Imagination and Reality

It has been almost 5 months since my dad was taken from us by the hands of the super bitch, Cancer. I don't think anyone would argue with us that his death was awful and unnecessary (though people still say stupid shit like, it is so much easier for you that he died after only 5 weeks - add that to the list of things you should never say to someone who is grieving). Despite that, and time having continued to pass, we are still grieving.

This week I am house and dog sitting for my mom so she can take a much needed trip to Connecticut to see her best friend. However, this isn't my usual stint in house and dog sitting because I am in her new house. A house that she moved into a month or so ago. A house that is filled with all of her belongings. A house that feels a little bit like her home. A house that her dogs run and bark around.

And yet, something is off. I don't feel him here.

I look around this home and I see his caribou, an ever present fixture. I look around this home and I see our family pictures. I look around this home and see his chair where he often was found on a cold winter's evening. I look around this house and I see his collection of native american artifacts that he acquired on his trips to the southwest.

But I don't feel him.

I think that is the benefit and downfall of moving after a death. My mom needed to move. It was too hard for her, and really all of us, to be at the old house. We could see him everywhere and his belongings were still scattered around the house. It was his space and his house and his dream. This is a two edged sword though. It is too painful to see him everywhere we looked at the old house, but it is too painful to not see him everywhere we look at the new house.

It almost feels like we are all just playing pretend. We are living an imaginary scenario and pretending that everything is okay and pretending that he will be home soon. The reality is, obviously, the extreme opposite of that. I don't think that any of us are still in denial over his death ... but we pretend to be. It is easier that way. 

I Am Not Perfect

I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I say things I shouldn't say. I eat things I shouldn't eat. I do things I shouldn't do. I enable people I shouldn't enable.

Sometimes I want to punch someone in the face. Sometimes I want to yell at the top of my lungs when things don't work out the way I want them to. Sometimes I want to stay in bed and pull the covers over my eyes.

I am not perfect.

I know I am not perfect and I know that that is okay. I know that there is no such thing as perfect. So why is it that I feel the need to BE perfect?

This is true in many facets of my life. I want to be the perfect teacher, employee, sister, friend, fiance, partner, daughter. I want to have perfect hair, make up, clothing, weight. I want to be the happiest, nicest, most optimistic person possible. I want to be liked by everyone. But striving for perfection only leads to defeat and deflation.

The majority of this pressure comes from myself. I put a lot of pressure on myself to be perfect and I tie that to a scale (both literal and figurative) that has high expectations that can be hard to balance with real life. And it is exhausting. It is exhausting trying to stay within the two pound range that is your "live with it weight". It is exhausting trying to please everyone. It is exhausting to continue saying yes, yes, yes in hopes of high approval rating when you really want to say no. It is exhausting to be the people pleaser who only wants to please others even if, internally, you are sinking because you just want to do something for yourself.

I do not believe that this is something that I, alone, struggle with. I think a lot of people experience the pressure to be perfect every single day. It can be overwhelming. In fact, it IS overwhelming.

Maybe we just need to be a little nicer to ourselves and understand that perfect is impossible.  The adage of "you are perfect just the way you are" is one we all need to focus on a little more.