Tuesday, January 27, 2015

I'm Supposed To Be...All Over Myself...

I'm supposed to be writing.
I'm supposed to be cleaning the house.
I'm supposed to be working out.
I'm supposed to be doing a million little things that don't really matter in the end.
Will the world come to an end if the laundry isn't folded perfectly?
Will the people who love me really think I have suddenly turned into a terrible person if I don't vacuum or dust this place every single day?
Will the world stop turning if I am not perfect? If I don't even attempt perfection anymore?
Because you know, it really is exhausting trying to be Martha-freaking-Stewart all the time.
I tried. I really did. For a long time. I worried about how the pillows looked on the sofa and on the bed. I flipped out if the curtains weren't opened the "right" way. I tried to control every single aspect of my life, because when you feel like you have no control over anything else, you turn to the things you can control.
The problem is when you stop controlling just things and try to control people. People don't like to be controlled. They usually rebel and for some strange reason, won't do what you think they should do. Funny, huh?
Not really.
I wasn't like this a few years ago. Things started getting crazy around here with the birth of the twins. That was nearly 11 years ago. And even in their first few years, things were busy, but not out of control. But in the last few years? In the last few years, my world has gone batshit crazy. And I felt like I had no control at all. So it became easier to focus on the things that could be controlled. Like pillows. Pillows don't talk back when you tell them to stay. Pillows don't throw temper tantrums that destroy walls and rearrange rooms. Pillows don't tell you they hate you, that you're a terrible mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter (insert whatever description fits). Pillows don't make you feel like you're a screw-up beyond all screw-ups.
Until you walk back into the living room and find that somehow the little buggers have ended up on the floor again, and then you stand there and yell at them, "Why the hell can't you just do what you're told?"
And for some reason, the pillows don't answer.
And then you know you've gone off the deep end.

That was the day last summer when I decided that I needed to make a few changes. I didn't tell anyone, not even my husband, that I had made a few important decisions. Like not caring anymore if the house doesn't look absolutely perfect. (I've adopted a friend's saying, "Excuse the mess, we live here.")
I've stopped trying to control every little thing and everyone. I have come to realize that my life is nearly (probably) half over and I'll be damned if I'm going to waste any more time on the pursuit of an ideal that has nothing to do with who I actually am...I am messy and complicated and beautiful...perfectly folded jeans or not...
And the pillows?
Well, they can throw themselves wherever the hell they want...