"I Am SO Glad It's You!" (A Coping Strategy of Sorts)

I am a perfectionist in recovery.

You may say you know me, and that I resemble no such creature - hence the in recovery.



To give you an idea:


*When learning to play a song on the piano I like to play this game with myself: If I miss a note I must immediately return to the beginning and start again. AND, I cannot leave the bench until I have made it clear through twice (to prove the first time wasn't a fluke).


*In college, I would hit the snooze function on my clock several times each morning, giving myself no more than the twenty (okay, thirty) minutes necessary for me to get ready and get to class. Five (okay, ten) of those minutes were spent ironing my clothes AND then my bedspread.


*I have a bottle of white-out in the top drawer of my desk. And in one of our kitchen drawers. And in the console of my car. Though, I must point out, I write almost exclusively in pencil - an automatic pencil, so that the lead is always perfectly sharp to accomodate my tiny, typewriter-like, all-caps printing. This being said, I still will not even attempt a thank you note unless I have at least three to allow for mistakes - as I write them in cursive and in ink and would not dream of sending you one with white-out on it. (I said in recovery, not recovered.)


Oh, I haven't scratched the surface, but I digress...

Surprisingly, I am able to lead a pretty normal life these days. Well, most of these days. Perfectionism doesn't fit into a household with four children. (Though, when there were only 3 children I still ironed their school clothes each morning...but not their bedspreads. Progress, yes?)

I have come a long way, and I have found that learning not to "sweat the small stuff" really goes a long way in preserving the sanity of those I love. I really try not to impose my tendencies on my loved ones. ( I said "try".)


I am human. Every once in awhile something happens to awaken the beast, and for these moments I have acquired coping strategies... especially for those somethings that are repeat offenders like the one I am about to discuss.


This brings me to the pretty flowers in the picture. I think I rambled them right off of the screen, so here they are again:
These flowers were a sweet love offering from a friend. Picked from her own garden. Hand delivered to my door. Unexpectedly.
Let me tell you that nothing, and I mean NOTHING wakes the perfectionist beast within me more than my home. More specifically, when I have company in my home. I want it perfect - perfect - and I nearly kill myself preparing for company just about every time. (4 kids, remember?)
So, if you really want to rock my world, you just try - JUST TRY - showing up to my home unexpectedly! No. Don't.
I usually will not even answer the door. I usually will not even peek through the shutters to even tempt myself to answer the door. I have a great imagination, and I will imagine the doorbell never rang.
As a part of my recovery I am trying to let go of this stinker thing that I do. (Though, admittedly, I still think it more stinky not to call and let me know you're on your way.)
To help me, I call upon an experience from my past: I was visiting this new mother. She just got home from having her baby. She had not slept. She had not cleaned the house. She was not feeling well, and I was there to hold the baby so she could rest a bit. While I was there, her doorbell rang.
Well... you know what I would have done.

Well, SHE got herself up - bedhead and all - and answered the door. I mean she flung it right open, AND she did not hide. She did not apologize. She sighed, loudly, and said "Oh! I am SO glad it's YOU!..."
I was shocked. I was humbled. I was suddenly very aware that I did not give my loved ones enough credit. It occurred to me that they would probably love me even if there were a few dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, or if I didn't have make-up on. (Well, I still refuse to try the no make-up gig, so I can't really say for sure on that one...)
I made a note of how warmly she greeted her guest, and also noted that if I ever tried to mimick her I would probably need to smile (or at least not frown) (and set down any kitchen knives or other sharp objects before answering the door).
Well, as evidenced by the flowers, I did it. I answered the door. I said the words too, "I am SO glad it's you, or I probably wouldn't have answered the door!" I even invited my friend in. (You have NO IDEA! I swear if she had tried to walk beyond the front room of my house I would have panicked and probably injured her during the tackling.) We chatted for a good half hour, laughed lots, and genuinely had a nice visit.
So, I conclude that I am just a little further in my recovery than I was a day ago... though I found myself painting my baseboards today for no good reason. Hmm...