You know what’s really hard to do when you are a Type A personality?

Not be a Type A personality.

As I mentioned in my last post I am on a journey of letting go of some perfectionist leanings.  It is feeling more like having my fingers pried one by one off the edge of a high dive.

It was so exciting climbing up those slippery rungs.  As I neared the top I waited with anticipation for my turn as others dove off creating an invigorating splash.  It looked like so much fun, such a needed change.  And so easy–just hop off and let gravity do the rest.

My experience is feeling more like this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFKUKX9ToNI

(The girl was not hurt, so don’t feel bad if you laughed. I did.)

So I’ve gotten to the top and now I am dangling there by an index finger wondering what to do next.

A few weeks ago when I realized I needed to de-clutter my life I imagined a calmer, relaxed version of me, and how good that would feel. But after I stepped down from my job in January I had a brief period of peaceful calm, and then it switched to neurotic pacing. So I did what I always do after downtime that lasts more than 72 hours: I started filling in the empty spaces.  By June I was once again exhausted, wondering what happened to my new streamlined life.

I was at the pool earlier this week with a fellow mom. Her daughter and Rosalind are a week apart in age. While we paddled around with our little girls she listened as I expressed my angst over the many areas I want to maintain and improve in my life.

She laughed and said, “That’s why we are good for each other.  We need to rub off on one another. You see, I figure I just have one thing to do.  Raise her,” smiling at her blue-eyed babe. “But that can turn into tunnel vision.  You feel like you have to do everything, which has it’s own problems,” she concluded.

Her words, not intended to be accusatory, felt like being hit with a two-by-four of guilt.

The whole reason I left a job I truly loved and was passionate about was because I felt that was the right choice for me to be the mom she deserved. I didn’t like the version of me I was when I was working my dream job.  I was distracted constantly and I didn’t want to be a distracted parent.  You can imagine my disappointment when I found myself still distracted with no job to blame it on.

Why can’t I be a mother who can mentally clear my plate to focus only on parenting like my friend?

The guilt over her statement evaporated into frustration. Because I cannot do what she is describing.  I can be more intentional in my parenting, I can decide to lower some expectations in other areas, but I cannot be the mom I thought I was going to be. I thought I was going to be a mom that looked like my friend.

I believed the love I felt for my child would fill the mental void of leaving The HSUS.  I do have peace that I made the right choice for her best interest, but my mind is still restless. Instead of addressing my restlessness, I just stuffed my life with other things to distract me from the truth that maybe I am not any better a mom without the job.

I have been haunted by that idea.  I have had an accusatory voice whispering in my ear that the fact I found settling into parenting more challenging was because I just wasn’t naturally good at it. I defined being “good” as enjoying being home 24/7 and not having the urge to have a vocational outlet. So, not surprisingly I have felt pretty defeated lately when it comes to being a mom.  I know how to excel in the workforce, but at home I feel at a complete loss some days as to what to do next. I have never felt more incompetent than I do now.

My mental picture of motherhood, before I actually became a mother, was me playing a role of a fictional character that looked like me, but that’s where any similarity ended.  I keep trying to force myself into that character with the result of mounting frustration.  I don’t function that way. For months I concluded I just needed to try harder, now I realize I can’t do it because I wasn’t made to function that way.

I don’t mean I wasn’t made to experience peace, and absolutely don’t mean I wasn’t made to be Rosalind’s mom.  What I mean is that I am made to do my life and motherhood in a totally different style than I imagined doing them.

So as I cling the edge I realize now why I am afraid of letting go.  I am afraid of letting go of the identity I wanted to believe about myself, and landing in the real version.  I am afraid because I don’t really know what that looks like in practice.

So as I stood by the pool talking about life and watching my daughter toddle around oblivious to my inner angst at screwing up at her expense, I made a move toward lifting my index off the edge.  I decided it was time to start being okay with Type A.

More on this later.