Friday I was talking with M. She was not feeling well and had decided to go home. I cheered this decision. Because as I have learned ignoring your own needs and those of your body is detrimental to your mental and physical well-being.
At first she attempted to downplay how she was feeling. Her heart was doing some funky things. She was not sick sick. Not contagious. I was a little ticked off and told her that whether mentally, physically or emotionally ill, you have to take time for yourself. That being stupid like that is greatly overrated. To which she asked if I had never worked when I was sick.
Yes, I have. I often feel guilty that I am calling in sick. I pushed myself through at least two months of depression before I finally hit my rock bottom. I have been made to feel that I should work through any illness that I might have. That if my child is sick I am required to make other arrangements. I must be there. Well hell guess what? I no longer choose to allow someone else to decide whether I am healthy enough to work or not. I will no longer not be with T when he is ill. Children need you. I still want my mom when I am sick. So she can tuck me in and make things all better. It doesn’t really but I can pretend.
My response may have been a little extreme. I mean we were texting and I could have edited but my text went to her as though she was sitting in the room with me.
“I have and where the fuck did that get me? Emotionally and mentally ill. Breaking down because I thought I had to be superwoman.’
And there is the crux of it. I thought I could burn my candle at both ends and get away with it. It is not possible. It is not healthy, I thought that if I was superwoman, if I was perfect that everything would fall into place and my world would begin to make sense. But it didn’t. Again, Superwoman is overrated. Being her requires a lot of personal sacrafice and being there for everyone but yourself.
Personally I prefer to be ‘The Good Enough Woman’.
The Good Enough Woman:
My son thinks that I am an amazing person. He believes in me. He believes in my writing.
I have learned who my supporters and friends truely are.
I have found myself again. The real me. Not the one who used alcohol and drugs to escape her pain.
I have found strength.
I have reprioritized my wants and desires.
I am reaching for the stars.
I wake each morning feeling satisfied and wonderful.
I am settling the past and living in the today.
I am learning, each and every day, new things about myself.
I am able to own my feelings.
I am able to now see when I allow others to affect my mindset and self. (They whoever they may be do not have the right to make me feel as though my best is not good enough) And I will calmly explain that this is how I feel and I do not appreciate it.
I am good enough for myself. I am good enough for T. I am good enough for the people that orbit in my life.
No one is perfect. I don’t care what you believe. No amount of striving and reaching will ever be enough. You are always going to fall short.
And when you fall short the recriminations, the disgust, the need to push beyond your limits will fell you like the mighty oak. And perfection is overrated. We all have flaws. We all have imperfections. And that is what makes this beautiful world of ours so magnificent.