Breaking Up With Perfect

Dear Perfect,

It’s over. We’re done. I’m tired of you, and your antics, and your ways. You make me exhausted, tired, week, and weary. You seem so beautiful and achievable and ideal, but I’m starting to realize you’re really not. At the end of the day you never make me feel good. You make me regret what I’m doing and my time spent with you.

Because here’s what I’m learning. No matter how much I work, or slave, or stretch myself, I’m never going to be good enough for you. There will always be something more perfect, or another thing to do. I’ve realized it’s never going to end. So I’m ending it.

I want to be present, and happy, and enjoy life as imperfect and crazy as it may be. I don’t want to use my time doing dishes, cleaning things up, and organizing things. I don’t want to finish this life and be remembered as organized, efficient, or productive. I want to be remembered as kind, loving, and thoughtful. I want to be the kind of person who puts people first. Not the kind of person who is available for people after the dishes are done, the toys are cleaned up, the laundry is folded, the groceries are bought, the sink is scrubbed, and a million other things.

But I’m not naïve, we’ve tried this before. You’re going to try to win me back. Let’s face it, it’s been a pretty good run together. 27 years doesn’t just disappear overnight. So, I’m warning myself, that I’m going to be tempted to let you back in. When I walk past the sink, when I see the laundry pile, when people are coming to my house, you’re going to show up. I’m going to have to be strong. I’m going to have to stand my ground.

I am going to be imperfect and be okay.

Not very fondly,

Emily