THE BLOG
02/13/2014 11:13 am ET | Updated Apr 15, 2014

Perfectionism Is a Mean Bitch

Sounds mean, huh? I picture this snotty, judgmental, know-at-all telling me what others are doing when I don't play the comparing game anymore. She tries to trick me into it, like reading about people's business on Facebook. Last week it was, "You should be doing that! You should be hustlin' more. You know it's not because you can't pay a fancy marketing person, web designer, business coach, and so on, it's bullshit. You don't believe in yourself all the way. You're afraid to get to big. You're afraid of that attention which some of which with be negative. You're weak." Ouch. Growing pain. Vulnerability. Upside down mess.

Back up. I realize Perfection has many shades of it. I always say I don't try to be perfect, until I am in some area, be it parenting, business, fitness, or whatever I feel I'm sucking at in that moment. It's sneaky. Dig deeper to find out that FEAR is the mastermind.

It has an army. Its soldiers I'm familiar with are perfectionism, guilt, worry, regret, who all wear different disguises as they try to infiltrate my life. A few days ago, I felt that overwhelm coming on again. I had all these plans. I wanted to work out. I did.

I did my T25 DVD, but I had to follow the low impact-modifier lady, and felt defeated. I'm always a go-getter, but have to go slow as I get my stamina back up. My baby was born six weeks ago. I wanted to mail out a contract, launch my Wordpress site (even though I'm not sure what I'm doing with it), and the laundry list was growing by the minute. Like a perfectionism tornado was coupling with my hormones to create a superstorm, the TO-DO-LIST storm, that would set out to destroy me in its path. I even added straightening my hair to the list. I know it's not important in the grand scheme of things but I like to look cute. What can I say? I'm from Jersey. We're known for our hair. I don't apologize for my girly-girl side. If I look put together, I feel like things are going right in my life. It's the same with making my bed in the morning. I told my husband I never get anything done I want to.

As I strolled into my bathroom, I caught a glimpse of my naked body in the mirror. Perfectionism said, "Your stomach... ugh," and rolled her eyes. That bitch! Where was my self-love? I teach this shit. And this inner bitch tried to come up in here and screw with my mojo! Doesn't she know I just had a baby? That I have earned these stretch marks and I'm okay with them? That I'm human and have a little extra skin from having five kids? Jeez... as long as I look okay in a bikini, she should stop freaking judging me already. I was thinking... I do not need this right now.

I got into the shower. I realized perfectionism had tricked me into a temporary moment of insanity. It dawned on me, as in the real, wise "me" told myself, "You get a lot done every day. Be easy on yourself. Remember you used to do beating yourself up thing all the time. And HELLO, you had a baby six weeks ago. Oh yeah!?! Your bed is always made, dishes and laundry get done, the house looks normal. You've still been writing blogs. Soften this. What are you doing? What is this?" I realized limitation of every kind was slapping me in the face. Literally, I felt limited in my fitness ability/strength, business know-how, computer skills, time management, money, and every angle it could hit me in.

I got real with myself and asked what was this really about? What was the fear?

I'm not good enough. What the bleep? Me, no! I got that done. That's covered.

Oh, wait. This journey to wholeness never ends. You feel whole. You grow. You stretch. You release. All of this expansion of self is always perfect. It helps me become more of me.

Were there any other things going on? Did I think I deserved good things? Did I think I had what it took for my big dreams? Yep. I felt truth there. And once I realized what trickery was going on in my thoughts, I released that energy. Sgt. Not Enough was working with Ms. Perfectionism and tried to pull me into drama, anxiety, and stop me in my tracks.

I'm too smart for that.

Back to my regularly schedule programming of self-love. It was over quick this time. I can move through my "shit" quick.

P.S. Kinda felt like I wasted my postpartum six weeks on running on a hamster week. But I know that's bullshit. I'm not a lie around watch TV person. It was all perfect. It wouldn't have felt right to me to not write and let my creativity keep follow. I trust I always know what is right for me in the moment. Everything's always working out perfectly.

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