One of the hardest things for me is my inability to be perfect. Did you just laugh? I just laughed. But it is true. I hate it when things are going really well and I’m be-bopping along thinking everything is great, and then because I am not paying attention I catch my toe on a boulder and fall flat on my face. It’s hard not to succumb to the desire to pack it all in and go home.
That was a metaphor, of course, for what happens to me as I journey through healing. Things really are going very well for me, especially the past couple of weeks as I have had a really big paradigm shift in the way I view my emotions and understanding why I have had compulsive eating problems. I came home last night after a long day and hadn’t eaten since lunch, so I was famished and I had a terrible headache. My husband was trying to have a conversation with me and I was distracted; apparently I was mumbling half-answers to his questions as I gobbled up some soup and checked emails. I did notice that he got up and walked away with his food though, and that action, combined with my tired and hungry condition, “triggered” me into some old, stupid rejection fears, which launched us into having a useless disagreement, none of which was his fault.
That’s not an example of perfection, in case you were wondering.
When I trip over a boulder and go WHAM into the pavement, it makes it hard to get back up and continue on as though nothing happened. What I really want to do is go hide in my hole and agree with the voice that is telling me I’m a fraud because of my mistakes and imperfections and faults. I certainly don’t want to get up early and write a blog post. The perfectionist in me realizes that I have failed to be perfect, and therefore I am no longer qualified to write wise insights.
I’ve listened to that voice too many times in the past. I’m choosing to ignore that voice and listen to the voice of truth, which tells me that no one is perfect but One, and that One is in me to give me power to overcome. Or if you’re a Lord of the Rings fan: I may feel like a puny little hobbit, but Gandalf the Grey is calling me onward, reminding me where my strength comes from.
PS: I don’t really have hairy feet. But all the rest is true.