Perfection

Hi, Readers!

It has been a minute since I last penned a blog. Or, about two years.

I've been wanting to write, but kept waiting until the perfect moment. When things were right and I was healed and everything went back to what I once knew as normal.

The postpartum period did not go as anticipated. I knew it would be rough, but you cannot really anticipate what you don't know.

Labor was hard, long, and traumatic. It set off a cascade of events in which were out of my control. And I got sick. And then sicker. Diagnosis after diagnosis and treatment for this, that, and the other. It is hard to write, when you are in the weeds and just trying to muster up the strength to slap a smile on your face to get through the day.

So I waited for my normal to return. And then it didn't come. It may not come. When multiple autoimmune disease surface and show themselves after calmly brewing under the surface; it isn't a quick fix.

I tried and tried to make a comeback, to be what I once was. The sails were adjusted, I shifted, and shifted, and shifted more. Nothing worked. And then it became apparent something was very wrong. The anger set it and I sat with it. Looked at it. How could I do everything right, and have it go so wrong?

Anger is a tricky thing. You cannot ignore it. For a while I pretended it wasn't there, shoved it to the back of my mental closet and locked the door. Until I couldn't anymore. And once I admitted it it allowed for grief to set it and wash over. I bathed in it. To have my world rocked, was nothing new. My life seems to be defined by hardship and trials. Things I never asked for often have a way of seeking me out at times I least expect them to.

There is a lot of work that goes into pretending things are fine when you're in the midst of a mess. So I let go. And I decided something. To shift my focus off of perfect. Away from my normal and the possibility of bouncing back. I embraced the yuck and the pain. Leaned into it. Rolled around in the mud with pain, with anger.

Once I allowed myself to grieve, to give myself permission to be upset, a weight was lifted. It was then that I knew that what once, may never return. And that it was okay that I am not well. I let go of all of my expectations and what I thought I wanted for my life. In the midst of my mess, I started telling my story. And backed away slowly, but surely from those that do not and cannot understand what I am dealing with. For there are so many other beautiful souls struggling that welcomed me into their tribe with open arms.

To accept to wait and sit with grief was the kindest thing I could have ever done for myself. Patience is kindness. I am not healed or okay. I am not waiting for that perfect day to come.  I'm holding on and shifting my focus to the long game. For the imperfect. To doing life however I need to. To boldly live imperfectly and with pain most days that would bring the strongest person to their knees. And on those days, I have learned to pause. To be grateful.

This has been a beautiful nightmare. Chronic illness is such a gift. There is so much to be learned here. The level of empathy I have in all areas of my life is limitless. To fall, has been a blessing in disguise. I have slowed down. I'm present. I'm doing the hard work to start to heal. Superficial things are non-issues. My faith, my family, my health are what matters. Everything else is now just white noise.

It has been such a process to get here. To accept my anger and let go of what I thought I set up for myself. I did everything right. It went terribly wrong. I grieved over things I thought would be and let go of all of it.

Telling my story is freeing. It is also very hard to be vulnerable. Others judge what they don't know and force their own beliefs on you. But this isn't about them. My journey has been handed to me for reasons I am still learning. And I have been making a conscious effort to slow down, embrace my body, accept that I am not in charge. I am both not in charge and also taking ultimate responsibility for my health and attitude as I continue to adjust to living with chronic illness. I have decided to not wait until things are perfect. To live with flair, while being in the midst of a flare.

Waiting for a perfect is very unfair. What if I was perfect? What if flaws and all, I still am perfect? The universe is showing me what I need to learn. It is not my choice how I'm being shown these lesson's, but they are lesson's nonetheless. My focus has shifted, the act has been dropped. I've gotten out of my own way and have cried all of the tears. Mourning who I was, loving who I am, and looking forward to finding who I will become.

While unanticipated, motherhood and chronic illness has broken me open. Here I am, perfectly imperfect. And it is okay. Perfection looks different to me now.