Tuesday, March 16, 2010
I'm such a perfectionist. I'm not even kidding. Last Saturday I spent 6 hours weeding a small patch of our yard because it had to be perfect. I couldn't leave a single weed behind. When Brock soon realized that it would take way over a week's worth of work for me to be satisfied with the yard, he forced me to quit and called a gardener. And I still protested and continued to weed. And I HATE weeding. Can you see my problem here?
I'm a perfectionist. I feel beyond dumb when I make stupid little mistakes.
With the stress of finding renters for our home, balancing work/church/friends/family and trying to keep all things in perfect order I had a serious melt down. I was so stressed out and felt like such a failure because things were not perfect. Just writing it out makes me chuckle.Why do I put myself through it is beyond me.
The other night I was telling Brock my failures and he quickly corrected me and reminded me that I wasn't a failure. He pointed out that in the last couple of months I have overcome many fears that I have had in the past. I've learned how to sew, drive on the insane Seattle interstate, traveled to Europe without him and began to really enjoy and love Relief Society.
He made me feel like a million bucks. Being the perfectionist that I am, I know that I married the perfect person for me. He is pretty freakin' rad. And makes bread every morning. I'm so lucky.