when we brought her baby brother home. So, I don't know why it surprised me when one of the first things she wanted to do was touch my belly.

"Oh," I laughed, delighted by her curiosity, "the baby came out! No more baby in mama's belly. He came out and he's right over there!"

I don't think she had the slightest idea what I was talking about.

A dozen times a day, she came over to look at my belly, but I tugged my shirt down as fast as I could and tried my best to chirp happily and with a shrug No more baby -- just belly! I knew this was part of her trying to process this whole crazy thing, so I tried to be patient. She eventually got the message (or so I thought) and transferred her curiosity to the new little baby in our midst (she had so much poking to do!).

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, it started up again. She was suddenly consumed with my belly (and boobs! but that's another matter entirely) and my glib little answer wasn't working. She knew all about the baby. She wanted to know what happened to my belly.

Can I be honest with you? I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't even want to think about it.

I was exhausted and emotional and unspeakably overwhelmed by the unceasing demands of a newborn and his (understandably) freaked-out big sister. The last thing I had the energy for was to explain why my belly still looked pretty pregnant even though I wasn't. Or why none of my clothes fit. Or why my belly -- which was once a cause for such sweet and curious bonding -- had suddenly become The Thing Which Shall Not Be Named. Addressing any of that would force me to accept that my body was different now -- I was different now -- and that was kind of a lot to process when I was deep in the throes of just keeping a helpless little person ALIVE.

The persistence of that belly (and so many other vestiges of a rough pregnancy) made me feel like a total failure.

Shouldn't I be more... together?

I wasn't asking to be posing in a bikini on the cover of a magazine two weeks postpartum (because that's 12 ways to Crazytown) and even though I've done this before and should know better I was STILL HOPING that by six weeks postpartum (and now 12, oy) I would at least look like ME. Not, as someone so politely told me when I was pregnant -- me "in a fat suit."

I did not want to face the fact that the lumpy woman in the mirror could in reality be... ME.

So, when Ruby innocently tugged on my shirt to check out the state of things in my midsection, I was in no mood:

No, no, Ruby. No more baby in Mama's belly. Just fat. No baby. FAT. Mama's FAT.

I don't know what it was -- something about the way she looked at me... almost through me... that s l o w e d everything down so that the two, unblinking seconds we stood staring at each other felt like a lifetime --

but I knew she understood.

Not the nuance of my insecurity, of course (all those cultural expectations so much heavier than the baby weight)

But the two things that really mattered: After a belly comes a baby. After the baby comes the shame.

When I saw the look on her face I wanted nothing more than to swallow those words I had so thoughtlessly spit out. The only thing I had to be ashamed of was feeling ashamed of my body.

I thought I was keeping a safe distance from all this "post-baby bod" crap, but it must have snuck in the back door. Honestly, it's pretty hard to escape these days. Not just because it's splashed all over magazines -- but because it's alive and well on my own little street corner too. I ran into a neighbor last week who is currently pregnant with her second child and as we were talking about the fears and challenges that accompany an expanding family... including her constant worry that her body will never be the same again... she gestured to my stomach and said, "Is it weird to still look pregnant after three months?" Of course, I wanted to die right there on the spot, but I laughed and did my best impression of The Person I Want To Be and said, "Well I did just have a baby three months ago."

Because I DID.

I'm not sure when it became the highest compliment you can pay a woman to say, "You look like you never even had a baby!"

...Because I'm supposed to... pretend this never happened? Is my body supposed to pretend it didn't rearrange all my organs and open my rib cage and my hips and grow a new human person who has never existed before and then proceed to feed and nourish that person from the very same body that delivered him, whole and perfect, into the world?

After experiencing something so miraculous that the only real way to describe it is "godlike" ... I'm supposed to want to go BACK?

To what? Being 15?

Even if you somehow manage to look 15 again (which, why would you want to?) you will never BE 15 again (thank heavens). (Matthew Perry movies notwithstanding).

