Raising My Own Personal Glass Ceiling

Hi, my name is Brittany and I am a recovering Control Freak.

Recovering perfectionist.
Recovering Type-A do-it-all babe.
Recovering previously-infallible human.

Can I tell you something about releasing some of that? It sucks.

I LIKE being in control. I LIKE doing things right and well the first time. I LIKE having my shit together.

So why am I giving that up? Doesn't everyone want to have their shit together?

They do--I do.

But I'm tired of disappointing myself when I can't do all the things and do them well.

Society- and self-imposed expectations of women are ridiculous even if you've got the wife-husband-2.5 kids-dog-white picket fence thing going on: work hard; shatter the glass ceiling; go to the gym five times a week; cook healthy meals from scratch on the regular; spend enough quality time with your kids so their therapy bills won't be too expensive when they're older; spend enough quality time with your husband so you don't hate each other--be more, achieve more, earn more, do more.

This. Is. Ridiculous. It's unfair, unattainable,and it's frustrating as hell.

We are forced to lower our glass ceilings from the sheer weight of it all--and in effect we suffocate under them.

Life as a single mom has forced me to shift my perspective. I tried to maintain the same level of productivity and perfectionism I carried when I was living in a two-adult household. I still wanted to do all the things I knew I was expected to do and I wanted to be DAMN good at them. Everyone would admire my strength and my ability to have it all, even though I had lost everything.

 I'll tell you what actually happened:

Doing all the things would often result in none of the things being done, because the level of self-induced stress I found myself under would render me effectively useless. The bottom would nearly always fall out, and everything would always be a mess. There was no room for personal growth and fulfillment because I was turning myself into a martyr.

Fact: I suck at juggling. I spent too much time chasing the balls I dropped as they rolled away

But healing from a destructive marriage has brought a lot of gifts. Mostly in the form of self-compassion and a whole lot of grace--and it's still very much a work in progress. To be forced to sit down, identify what my true priorities were (mine and my kiddo's health, wellness, and happiness), and cut out the thoughts and activities that didn't jive with those priorities gave me such a sense of lightness. It felt a lot like freedom.

It gave me room to move. And to stretch. My ceiling has been raised.

Some days I struggle with not feeling "enough" by some imagined societal standard and definition. It's the sneaky ex-perfectionist rearing its ugly head. It makes me feel small.

I've learned that I cannot control everything. It's impossible.

I can, however, control how I choose to react--and that goes for how I react to my own feelings of woeful inadequacy.

I am kind to myself.
I remind myself that my best is good enough.
My daughter will have a mother who is happy, unburdened, and flexible.

And on the days when all of the shit is not together? We try again tomorrow.