I wash my hair about once a week and shave my legs hardly ever but one of my favorite things in the whole wide world is crawling into a fresh set of clean sheets at night. There’s just something about it how snug it feels and good it smells. And because I don’t do laundry every week or dare even attempt to be the type of woman who does laundry every week, I purchased three sets of perfectly soft sheets and indulge in changing them out often.
There are so many things about me that bug me, I try to keep them all collectively stored in a messy part of my brain that I pretend doesn’t exist but even just acknowledging them right this very minute is making my heart beat fast and worry I’ll never get it all together.
I have to confess, aside from being an anomaly wanting clean sheets and dirty hair, I am more than anything, a recovering perfectionist. A perfectionist who takes tiny baby steps forward on days I buy cookies instead of making them from scratch and leave my house without makeup on or wear sweats without any intention of sweating. Once, I had a guest coming over with no time and a very dirty kitchen. I cringed and near cried as I shoved pots and pans in the wrong drawers, on the wrong shelves, ones that had old mac n cheese crusted to the sides and water spots splattered on the lids. This hiding and disguising instead of perfectly primping was TORTURE and one I like to consider a giant leap away from perfection, even something deserving of a very healthy pat on the back.
And how can something so gross that would have undoubtedly guaranteed a severe grounding from mother growing up become something I tell myself good job for and hoorah? I haven’t quite gotten there, but I’m certainly on my way to figuring it out and that’s what leads me here- to a place where I have been worrying and stressing and reading all the self help books I can stuff into my brain without leaving me a lot of time and energy to actually live my life.
Standing in front of a mirror is the window to my demise, “your legs are too scrawny”, “your skin needs a peel”, “your brows are a wreck”, and “you’re not a good enough mom.“ And whoa because in what universe does having scrawny legs make anyone a bad mom? But that’s what happens when my desperate craving to be perfect collides with that part of my head holding all the things I don’t love about myself. It’s a melodrama, a wreck, and it’s how I let my imperfections prevent me from just being happy.
So, because it’s a new year and because I have a new husband and a three year old who spins my world around, it feels like a good time to try something different. Instead of battling for perfection and being anxious about my dirty hair and scrawny legs, I want to live my life with intention, with goals and dreams that will lead me to being little more “all together”, and also allow me to be patient with myself, with the person I am right now, slowly blending together everything I am and everything I hope to become, indulging in things along the way- like a fresh set of sheets … because more than anything I want to be happy, and because I have every reason to be happy (cue husband and baby).