Good Enough

This post has been brewing for a couple weeks, and is part of the silence. I had a conversation with a friend about 2 weeks ago that touched off something in me that I was totally unprepared for. A couple of comments were made questioning some things I'd decided to do, which made me angry. I let that be known, and then a couple other things were said that made me feel incredibly sad, but I had no idea why. It had to do with my writing and ability to share feelings, but my reaction was utterly out of proportion to the comments made. I melted in a puddle, got off the phone, and proceeded to mourn for 24 hours. I felt levelled, flattened, and broken. I finally got a handle on what I'd 'heard' (not what was said, but what my brain filtered it into) and came up with "you're not good enough". I of course added "nothing you do is ever good enough" to that from my own well of feelings that I think go back to early childhood.

Once I labeled what had triggered the meltdown, I started to try to figure out where the feelings came from. They go WAY back, but not quite as far as I can remember. I've almost always felt I had to please everyone, and in order to do so I had to do whatever was "good enough" for whoever was watching. For whoever I thought was watching. Teachers, parents, meeting, family, friends. My measuring stick was based on other people's expectations, not my self-confidence (which wavers wildly, and mostly is much much lower than it appears to be to most people) or my "best" really. Just what was expected of me. I didn't give too much thought to what God expected, not really having a clue as a kid what that was, though I assumed he expected perfection and not much else.

I've known for eons that my standards for myself (and immediate family, sigh) were never ever high enough, and if I'm in danger of satisfying them, I raise them. I'm never good enough for that consortium of ridiculous expectations, so just keep trying to do better and just keep feeling guilty. I feel horribly guilty if I disappoint anyone. More so if it's family or friends, but pretty much anyone counts. I'm good at imagining disappointments. I had a client awhile back who I felt like I wasn't really able to help much at all, and given the averages of things, having a client like that once in awhile isn't really all that surprising! But I felt awful for weeks. Low, guilty, burdened, like I'd done something wrong. Not good enough. Nothing worse than not being good enough.

I'm rather sick of holding myself to other people's standards. I grew up with several sets of standards, which didn't help the issue. The home/family standard, the school standard, the grandparent/laborer standard, the meeting standard ... you get the idea. The rules were not all the same, and I became pretty adept at switching gears, but it helped me wander pretty far away from being me and working with God, and knowing why I chose to do what. What was good enough to keep all the judges satisfied with me? I saw them all as judges, keeping me up to par and holy enough, smart enough, and submissive enough to pass muster.

My confidence seems based on whether or not all judges/observers are happy with me. Whether I've done what I promised or more realistically what I think they expected me to do. I learned a looooong time ago how to fake it. How to pretend I was confident, feel entirely unprepared or able to do something, but started out on it anyhow in the hopes that the ability/road would appear under my feet. It often worked, and masking my fear and trembling would turn into genuine confidence once the thing seemed solid enough or close enough to being finished to be trusted. I approach almost everything that way. It works, but it makes everyone else think I'm more confident than I am. I deliberately sign myself up for things I'm scared of (public speaking, running 26 miles, etc) and know that the shame of 'failing' at it or disappointing someone will be enough to keep me at it until I think I've conquered it. Bloody expectations.

I'm tired of the expectations game, but have no real idea how to stop playing it.

There'll be days like this, mama said


D was sent home sick from school on Wednesday, as he threw up in class and felt miserable. I got the call as I was helping clean up at the Thanksgiving potluck at Fynn's school, so bundled Fynn up and headed over to get D. We had to wait in the entryway for him to come from his class, and he dragged himself down the hall looking miserable, and didn't make it halfway down the first block home without throwing up again. Thankfully it was shortlived, as he was well enough by noon the next day to make it to Thanksgiving dinner after all :). I confess to loving getting photos of him when he's sick, as I get a side of him that never is capture otherwise. The calm/internalized side.

One of my all-time favorite shots of him is the one below, taken after his raging stomach infection was starting to clear up when we were in Ecuador, just before he turned 2.

