A few weeks ago I had a chance to fulfill a one-day-someday-type dream I had. I took a ceramics course. As I ran clay in between my fingers, an occasional thought visited me. How unrepeatable this hand-made object is. How love, care, and sensitivity I put into this transforms it into something so unique, pure, and genuine. And the more imperfections this object has, the more value it has - something no other store-bought cup could show – personality and authenticity.
Brene Brown's book titled “Gifts of Imperfection” describes perfectly the object I have in my hand. And vice versa. I learned a while ago that perfection is nothing but fear in a shiny outfit. Since then I made a huge effort to examine my beliefs and let the old ones go.
Holding this cup in my hand, I reflect on my growth.
My parents were never too strict with me or punish me for my mistakes. They didn’t have to be. I did it myself. I was telling myself what a lazy, fat, ugly, and stupid girl I was. Every time I made a mistake, I became so angry at myself. Why do you never learn? How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you plan ahead? Why do you have to cry like a little girl? Why can’t you control your appetite? You look like a cow. Why are you so afraid? Just push harder. Why did you give up? Maybe the World would be a better place without you. And so on. And so on…..
I was talking to myself like I wish nobody talked to their worst enemy. I was being mean.
Many years later my therapist asked me, where does this self-punishment come from? Did I grow up in a catholic church? The fact is that I did grow up in a church and the topic of sin and the faultiness of humankind had its central place. As a young girl, I took this message so seriously, that it shaped my whole inner dialogue. To be fair, the society outside the religious community didn’t provide any other evidence. In the movies and songs, the self-hating protagonists were pictured as pure and self-loving ones as corrupted. And of course, there was also a message of love and forgiveness out there, but since my brain as the brain of millions of others is wired to catch the negativity, I was stuck with all the shame and self-hatred. It took me so many years to see it all differently.
A few weeks ago I turned 30. I like a 30-year-old version of me. I am perfectly imperfect. Finally.
I learn to talk to myself using a whole other tone, words, and intention. As a 30-year-old woman, I am learning to be kind to myself. To say well done and pat me on my shoulder. To look in the mirror and see something unique and beautiful.
I am highly sensitive. Some may name as too sensitive. I tend to cry in stressful situations. It also means that I cry at work if an argument gets too intense. It’s far from ideal. I learn to manage my emotions, it’s a work in progress and sometimes I fail. But my sensitivity also helps me to connect well with people, understand the complexity behind the processes, and find new ways to do things better. A month ago I run out of the meeting room my eyes filled with tears. Afterward, I was tender and understanding with myself, giving myself space. A few weeks later after a similarly intense meeting I went for a long lunch and treated myself to some tulips. I told myself “ Well done, dear! This meeting was tough, but you did well! "And then I patted myself on my shoulder.
I decided to move to a country with a language that Mark Twain called awful because of its complexity. It is very unpleasant to know I can’t express myself fully in a language, I am still learning. I know I make mistakes, a lot. I can’t get the articles right, the endings kill me and it’s frustrating to check the vocabulary before sending every single e-mail. But it also puts me in a situation where I have to listen more carefully, catching details that otherwise would go unnoticed. I continuously learn something new, every day a new word or an expression. And I am so damn proud of my beautiful brain.
I am becoming friends with my body, I learned to hate as a teenager. Taking care of it, doing yoga and pilates, eating what feels good, and enjoying hot baths on a weekly basis. I recently started dancing again. Every time I look in the mirror, I try to focus on the beauty of the movement, not on the extra centimeters of padding made of my favorite carrot cake and squared shape chocolate. It doesn’t come naturally. But I learn. One imperfection at a time.
I have bad days, bad weeks, and sometimes bad years. I cry, I forget things, I make mistakes, I hurt people, I spend too much money or save too little, and I let myself indulge in eating chocolate and cake maybe a bit too often. But as 30- years old I have more grace on myself. I do not punish myself anymore. I am kind, gentle, and loving to myself. I accept my flaws and treasure them. Moreover, I applaud, when I do well and then treat myself to a piece of cake. And sometimes buy me flowers.
Perfectly imperfect. Hurray!
