Making Ourselves Miserable Chasing Perfect.
I spent the last few weeks making myself miserable.
Not because my life was falling apart. Not because my marriage was in trouble. Not because work was impossible. (even though it feels like it sometimes).
I was making myself miserable because every single night, I’d sit on my couch telling myself I wanted to write. I had things to say. Things I wanted to share.
And then I didn’t.
Work has been absolutely insane lately. And let’s be honest, I am a workaholic by nature, so I’m still trying to figure out that whole work-life balance thing at 53 years old.
Thing is, life just keeps happening. Peaks and valleys. Sometimes things slow down, and other times it feels like you’re just trying to keep your head above water.
Lately, I’ve definitely been doggy-paddling….
By the time I close my laptop each night, I have absolutely nothing left in the tank. My evenings have been the same routine: collapse onto the couch next to my husband, turn on Friday Night Lights (for the third time), and mindlessly play my ridiculous game, Royal Match.
It’s completely mind-numbing. And honestly? Sometimes that’s exactly what my exhausted brain needs.
But while I was matching little colorful blocks on my phone, another voice kept getting louder.
“You should be writing.”
Because writing isn’t just something I do. It’s where I make sense of life. It’s how I clear my head. It’s the thing that breathes life back into my soul.
But instead of putting my phone down and opening my laptop, I’d tell myself the same story.
“I’ll write tomorrow when I have more time.”
“I need it to be really good to post.”
“I’ll do it when I can make it perfect.”
Tomorrow became next week. Next week became a month. Eventually, it wasn’t guilt anymore. It was shame. Because I wasn’t becoming the person I keep telling myself I want to be.
I wasn’t writing. The thing I love doing most in this world.
And then it hit me. I was the one making myself miserable.
Not work. Not my schedule. Not my responsibilities. Me.
Because I was waiting for perfect.
The funny thing is, perfectionism has incredible PR. It disguises itself as having “high standards.” It tells us we’re just waiting until the timing is right.
Until we have more energy.
More money.
More confidence.
More certainty.
But perfectionism isn’t protecting our dreams. It’s quietly stealing them.
This morning, I read my weekly astrology forecast (yes…I am absolutely that person, and if you know me, you’re probably smiling right now).
It talked about how the current planetary patterns mirror late 2014 and 2015 and the decisions we made shaped everything that came for the next 12 months. It said to think back to late 2014 and the seed we planted and what it grew into by the end of 2015.
It probably sounds ridiculous to some and whether you believe in astrology or not doesn’t really matter.
What mattered was where it took my mind. Back to that time.
I was 42 years old. In November 2104, my husband started to seriously consider leaving New York. We started to make a plan. My son Cameron was born on December 3, 2014.
In January 2015, we visited Tampa to “look around”. And by March, I had packed up my entire life, left New York—the only home I’d ever known and moved my family to Florida with absolutely no safety net.
People thought we were crazy. Maybe we were.
It was terrifying. Messy. Uncertain. Nothing about it was perfect.
But it changed my life.
Not because I had all the answers. Because I was willing to jump before I felt ready.
Somewhere along the way, I forgot that version of myself.
The woman who trusted her gut. The woman who didn’t wait for permission. The woman who understood that sometimes you build the parachute after you jump.
Writing full time is my dream.
Not because I need to become some famous author. Not because I need thousands of followers. Because I want to write and share stories of truth that resonate. Stories that make people feel less alone. Stories that inspire people to be more than they are. Things that so many are afraid to say out loud. Stories that show how amazingly crappy life can be while still keeping hope about the future. Real stories. Stories that make people believe “I can.”
And a year from now, I refuse to look back and realize I spent 365 days sitting on the sidelines, playing games on my phone, waiting for the “perfect” blog to post.
How many things do we put on hold while we’re waiting for perfect?
We wait for the perfect time to have a baby.
We stay in relationships that have been over for years because we’re waiting for the perfect moment to leave.
We wait until our bank account is bigger before chasing a dream.
We wait until we lose ten pounds.
Until the kids are older.
Until work settles down.
Until we’re less scared.
Until someone tells us we’re good enough.
And while we’re waiting… Life keeps moving.
Perfection is a moving target. You never actually catch it.
So, I need to stop waiting for my words to be perfect.
My blogs might have typos. Some might be shorter than others. Sometimes they’ll probably ramble. Sometimes, people will hate them.
But honestly- who gives a shit?
People aren’t looking for perfect anymore. We’re drowning in polished.
What we’re starving for is real.
Real marriages. Real motherhood. Real menopause. Real mental health. Real women trying to figure it all out one day at a time.
That’s what M Word Diaries has always been about. And that’s exactly what I want it to keep being.
Friday Night Lights has a line that I’ve heard dozens of times now, but somehow it landed differently this week.
“Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.”
Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing.
Clear eyes. A full heart. And the courage to stop waiting for perfect and believe I won’t lose.
What part of your life have you been putting on hold while you wait for perfect?
Maybe today is the day we stop making ourselves miserable chasing perfection.
Maybe today is the day we just begin.
Until next time…Be kind to yourself.
And remember, progress beats perfection. Every. Single. Time.