Once you cross the threshold into motherhood, there is no going back. You might feel instantly and with acuity "Help! What did I DO? I'm not ready for this! Get me offa this thing! I don't know what I'm doing!" but it's too late. The curtain is up on the most important role you will ever play and it's OK that you and your body have shifted so that it fits. More: it is right and good. You're not supposed to zip up your old jeans and slip back into your old life.

Babies change us.

It's designed that way.

If our bodies tell the story of who we are, this is a story I don't want to forget.

And that's what I want my Ruby to know.

I dream of a world where a new mother can leave the house in the morning -- in ill-fitting maternity clothes because nothing else fits her large and slowly deflating belly, with greasy hair and puffy eyes from the hours/days/weeks she's been functioning without sleep, with a leaking shirt from her breasts that are constantly churning and adjusting to make just the right amount of milk for the tiny young babe who depends on her for every last thing -- a world where this woman can leave the house with her babies in tow (up and out in the world because her toddler's need for playtime trumped her need for a blow dry. Or a nap)

-- And this woman TURNS OUR HEADS (not out of pity "oh bless her heart") and TAKES OUR BREATH AWAY (not because we think she looks like the "before" picture of an ambush makeover) but because she is LITERALLY The Most Beautiful Thing We've Ever Seen.

She is a superhero

She is a goddess

She is a Mother

Drop-dead gorgeous not in spite of the things that make her so, but because of them.

This is the woman I want my daughter to see when she touches my belly. This is the woman I want to see when I look in the mirror. Not the ugly truth. But the beautiful reality.

It's a thing I'm really struggling with at the moment.

Pregnancy is not easy for me. I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to it because my whole mind and body just kinda freaks out. This last one was brutal and and my body is still shouting that story from the rooftops. Six months of bed rest and 60 lbs, agonizing hormone shots, early labor, depression, migraines, insomnia, stretch marks (just to name a few). I will probably never look or feel quite the same again and that's exactly as it should be. I'm not the same. Bearing children has brought me a wealth of insight and experience I wouldn't trade for the skinniest pair of jeans.

Maybe some mamas can do all this in a size 2 right out the gate and good for ya. But I'd like to stop pretending that's the normal or even ideal thing. For me, there is so much more to mothering than how my pants fit. As a new mom, it shouldn't even CRACK THE LIST, but it does because people stop you on the street and say dumb things motivated out of fear they'll end up looking like you at 12 weeks postpartum.

Well, I'll tell ya something, friend. This is what motherhood looks like at 12 weeks postpartum.

I caught myself in the mirror this morning... and just about burst into tears when I saw that rumpled, lumpy, saggy woman staring back at me. This is not what I'm supposed to look like!

But now that my eyes are dry, I'm ready for a second look. Sure, I can see a What Not To Wear episode waiting to happen. OR I can see a body -- and a person -- who is neither a shabby "Before" picture or a sleek "After" one, but is every inch a walking advertisement for "Just Doing It." I see a woman who knows that makeup is great but making a baby laugh is even better. That a chic haircut will make you feel like a million bucks but rocking a baby to sleep is priceless. That working out feels good but not half as good as the look in your child's eyes when you drop everything to read a book or play kitchen or just be together. That every time you have to choose between worrying about yourself and caring for your children it isn't a choice at all. I see a mother who knows how to dig deep and do the work and carry on when it is almost too heavy to bear.

On my best days, I can see myself. And in those moments, I see the two things that really matter: I can do hard things and doing them in the service of something greater than myself is what makes me beautiful.

Now I'm ready to welcome my babies onto my lap.

Come, my loves. Let me tell you a story. Mama's belly is different because I had a baby. I had you! This is where I stretched and stretched so you could fit inside! See how even my legs and my knees stretched! Everything moved around to make room for you! I got these dimply thighs and these little purple veins and these roomy hips when I got you! Aren't they beautiful?

It's a miracle and it's the greatest story of my life