Perfection

It is so easy to look in the mirror and see only flaws. To see the 3 giant Mount McKinley sized zits on my  face, the nearly 20 pounds I have gained since I have had my second child, the gray beginning to show in my hair, the uneven smile, less than white teeth. I could go on. But that is not the point of this post.

The point is, I am learning how to look past the flaws. Some days are easier than others. Sunday, when I worked, one of my residents said "Candace, you have just a beautiful complexion." Of course, my response was some flippant remark about the wonder of cosmetics. Because, when I looked in the mirror that morning, all I saw was the almost topographic quality of my face. I absolutely hate being in my 30s and having acne. But you know, I may not have clear skin, but I DO have even skin tone and I don't have wrinkles.

Not only is it easy to see the flaws in oneself, it is easy to see them in other people, the government, the media, pretty much anything. And all this negativity creates a vicious circle.

I have struggled a good portion of my adult life with only focusing on the flaws, especially in myself. Then not being able to admit that I had flaws. I was bitter and angry. Let's face it, I was Queen Bitch. I didn't like myself, and that just made it worse. I honestly don't see how I had any friends during that period of my life. Then I met Ryan. And that will be a story for another day, as I don't want to get side tracked. Suffice it to say he was the turning point from constant bitchiness to occasional bitch.

I know that I have flaws, and that some I need to fix, others I can't. Not all my flaws are visible to others. I don't know why I feel the way I do sometimes. When I think about admitting something is wrong with me, health wise, emotionally, whatever, I freeze up. I feel like crying. Right now, I can feel the tears burning in my eyes. Because I know I am not perfect. I know no one expects me to be- except for me.

I feel like I should be able to be the best physical therapist assistant, making productivity every day, working miracles with my patients that have had Strokes, getting those with advanced dementia to follow instruction and retain the information I give them.

I feel like I should be able to work 40 hours a week, keep the house spotless, laundry folded and put away, have dinner on the table every evening. And then after all that is done, I should have energy to play with the kids, help Sean with his homework. And still have energy left for my husband.

Why? Because I am Candace. I should be perfect. I am Superwoman. I should be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

That's what I feel. I know differently. I know I am imperfect. I can not do everything and be everything to everyone. I know I can't work full time and do all the housework. I can't work miracles, I can only facilitate the healing and motor planning.

There is just a disconnect in what I feel and what I know.  I am learning to bridge the gap. I am learning ways of handling the stress that all these thoughts and feelings produce within me. I am learning to take the proverbial step back and deep breath...