Perfectionist Rehab

More than once in my life I have received feedback that I talk too much, particularly about banality that no one else would be interested in. To discuss these topics would be egocentric and selfish – and ultimately wrong – because it’s an imposition upon other people. My value has proven to be whatever service I may provide. I’ve learned that my interests are boring at best and vapid at worst, often repetitious in nature and borderline obsessive.

I often fear loving myself as akin to narcissism. Who hasn’t heard of the dangers of narcissistic mothers and the threat they impose on their children?

Breastfeeding has been my greatest lesson in surrender yet. Learning to breathe through pain, to honor feelings as they arise without thrusting them onto other people.

“Sit with the pain.”

Eventually it passes, and I get to experience one of the most beautiful things in the world.

The bond between mother and child.

Much of my experience with motherhood has been a lesson in surrender. Whether that has meant:

1. Reconciling in my brain that I drank to excess two days before I found out that I was expecting
2. Suffering carpal tunnel caused by pregnancy in my third trimester so severe that I was unable to write
3. Being unable to empty my bladder fully as early as seven weeks along
4. Constantly needing to eat, even if I wasn’t hungry, to prevent severe morning sickness into my third trimester
5. Being unable to lift my left leg for the last month of my pregnancy due to the pressure on my sciatic nerve and my son’s head pressing on my hip

These situations forced me to let go of control, which I struggle with deeply. I have trust issues and fear being vulnerable.

“Yes, love yourself. But also, analyze and be critical of how you think, act, and behave. Self-love without self-awareness is useless. Be accountable.”

Self-love and self-care have become a marketing campaign. Brands and influencers alike assert that if you purchase this goo, potion, soap, lotion, or $500 device it’s self-care.

What absolute garbage.

I love beauty products, don’t get me wrong. I believe taking steps to feeling like yourself is the best way to improve your mood. However, it’s such a minimization of the female experience that a bath, infrared device, perfume, or lipstick is going to magically fix all of your problems.

Self-care is saying no.

Self-care is creating art.

Self-care is allowing yourself to rest, even when there are chores.

 Self-care is taking three deep breaths when you’re overwhelmed.

Self-care is allowing yourself to not have the same beauty routine you had before you had kids.

My husband and I are “no-support” parents. My children do not have grandparents, and any breaks we have individually from our routines only exist through the other person. My husband and I have an agreement that if the other person wants or needs space at any time, they can take it. We’re fortunate to have each other.

That said, I do NOT have the mental space for beauty routines that I once had. I simply don’t have the patience. I go weeks at a time without painting my nails, which is something I religiously did every Friday night before I had children. I used to wear a full-face of makeup every day (even when I didn’t leave my house), and now I barely have the patience for brow gel and mascara. I have curly hair, and more often than not I just let my hair be wild instead of taking the 15 minutes I need to define every curl.

This is not because the system has ‘failed’ me. This is not because I’m a default parent. This is not because my husband doesn’t give me the space. This is simply because I don’t have the spoons to occupy my time with things that don’t fill me up anymore.

I’m more tolerant of my natural state since I had children, because I see my own traits on my kids. They possess every feature that I previously felt that I had to correct and tame. When I look at them, I see nothing but beauty.

I’m telling you; motherhood can be healing if you let it be.

One of the most radical realizations I have had is that I don’t have to resume routines that I used to participate in joyfully. Those routines are no longer for me – they’re an attempt to prove to the community around me that I have ‘bounced back’. That I’m still a woman. That I still have value.

I’ve learned that ‘pretty’ for some people translates to a woman’s natural state. For other people, ‘pretty’ means made up.

Coiffed. Slathered. Sculpted. Cinched. Lacquered. Spritzed.

I’m trying to exorcise my self-imposed requirement to look ‘pretty’, because I realized my own pretty-pursuit has become a performance for other people. It’s not for me anymore. Perhaps it never was, but I was socially conditioned to believe it was internally motivated.

I’m not ruined because I have decided to focus my attention on other things.

I’m not less of a woman because I prioritize sleep over concealer.

Make-up, perfume, lotions, hair gel, and nail polish do not a woman make.

Beauty routines do not dictate femininity.

I didn’t cease to be a woman because I reduced my 70-minute routine to 20 minutes.

I didn’t cease to be a woman because I became a mom.

I just reduced my participation in the hysterical cosmetics consumption assaulting me every time I open social media.

“Pretty is not the rent you pay to exist in the world as a woman.”