This year it all started on Friday as I stood in my closet faced with that common 21st Century female dilemma: To wear a regular cami or Spanx under my outfit? *deep sigh* Feeling somewhat defeated already, I shimmied into my Spanx as I had an isomorphic epiphany. (Isomorphism = One of my favorite PSYC 101 words for when a given incident reflects a larger theme in your life.) In my case, here I was (quite literally) trying to squeeze into someone else's mold for who I should be.
And then the first birthday tear fell.
And the second. And, okay, maybe a third fell too before I composed myself and swapped my Spanx for a camisole that allowed me to fully breathe. With the next deep, real breath I took, my mind was awash with this concept of fitting into societal molds. I decided in that moment that this would be the year I stopped shimmying into something that was never meant to fit right in the first place.
In that reflective, pre-birthday moment, I started to laugh at myself as I recounted a comment someone made to me the day before. They referred to me as "Super Mom." Oh, if they could only see me now. Not in my business clothes, coffee in one hand, presentation "clicker" in the other. But the mom who races work deadlines, juggles school emails about cheerleading practices and cafeteria balances, and texts pictures of allergy-safe margarine brands to my son's Pre-K teacher so he can join the class as they make edible birds' nests during science time.
The mom who, yes, had coffee in hand during her work presentation, but who just moments before spilled it down the front of her dress. The mom who, despite the ump-teen trips she makes to the grocery store in a month, NEVER has food in the pantry. The mom who uses her dining room table to sort and store laundry for the week (who has time to hang clothes up, anyways?). The mom who lives for yoga pants and caffeine. The mom who loses her patience during homework time. The mom whose kids are causing the scene at Target (and, um, the restaurant and probably the grocery store too).
I'm not Super Mom. I'm more like Super Grover.
Sure, I don my Super Here Cape... but then I trip over it going out the door. I set out to conquer the world... and crash into a brick wall because instead of looking ahead, I'm glancing sideways at one of the many distractions that cross my path in a given moment. Try as I might, I'm not refined and polished and debonair. I'm clumsy and awkward and I juggle my own insecurities, anxieties, and fears. But one thing is certain... no one will ever say of me, Super Grover, that I do not give things my best effort.
Sometimes my "best" is 100%. More than likely, however, my best is whatever combination of practical effort and resources and time I have available at the moment for that given task. The older I get, the more comfortable I am with not sweating the small details. Instead trying desperately to take life one day at the time, focusing on the bigger picture. I pride myself on my accomplishments as a mother and wife and professional. But, as it became clear to me on Friday (Thanks to Spanx), somewhere in the mix, I stopped taking pride in me. I stopped giving me the same "best effort" that I give everything and everyone else.
As a parent, I work to be a great role model. I want my kids to see that with hard work, dedication, and practice, anything is possible. I don't want them to see perfection, but perseverance. What I'm afraid they don't see, however, is a woman who stops to take care of herself. A woman who is proud (not of what I do, but who I am). In the last year or so, in my work-life balance, I've stopped taking the time to make me the best that I can be.
Thought for today: As this year's birthday (and accompanying tears) have come and gone, my goal for the year is to be a better me. To embrace my Super Grover-ness for all it's worth. Instead of squeezing into Spanx, to eliminate my need for them. To get healthy. To make better life choices. To have me-time, and friend-time, and rest. To truly take care of my mind, body, and soul. To stop trying so desperately to fit myself into a prescriptive mold. Societal expectations and their added stressors make it hard to breathe. And if anything's going to take my breath away this year, it's not going to be an isomorphic pair of Spanx.
Practicing What I Preach: My goal for this year isn't about Spanx or a number on the scale. Moreover, it's about what these things represent. I can't expect myself to be a good mother or wife or professor or (insert role here) if I'm not taking care of me. I'm not shooting for being Supermom. But a healthy, strong, vibrant mom. When we give of ourselves without replenishing our tanks, we constantly run on empty. Over the past year, as my work-life responsibilities grew, I let a healthy lifestyle take a backseat to everything else. And it's left me feeling anything but super. Here's to changing this, to another year, and to the wisdom that comes through reflection.
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