Making It Personal
Allow your teen to see how you strive to grow so they can understand how to confront their own limitations and pursue character and faith.
LESS THAN PERFECT
By Sarah Anderson
I am not a perfectionist. One look in my closet, will tell you this is true. My husband isn’t either—except when it comes to cooking. He is a perfectionist with his food. I lucked out on this one. But for me, I am not sure there is something that I do that would categorize me as a perfectionist. At least this is what I thought until I had my son. Once he catapulted into my world, my perfectionist tendencies rose to the surface. It turns out I have some of it in me. And it shows itself in the way I parent.
I want to be perfect. Can you relate? I want to be the best mom—not just the best mom for Asher, but the best mom ever. I want to parent in a way that everyone around watches in wonder. I want the impossible dream—for Asher and for myself. And I want it because somewhere along the way I started to believe that perfection was what Asher needed from me. I started to think that if I only gave it all I had, if I only went above and beyond, if I only exceeded every expectation ever placed on me and every hope, voiced or not, then, I would be a success.
Maybe this story is something like your own. Maybe the day your little bundle of joy was placed in your arms you suddenly had the impression that you had to muster up every ounce of effort you could to be all this baby hoped you could be. And maybe you have spent every day since trying to live up to the expectations which you, and you think your child, have put on yourself. And I have to wonder, since I am still so early on in the journey myself, and you are a bit further along, how is it working for you? Because, in all honesty, it isn’t working out that well for me.
Perfection is hard. Perfection is exhausting. Perfection is a siren song that lures the most reasonable of people into the belief that it is attainable. But, I don’t think I am stepping out on a limb here when I confess, it hasn’t exactly gone as I planned. I am not a perfect parent. In fact, I am far from it—embarrassingly far from it. And I am afraid any near confession of this is an admittance of failure—failure in a role that is “supposed” to come so easily, so naturally, so effortlessly—a role that more times than I like to admit, is simply none of those things—not easy, not natural, and not effortless.
And on the nights when I am hardest on myself, I lay my head on my pillow and think Asher just may be ruined forever. Until I remember . . . five months after my son was born, my mom came to visit. And while visiting, in a conversation I don’t remember starting, and I can’t recall ending, my mom said this to me: “If I had the chance to do it all over again, if I had the chance to parent all over again, I would, and I would do it differently this time.” It was a confession—transparent and raw in its honesty. And in that one line, I can remember feeling a release from the pressure and the burden perfection can put on us as parents.
See, I knew (as our children know of us) that my parents were not perfect. And I also knew that to demand perfection from them, even if it was something I subconsciously did, was not what I really needed or craved from them. Perfection is neither what I required or desired as a kid. What I wanted, what I yearned for, I got in the confession from my mom, after I myself had passed through the one-way only doors of parenthood. What I longed for I got in a succinct and truthful line that told me that my mom knew she hadn’t done it perfectly. But she did what she could. And this rare glimpse into her heart told me all I needed to know. My mom and I, my mom and her daughter, are not all that different. We are human. We are broken. We are fumbling through life the best we know how, and it is in our sameness that we find what we need. Honesty. Transparency. Vulnerability. And as a result the bond between us is stronger than ever before.
And so the moral of the story is maybe not exactly what we thought. The moral is our kids may need less perfection from us and more honesty. They need less of a guise appearing to have it all together and more candor, more sincerity—anything that communicates to them we may have more things in common with one another than not. And this is a beautiful thing to have between parent and child—a shared experience, a shared openness, a shared understanding that we don’t have it all together, as much as we would like to think we do.
I understood, in hearing my mom’s confession, that what kids may need from their parents is not very complicated. It will cost us something—our pride, our image of faultlessness. But here is the thing—I think it is a worthy penance for what we get in return. I am willing to give up the quest for perfection, because the journey towards humility and transparency offers more to my son than excellence ever could. SO from now on, instead of being “a wonder parent,” I think I will work more on being an available parent. A sincere parent. A candid parent. It means I will say I am sorry. It means I will admit my faults. It means I will confess when I get it wrong and request grace when I need it.
Some day, decades from now, when Asher himself becomes a parent, I know there will be moments I will look back on and wish I had done differently. I know there will be regrets. And that’s okay. The point is to confess the regrets when they come up. Admit them. Own them. Allow my imperfection to be seen through them. And hope that my honesty in those moments will build and strengthen the bond between my son and me.
© 2011 Orange. All rights reserved.
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ANNOUNCEMENTS -
PARENT NIGHT @ REVOLUTION ONE80
Next week February 24 - All parents are invited to join us for the whole Revolution ONE80 service from 6:30-8:30 p.m as we conclude our Picture Perfect series.
NO REVOLUTION ONE80 - March 3
The CLC staff will be at a leadership conference this week so we will not have group.
GLEANINGS FOR THE HUNGRY - July 3-8
Sign up by March 15
Cost - $120
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