confession

I had a few Type-A characteristics for almost ever a while.  I needed everything to be perfect, from the cupcakes that I brought in for the kindergarten Christmas party to the perfect, neat clothing and hair that my kids had to have when they left the house.  And the house, I had to have my house look just right - messes and chaos made me a little crazy inside, so when the kids went to bed, I had to thoroughly clean any mess in the house, you know, like toys and things that kids tend to spread all over the place during the space of a day.  I made sure everything was picked up just right for when my husband got home.  I vacuumed.  Every night.  That actually sounds a little OCD now that I think of it.   I don't think I was OCD.  I mean, I didn't flip out if things weren't perfect, but I just didn't want to be imperfect.  I didn't want it to ever look like I didn't have it all together.

So you know, that's a lot of pressure.  Feeling the need to be perfect, and have everything around me just so is just exhausting.  I remember right after I had Brooke, one of my sisters did something really nice for me.  I had been feeling overwhelmed - fourth kid, hurting and recovering from an unplanned c-section, just wiped out in general.  And I had these stupid swollen feet that were so painful and wouldn't go away.  Things were not perfect.  And there were a lot of dust balls on my stairs.  I never would have had dust balls.  And certainly never if anyone was coming over.  But she saw them so she tracked down a rag and cleaned them for me.

Well, most people would just appreciate that.  Most people would feel all grateful and thankful.  And though I was so grateful and thankful and appreciative, I was also inwardly horrified that someone (even my sister) came to my house and felt the need to clean something that I couldn't or didn't do.  My house was my job.  Brand new baby, swollen feet and hurt belly shouldn't matter.  The fact that someone might think that I didn't have it all together, that I needed help with something that I should have had done was like, awful to me.  I hate/d asking for help.                                                                                                                                              

It takes a lot for me to ask for help from anyone.  Even my husband.  Like, it's hard for me to drag the big ladder out to change light bulbs, so sometimes I'll begrudgingly ask him to do it.  It's hard, but not because I can't do it, only because I have a really bad back, and it hurts me.  Like, physically.  Bad.  He'd scrub the tub for me because that was one thing that would have me in pain for an entire day/night, and I hated it. I mean, I love that he would help me because he didn't want me to be hurting, but I hated feeling like I needed to depend on someone for something.

I hatehatehate feeling like I need someone.  Want and need are different.  Love and need are different.  Like and need are different.  Because need means that I can't do it myself.  It would take so much for me to utter the words "I need you," in any way.  

Yow.  What a vulnerable feeling.  I have a massive aversion to being vulnerable.

I am way less Type-A these days.  I believe that I am semi-reformed.  I'll get into the whys and hows some other time, but I am happy to say that I have let go a bit of the need to be perfect, to have everything around me just so.  I hardly even make my kids wear matching outfits for holidays! And I hired a cleaning lady, and she scrubs the tubs and changes the light bulbs!  It feels much better this way.  Really.  I definitely like a pretty presentable house, but I feel way less pressure to have it super presentable all day, every day.  

It's kind of nice to have the weight of the pressure that I put on myself off of my shoulders.