In the corner of my desk sits a little sign that reads "Always do your best, what you plant now you will Harvest later." I think I picked up for a dollar or something like that at the dollar general in a fall clearance sale. While I can't quite remember the exact whereabouts of the sign, I can tell you that this mantra is one for which I love, and loathe all in one. My best. Perfection. Or having to learn that my best is not perfection... and that's ok.
I remember last year it was about this time of the season that things began a downward pivotal spiral; peaking during one of many dysfunctional lessons that semester, resulting in me breaking down and literally sitting on the floor. In my world, if I couldn't be perfect, then I didn't want to be anything, which became quite apparent as I tormented my body as it wasted beneath me.
While the repetitive mantra from my professor was you do your best, and trust it will be enough, I still mourned the feelings wherein my best was not enough- I was not enough, nor would I ever be enough. That the doors to life were being slammed in my face. That the people I needed to please- professors, colleagues, family, strangers. and myself were not satisfied- and never would be. There was an unrelenting ache that pulsed through my body, as it reminded me of how weak- how human... limited I truly was.
I finally gave up, and this was the greatest choice. It was only when I surrendered that I was enough because I had finally stopped struggling. I stopped fighting the battles I would never win, and it was then that other people could help me fight the battles I could not go alone. The people who were there all along, but I was too busy thrashing amidst the waves to ever notice.
I write these things only now- so late (But as they say- better late than never) because I notice that life is beginning to creep in once again, and tries to consume me in perfection. In its' desire to perform. To please. However, instead of listening to life's worldly demands, I write to remind myself of how the things I plant now- I will harvest later- or that as I heard sunday- excellence does not equal perfection.
I write these things because I want to survive this storm as life is trying so hard to pull me under, because from the ashes I will rise, and although there's a wave- I am not drowning. Not again.
I remember last year it was about this time of the season that things began a downward pivotal spiral; peaking during one of many dysfunctional lessons that semester, resulting in me breaking down and literally sitting on the floor. In my world, if I couldn't be perfect, then I didn't want to be anything, which became quite apparent as I tormented my body as it wasted beneath me.
While the repetitive mantra from my professor was you do your best, and trust it will be enough, I still mourned the feelings wherein my best was not enough- I was not enough, nor would I ever be enough. That the doors to life were being slammed in my face. That the people I needed to please- professors, colleagues, family, strangers. and myself were not satisfied- and never would be. There was an unrelenting ache that pulsed through my body, as it reminded me of how weak- how human... limited I truly was.
I finally gave up, and this was the greatest choice. It was only when I surrendered that I was enough because I had finally stopped struggling. I stopped fighting the battles I would never win, and it was then that other people could help me fight the battles I could not go alone. The people who were there all along, but I was too busy thrashing amidst the waves to ever notice.
I write these things only now- so late (But as they say- better late than never) because I notice that life is beginning to creep in once again, and tries to consume me in perfection. In its' desire to perform. To please. However, instead of listening to life's worldly demands, I write to remind myself of how the things I plant now- I will harvest later- or that as I heard sunday- excellence does not equal perfection.
I write these things because I want to survive this storm as life is trying so hard to pull me under, because from the ashes I will rise, and although there's a wave- I am not drowning. Not again.
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