I really wish I wasn’t a perfectionist. There have been many times that I have tried to change, many times I’ve had to force myself to walk away from things before it drove me crazy. I am saddened to say however, that every attempt I have made to be happy and accepting of imperfection have failed.
Actually that is not exactly true. In my children, I love their imperfection. I revel in the mistakes they make as they learn and grow up but I cannot give myself the same courtesy. Is it just me?
There are many things about myself that are not perfect, things I cannot hide or cover over and it is these imperfections I think that force me to strive for perfect in every single thing I do. On the good days, I can laugh about by crazy behaviour. On the not so good days, it drives me insane and coupled with my lack of patience just ask my husband I am a joy to be around 😉
Take tonight, I have an idea for a wall hanging for boys. The image in my head is vibrant, detailed but most of all perfect. That means no wrinkles or flaws of any kind. Needless to say this was not what I encountered. The more I fiddled with the fabric, the more wrinkles appeared. I noticed every lump or bump and want to throw it away never to think of it again. Yes other people may do a practice run but I am under the disillusion that I do not need a practice run or a prototype.