Everything to Everyone
My brain plays tricks on me.
There’s a Shel Silverstein poem where these little critters climb into the poet’s brain and leave disparaging comments in his head. They’re called the “what-if’s”. I have them living inside me permanently, and they don’t just ask me what could happen, they lead me to believe I’m unwanted, unbearable, unsound, and unskilled in anything I try to do. I know these thoughts aren’t true, but they FEEL true because my brain naturally and natively creates them, so I have to find ways to fight them.
One way I fight them is to stay connected with people, even though I’m an introvert. Another way is to put up these stereotypically corny positive affirmation quotes where I can see and read them to counteract the negative thoughts rolling around in my head. I have these things posted in my office, my home, and on my Facebook page. It’s cheesy, I know, but it works. Most of the time.
Another trick my brain plays on me is that I feel I have to be perfect in everything I do. I was recently looking at my to-do list, realizing that not only do I have less energy in my middle age than I did when I was a young adult, but now that I’m entering my seasonal depression that comes about every autumn, I just don’t have the oomph or the desire to get all of these things done.
I have this image in my mind of a person who labors constantly each day all day until all the things on their list are crossed off — and I just can’t do it anymore. I’m good to get two done in a day in addition to work and the kitty litter. The dishes? They don’t get done every night, and my floors and sheets are overdue for cleaning. But something I have done? Finish 10 sketches for a project I’m working on for some friends of mine. And I canned my tomatoes. And have been going to my son’s football games and band competitions. I’ve learned perfection isn’t everything; I have to count the little victories where I can.
I then made a list of all the roles I play — mother, employee, artist, blogger, poet, home owner, etc. — and realized I haven’t excelled in anything I’ve done. I’m exceptionally mediocre at everything — and I want to be exceptional in everything. I haven’t sold a sketch in quite a while, I keep getting rejections for my poetry manuscripts, my landscaping around my house is nonexistent (I’m just happy to have ANYTHING growing in my yard, even if they are weeds), I don’t post blogs regularly enough, and my son doesn’t answer the phone when I call and sometimes when he comes over all we do is eat pizza and watch Netflix.
It used to be, when I did something, it had to be perfect. I expected what I called “excellence”, but in reality it was a warped form of a high standard not even I could maintain. I set my bar so high, I couldn’t help but falter. To be the best at everything? In reality, I felt I wasn’t good enough at anything (those little “what-if’s” strike again). After decades of striving for perfection, I’m now settling for just getting it done — to the best of my abilities at that time. And depending on the time of the year and the cycle of my disease, sometimes my best is barely good enough. That’s humbling.
As well as being perfect at everything, I used to think I needed to be everything to everyone. If you asked me to do something, I needed to do it, and do it perfectly and fully. It went on my to-do list. I couldn’t say no. I was a giver. I gave so much to those around me, served them up so much of myself, that there was nothing left for me. I’ve learned I am a limited resource, and can say no. I need to partition out my energy for what I need to do for myself first, then I can do for others with the limited energy I have left. Lately, that is less than it used to be.
So I’ve come full circle. I’m a recovering perfectionist who’s coming to terms with my mediocrity. Yes, I’m good at some things, and not-so-good at others. I’ll never be everything to everyone. I’ll never get everything crossed off my to do list. There’s always tomorrow. And some things just don’t NEED to be done. I let those things go. Instead of focusing on the negative, I look at the positive. There’s always that one thing I can hold on to, even on the worst of days. All progress is good — even if it’s slow, and isn’t at the pace I expect.
My standards haven’t gotten lower, just more realistic. They’ve been adjusted to fit my capabilities. And even though I may be average, I’m still an oddball. An exceptionally mediocre oddball.
I’m just me.
And that’s okay.
September 30, 2021
Tansy Julie Soaring Eagle Paschold