He scared me that time with his fragility and misery, he'd never ever been subdued like that before. This week it wasn't scary, just quiet and a bit sad. He's recovered 100% and was just as insanely hyper today as ever :).

wheeeeeeee!


snow at last, snow at last, thank god we have snow at last! spent 2 hours out in it, shoveled for my workout as i couldn't really run, and feels wonderful.

the boys had a ball, though fynn was frustrated he couldn't pick things up and ended up with bright red hands after having ditched the mittens.

michael built a snow ramp that turned into a 'gator, and a snowman of sorts. d danced, threw snowballs, helped, ran around, and was in almost 6-year-old heaven.

spent the afternoon doing up michael's new website, all of a sudden, because he confirmed yesterday that he's getting a solo show in manhattan from march 4-18! another wheeeeee .... starting to get closer to what we came to this city for, 4.5 years in. lots of scrambling to do with PR and all that.

in other news, found a roach er "waterbug" on the kitchen counter this evening. first ever in the kitchen, and one of only about 6 we've found in those 4.5 years. wheeeeeeeee.

cheerful

in an attempt to cheer myself up, I wore these yesterday, and the day before. kinda worked.

yesterday was pretty blog-worthy, but not sure if my finger is up to all the typing.

a pretty cool thing happened friday night. while talking to the homeopath i'd gone quite a bit into past friendships, the meeting/church division and how it affected me, and how i felt about it all. i'd mentioned always wondering what happened to many of the friends i lost touch with, asking friends for updates whenever i could, and so on. Then about 7-8 years ago i went to a huge funeral for a young girl i'd known before the split, and ran into 4-5 girls my age who i hadn't seen since the split, but had spent lots of time at camp and conferences with. i was thrilled to see them, but found not one shred of answering interest or connection.

it devastated me in a way, that my hope that others still cared was 'proven' untrue. I didn't take into consideration until 4 days ago, when talking to my husband, that perhaps their distance was due to the fact that i was still part of 'the meeting' at that point and therefore assumed to be strict, judgemental, and so on. i was clueless, just terribly disappointed.

when telling the homeopath about this, i had one girl, VK, in my mind. her name was escaping me at that point, so i talked about R and C instead. she was at that funeral as i recall. after dinner friday night, when checking my email, i saw i had a new friend request from Facebook. From VK herself, who I had no idea was on there. Mentioning in her request that she didn't think she'd seen me since we were about 16 at Lassen or something like that.

Amazing timing, thank you god for the connection, and very funny!

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18 months and 8 days


I weaned Fynn on Jan 8th. It's been much harder on me than him I think. Only one episode of shirt pulling, and that after I let him climb in bed with me in the morning as I was exhausted. He's still waking up at 6, and gets a drink of some sort and goes back to bed till 7:30 or 8. I can still feel it, and wonder how long that will last?

Bittersweet. It was time. But I loved it this time around. Not sure if we'll ever have another, so could be the last time. Makes me sad, that part does. Moving on I guess. Hormones still adjusting, though I feel less blue this week.

Day 16 - Flashbacks

When I was reading Douglas a bedtime story last night, I was halfway through it (some Pirate Pete book) when I had a sudden and very strong memory of Miss Beth reading to me in the back room in Columbus, in between meetings on Sunday morning. I must have been about 4 or 5, and I can recall the exact tone/cadence/sound of her voice, quietly and evenly reading to me from the collection of Golden Books that were stashed in the back room. She had expression in her voice, though not to the point of giving different characters different voices. There was something amazingly calm, always the same, about her tone. Perhaps it was to help keep me from running around and being loud? I don't think so, I remember loving it and looking forward to it. She was probably about my grandma's age, so in her 60's somewhere.

I'm not sure why reading to D triggered it, perhaps because we were snuggled together on a chair, and I remembered feeling exactly like he seemed to be? My voice? I'm sure it wasn't the recognition of Pirate Pete, as he was most definitely NOT part of the backroom collection, innocuous as they all were. I remember ducks and chicks and so on, cutesie animal stories and the like.

I have another moment I can flash back to at will, and remembered it again the other day when my friend S referred to a technique of fixing certain happy memories deliberately and consciously so they can be recalled when you're stressed. His comment took me back immediately to a point when I was about 14 or so, in a van on the way home from some road trip out west. The van was the kind with bench seats and little armrests at the end. I was on the right side of the car, it was late at night, the windows were open, and it was slightly chilly. The car was barreling down the dark highway, my family silent around me. For some unknown reason I had a sudden and overwhelming joy in knowing exactly who I was, down to the deepest part of my soul. It was an incredibly exultant, intense, and tingling joy that made me grip the armrest of the seat, turn my face into the breeze coming in the window, and feel every atom in my body singing with the electricity of the moment. I remember making a conscious snapshot of the feeling and scene, knowing I never wanted to forget it.

I never have.