Being Imperfect and Being Enough

Do you ever have weeks where your emotions alternate between angry and grumpy?

I did. Last week. And maybe even (definitely) the week before that. 

I'm not usually an angry person. I don't like being angry. It makes my stomach freak out; it makes my muscles even more tense. It sometimes makes me want to burst into tears. I don't like being angry.

There are times when it's good to be angry. I am glad I get angry when injustice is unveiled. I am glad I get angry when I hear people spew lies that contradict the best truths. Those are times to get angry. 

My week last week (and before) didn't include those types of moments though. Instead I was angry for no real, known reason. 

It drove me nuts. I became grumpier because I didn't understand my anger. I wasn't necessarily angry at anyone else. I was actually angry at myself. 

Then, I had a moment where it started to all make sense. I walked into a room, saw that someone else had finished a task that was mine to finish, looked that person in the face, apologized for not being able to finish it before I ran off to something else, and retreated to cry. 

I "failed." I tried so hard all day long to do everything well, and it didn't work. I ended up playing catch-up all day. I ended up being stressed all day that things wouldn't work out. And at the end of the day, someone else had to pick up my slack. I cried. I "failed."

I knew there was something deeper to this and my grumpy anger. After all, a sink of dishes is not that big of a deal. (Thank you, friend, for graciously doing the dishes and not holding that full sink against me.) 

I didn't know what the deeper thing was though, and I really didn't want to take the time to be honest enough with myself to figure it out. 

But I eventually did. Because I really needed to figure it all out. I discovered:

1. All of my anger was directed toward myself. I was angry with myself. 
2. I was angry because I wasn't living up to my own unrealistic expectation of myself. Kayla three years ago could have done all of those things. She could have met those expectations. She could over-commit all around and produce fantastic results all around.
3. My best now is not going to be close to my best then. This is a different season. This is a season of grief. This is a season of slow healing. The season of slow healing needs more space. I need more space. I need to be allowed to simply exist rather than consistently produce fantastic results (or ordinary results).
4. That's okay. It is okay that my best is not at its peak. This season will end. Healing will come, and I'll move forward in life. And I don't have to over-commit now or then.
5. I don't give myself enough grace. I have known that for years, but I sort of forgot in the midst of all this.
6. There is no reason to not give myself enough grace.

So I'm going to stop the grace-deficiency. I don't need it. We don't need it. 

Shortly after this realization, I met with a woman who invites me to be fully me, embraces my mess, speaks truth into it, and believes that slow healing will come. 

She handed me a Sharpie, and asked me to write on my hand:

I'm imperfect. I'm enough. 

Those four words are bringing relief. They make it a little easier for me to breathe. It's nice to know that they can go together -- that I can be imperfect and still be enough. 

That's good news. Because I am most definitely imperfect. As I slowly recover from a lifelong streak of perfectionism, it's nice to know that I'm enough. That even on messy, awful days, I am still enough. 

That good news tames the grumpy and brings about a little more joy. I need joy. I want to dwell in joy, because joy is a great conduit for healing.

What words do you need to maybe write on your hand, on a post-it note, on your heart?