Perfectionism

During a long conversation with a dear friend in Smithers last night, I told her about the oncologist saying I had gained weight and how much this bothered me.  This lead to talking about my need for perfectionism. Hence, my many thoughts on this subject as I lay awake in bed at 6 a.m. this morning.  The result is another poem ...

PERFECTIONISM

Growing up,
a father who accepted
nothing less than perfection.
High standards.
   "Reach, and exceed, this bar, Yvonne."
Daddy's girl ... I needed to please.
Worked, studied, slaved 
   to be perfect,
   to measure up.

I didn't ... so rebellion came!

Then, while a stay-at-home mom,
   more attempts to earn approval.
I'd be the "perfect" cook,
   "perfect" baker,
   "perfect" mom,
   "perfect" wife,
   "perfect" housekeeper ...
to the detriment of my girls' fun and play time.
Accommodate all ... except me!
Justify my existence ... with little satisfaction!
Measure up ... but I didn't!

An over-achiever teacher,
"First one in the door"
   is a badge of honour I wear.
The job is never done
   (well, ALL teachers know this!)
But, I'll do it perfectly ...
   somehow.

My weight is NEVER good enough ...
   work my butt off,
   receive beautiful compliments,
   win competitions.
Never satisfied ... I'm so critical...
                     of me!

Even wanting to be
the appearance of the
PERFECT cancer-fighter!
Smile always on my face ...
   sometimes genuine,
   sometimes painted on.

What fanciful measuring stick
am I using for myself?
Why is being perfect
so ingrained into my psyche?
Who is perfect?
What is perfection?

WHO DECIDES??

When will I ever realize ...

I am good enough
just the way I am?

Yvonne, March 2013