Essay 111: Errare Humanum Est

“Why am I not good? Why am I not perfect?”, my daughter lamented the other night.

“You ARE good but you’re right, you are not perfect. That’s because nobody’s perfect. Your Daddy is not perfect. I am not perfect…But… You know what I’m perfect at? I’m perfect at making progress. That’s all that’s required. To learn from your mistakes. To continue improving. To keep on keeping on.”

We can never be perfect but we can always become better.

It took me so long to figure that out. Hopefully my daughter will start her own life ahead, invigorated, not defeated by the knowledge that there is no escaping human fallibility.
Mistakes do not equal failure. Mistakes are our stepping stones towards growth.

There are more worthy endeavors than striving for perfection.
Getting better is good enough.

Helpfulness. Truthfulness. Kindness.
These are honorable pursuits.

This journey called life is not so much about going somewhere as it is about becoming someone.

It’s about getting to know yourself and slowly, gradually, but with constancy, chisel out what doesn’t serve you or those around you and polish what deserves to shine brightly.

It’s about feeling confident enough to show up in the world wondering what you can do for it instead of what it can do for you.

My daughter was satisfied with my answer the other night because she knows intuitively that I was telling her the truth. She’s witnessed the changes in me in the past few years, in the past few weeks! She can believe that her limitations don’t have to hold her back because she’s seen me break free of so many of my own.

We don’t have to hide our imperfections, like dirty secrets to be ashamed of. We can shine a light on them, examine them, probe them and tame them.
If we don’t know how, we can ask for help.

I started therapy four weeks ago and it’s been amazing, like stepping out of a grey fog into a clear blue sky.

I’d read a lot of books and listened to a lot of podcasts and yet, three sessions with a pro have literally changed my life, my outlook, my relationships.

People who suffer from an auto immune disease have an over-reactive immune system that perceives healthy cells as a threat and attacks them.
It seems that I was suffering from auto immune motheritis. I had an over-reactive mind that perceived my daughter as a threat: I was interpreting the inane behaviors of a child as acts of defiance, challenges to my authority, and blatant disrespect. On my best days, I viewed her as a challenge, on my worst, an inconvenience.

My perception was warped and wrong.
Most of what she does or doesn’t do has nothing to do with me. She’s just a kid, acting like a kid. She’s just a kid who wants her mommy to like her even when she messes up and she deserves to have it so.

When I finally understood that, I was able to change. I’ve disengaged in the best of ways. No more nagging. No more lectures.

Has my daughter suddenly stopped doing all that was so irritating before? Nope! There are still clothes left on the floor after she uses the bathroom. There is still whining about chores; complaining about (home-)school.

There is also a system we put in place. Stuff to do. Incentives to get it done. Consequences for not. An angry berating mom is no longer part of the process. Something shifted, clicked and the pieces of my life are finally in their rightful places.

I am the calm mom I had always wished to be. I cherish my daughter as the gift she is. Multiple times a day, I stop and stare at my little miracle. I marvel at her cute little face and her sweet little voice. I’m able to hold her and comfort her even when she’s crying because asking her to clean her room is simply not fair!

Instead of blowing a gasket as I used to, I sit back and smile at it all. I’m feeling feelings I haven’t felt in a long time or never at all. Joy. Pride. Peace.

I almost bought her a pink sloth for Valentine’s. A PINK SLOTH! If you knew me, you’d understand that I simply have never been the pink-sloth buying type. I think, that, like the Grinch, “my heart finally grew three sizes and my head is now screwed on just right.”

I no longer react as a hurt little girl.

I act as a grown woman who’s suffered but no longer needs to see the world through the lens of that suffering.

I act as a wife who’s got baggage but no longer needs to check it into the relationship.

I act as a mother who’s made lots of mistakes but has finally found a way to give her daughter a chance at the childhood her mommy missed out on.

I act as an imperfect human who’s perfect at making progress, who’s learning from her mistakes, continues improving and keeps on keeping on…

“Errare humanum est, sed perseverare diabolicum.”
To err is human, to persevere in erring is of the devil.

Seneca

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