It was the first time I said anything but positive things about the way I was raised. I remember being surprised that so many people responded with compassion and encouragement, I had been bracing myself for people to tell me I was being ungrateful and exaggerating, as had been my experience when I had questioned anything in the past. It was shortly after this that I spoke to my parents about what had been harmful to me in childhood, in the hopes that things would be different for my siblings. Realizing that I did not have to pretend I was perfect, and that I could possibly be good enough, was a huge breakthrough moment for me.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n I never smoke Sometimes I worked so much around the home<\/a> during the day, I had a hard time keeping up with my own schoolwork.<\/a><\/p>\n I wasn\u2019t the perfect teen. I was depressed for several years. I didn\u2019t always have the best attitude, I tended to procrastinate. I loved to read, and I often got distracted by a great book. I talked back sometimes.<\/p>\n But I tried. I loved my family.\u00a0I wanted to please my parents. I wanted to be a sincere christian. I wanted to be a good big sister.<\/p>\n It was never good enough.<\/p>\n The rooms I cleaned were rarely up to par. My clothing choices were too revealing. There were always diapers that I hadn\u2019t changed.\u00a0My parents\u00a0were \u201cdisappointed that my standards were so low\u201d when I wanted to subscribe to a christian girls magazine. My creative attempts at writing were labeled disrespectful because my characters had\u00a0faults. The<\/span>\u00a0dinner I had made\u00a0would be\u00a0on the table too late in the evening. I was always behind in my schoolwork and it was my laziness that\u00a0was holding me back. I was fat. Next to my tiny mother and sisters I felt desperate to be smaller and I often felt disgusted with myself whenever I ate, knowing that I was going to gain weight. Whenever I disagreed, I was \u201cdisrespectful\u201d. I was often told that I would be allowed to do other things I wanted to do, but only if I achieved perfection in what I was already responsible for.\u00a0 I was often told that \u201cthe root of all my problems was love of self\u201d.<\/p>\n I found myself wanting to do something truly bad to illustrate what a \u201cdisobedient\u201d kid actually looked like. I contemplated killing myself, I even planned how I could do it.\u00a0At least the blight in the family would be removed.<\/p>\n I remember telling my Dad that I just wanted to be encouraged, to have what I was already doing recognized. And he responded,\u00a0\u201cIn the real world, you don\u2019t get praised for doing the bare minimum\u201d.<\/em><\/p>\n So I tried to do more. Over and over again, I would start over. I would write in my journal that \u201cfrom now on\u201d I would be perfect. I would keep up with everything, I would serve without ever complaining, I would read chapters upon chapters of my bible every day, I would\u00a0have more self-control and eat less.\u00a0I\u00a0would\u00a0obey my parents without question every time. When I told my parents about these \u201cresolutions\u201d they told me how happy they were that I was starting to mature, the high hopes they had for the woman that I would become someday, and that it sounded as though I was finally nearing a breakthrough in my faith walk since up until now I \u201chad been a christian, just not a good one.\u201d<\/p>\n But in the end, it never lasted. Nothing made a difference.<\/p>\n It was\u00a0never good enough.<\/p>\n It is so frustrating when regardless of how much you do, or how hard you try, it is never good enough. It\u2019s even worse when you keep telling yourself that you aren\u2019t good enough. Because that\u2019s what I did. Even when I was married, with my own family, living in my own home, I still wasn\u2019t good enough. Now with the addition of each child came more and more days where I truly could only accomplish \u201cthe bare minimum\u201d. Which meant turning on cartoons for my toddlers while I lay on the couch pregnant with my 3rd and tried not to puke again. No dinner, no laundry, no fun projects with the kids, no getting out of the house. I felt like a horrible wife and mother.<\/p>\n But even on good days, I felt like no matter how many special efforts I made, there was so much more I could have done. No matter how much I cleaned in my house, I could have done more or I could have kept up with it better in the first place. I couldn\u2019t allow myself to feel happy over a nicely cooked casserole, because I could have made biscuits and salad to go with it. I couldn\u2019t feel like an adequate parent, because I always could have done better. I felt like I could never spend enough time with my kids, never affirm them enough, never teach them every thing I was supposed to. I couldn\u2019t feel beautiful and sexy, because I knew that if I worked\u00a0out more\u00a0I could be a little thinner.<\/p>\n I often felt doomed from the start.\u00a0What was the point of trying?<\/em><\/p>\n My husband told me over and over that I was enough. I wanted to believe him, but it couldn\u2019t possibly be true. I knew I was failing everyone and he was just trying to be nice. For the first few years of our marriage I used to ask him if he wanted to have sex with me because he was attracted to me, or just because I was the only one he was morally allowed to have sex with and he was an honorable man.<\/p>\n My parents loved me. They still love me. But they let perfectionism undermine their parenting. And I believed\u00a0the lie<\/a>. The lie that says it could always be better. The lie that says it is never good enough. The lie that says that if we just worked harder, sacrificed more, and stretched ourselves a little thinner, nothing would ever go wrong again.<\/p>\n![\"William-Adolphe-Bouguereau-painting-27\"](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/246\/2014\/10\/William-Adolphe-Bouguereau-painting-27-178x300.jpg\")
<\/a>d, I never drank, I never did drugs. I never went out alone. I didn\u2019t hang out with bad friends, actually I had no friends to hang out with. I wore dresses only. I did not flirt. I never had sex. In fact, my husband was the first man I ever held hands with, much less kissed. I was at home most of the time. I helped dress younger siblings, I changed diapers, I cleaned, I helped siblings with home school. I cooked most of the dinners for my family.<\/p>\n![\"images\"](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/246\/2014\/10\/images.jpg\")
<\/a>And now? I\u2019m done. I\u2019ve stopped trying to be perfect. I\u2019m stopping myself every time I start to think that it could be better \u201cif\u201d. This process started when I was 18 and I purged my closet of all the size 6-8\u2019s that I was hoping to fit my size\u00a0ten body \u00a0into again. I remember feeling so free when I let that goal go, when I started eating what I what I needed to live instead of counting calories and feeling guilty for every bite I put in my mouth. It\u2019s taken longer for some of the other area\u2019s in my life. I still have a hard time ever feeling good about my housekeeping skills. Believing in\u00a0my skills as a parent<\/a>\u00a0has been a journey. Believing my husband when he said he loved me took awhile. I still\u00a0struggle to see myself as beautiful<\/a>, but I\u2019m working on it.<\/p>\n