When it Doesn't Go As You Imagined

It’s been over a year since I left my job. Leaving was a leap of faith. It was an investment in me and my dreams.

But, it hasn’t been the year I imagined. Far from it.

I had imagined this as the year I got my ish together. I’d find clarity on my career path. I’d establish healthy routines. My writing dreams would take flight, and family and friends would be there for it all.

Instead, I’ve been treading in the deep end of grief, mental health challenges, and heartache.

I struggled; caught in the tug-of-war between what this year was supposed to be and what it actually was. And the more I struggled, thinking “it wasn’t supposed to be this way,” the worse the struggle got.

Therapy has taught me that we can’t “win” the tug-of-war playing in our minds. Instead, we can remove ourselves from it, becoming a by-stander able to move forward. So, I removed myself from the tug-of-war, and as a by-stander, I could see the situation objectively. I recognized that to end the struggle I was caught in, I needed to surrender to the truth of what this year, and my life, actually was.

It hurt. Big time.

But it was the only way forward.

It took months to accept everything that had happened this year. It took months to accept everything I had lost. It took months to find a way to see myself in this new chapter in life. It took months to think about what that meant, and what it would look like, to move forward from here. From this place. Now. Not from where I thought I’d be.

I had to acknowledge, and accept, the loss. The actual losses, and the loss of what I had imagined.

I had to grieve before I could dream again.

I’m not alone in these struggles, and when we are in the depths of despair, finding hope is hard, but necessary. So, this is me sharing hope. Because I’m finding my stride again. The pain and grief is still here, but I am better at carrying the weight. I’ll face mental health challenges my whole life, but now I understand them for what they are, not for what my brain tells me they are. And I’m writing, from a place of heartache, but also from a place of joy. And maybe the best part is that I’m damn proud of what I’ve written and what the stories mean to me. In spite of it all, there has been hope in the writing, and someday, I hope to share that writing with the world. 

Important note: none of what I’m sharing is professional or medical advice. This is only what worked for me. Please seek professional help if you need it. I did, and it’s a normal thing to do. We’re not meant to get through life alone, and there’s always someone out there who can help. <3

1. Accepting What Is*
Whatever has happened can be unfair and still be true. Accepting what actually is was the first step in moving forward. This doesn’t mean approving or agreeing with what happened, but it means we acknowledge and surrender to the truth, instead of fighting it.

2. Acknowledging the Grief*
Grief is a response to loss, and there are many kinds of losses and types of grief. Recognizing what you’re grieving (death, life stages, relationships, pieces of identity, anticipatory grief, etc) can help you understand what you need, and allow yourself to feel the pain. As awful as it is, feeling the pain is part of healing.

3. Giving Grace*
Everyone experiences grief differently. Your unique needs are valid. There’s no “deadline.” There’s no “getting over it.” Try your best to ignore those unhelpful platitudes and focus on what you need. 

4. Deciding on Forward*
The only thing we can control in life is our actions. Moving forward is a conscious decision. It is a choice. When we decide it’s time to move forward, whatever that looks like for us, we are empowered. 

The * On Steps 1-4: Ask For Help
You are never alone. You’re not expected to get through hard things alone. Help has many shapes; family, friends, larger community, licensed professionals, therapy, medication, etc. Every step of the way, in every life stage, getting help is normal. If reaching out to a licensed professional is too hard on your own, ask a trusted friend or family member to assist. There’s no shame in getting help. There’s only life to gain. <3

Another reminder: none of this is professional or medical advice, this is only what worked for me. Please seek professional help if you need it. 

Perfection Pie

This is the pumpkin pie I made for Friendsgiving this year. 

As I was placing the decorative letters, I knew I was in trouble when I got to the “N.” The overlapping “S” on the right pumpkin, and the spacing between the “F” and the left pumpkin nearly drove me to toss the pie in the trash and start over.

When I lifted the soft cutouts to fix the decorations, they were already melting into the hot surface of the pie. The pie skin broke. The cutout ripped and mushed. Each of my attempts to make the pie perfect only broke down the structure of the very thing I wanted to perfect.

As I stressed and fretted and judged myself for my imperfect pie, I had a moment of clarity. And thankfully, I could laugh at the irony of the metaphor this pie was for my struggle with perfectionism.

The more I try to be perfect, and the more I try to make my output perfect (whether it's creative work, professional work, culinary experiments, etc.), the more wear and tear I place on myself and the further from “perfect” I get.

Around the same time as Friendsgiving, I was preparing to go to a writing workshop in early December. My perfectionism was in overdrive. I wanted to impress my mentors and bring pages that were perfect, but recent feedback indicated they needed work. Trouble was, I didn't know how to fix the pages, and the story likely needed a full rewrite.

I panicked.

But I didn't keep my panic to myself. I shared my dilemma with my writer friends; how could I bring pages that were anything but perfect to a workshop where I wanted to impress?

I wasn’t prepared for what they told me.

To paraphrase: Don't rewrite anything. Bring the story as it is because your best is enough. The purpose of the workshop isn’t to have perfect pages. The purpose is to learn from others and revise. Nothing more, nothing less.

My best is enough.

What a concept!

Logically, what my friends were saying about the purpose of the workshop made sense. So, I challenged myself to adopt this mantra, even if I didn't fully believe my “best” was enough. I brought my pages as they were, and after the first two critique sessions (out of four), I decided to give on-the-fly revision a try. Like clockwork, I hated everything I wrote. My pages read like a Frankenstein of all the feedback swirling in my brain. 

I panicked.

I was afraid that if I brought my revision attempt to the third critique session, my mentor and peers would see I wasn't good enough. I was afraid they would think my story premise was great, but I wasn't good enough to write it. As I debated bringing my revision to the group, I thought back to the mantra.

My best is enough.

I did the scary thing and brought the revised pages. And again, as the feedback I received from that session swirled in my head that night, I was convinced my next revision attempt would surely prove to my final critique group that I was a fraud. My revised pages were more Frankensteined than before! I wasn't even sure they were coherent! As before, I debated bringing my revision to the group, and thought back to the mantra.

My best is enough.

But this time, I didn't think about the mantra in relation to my pages. I thought about it in relation to myself. Who did I want the critique group to see? How did I want to show up? I wanted my final critique group to see someone willing to put in the hard work. I wanted them to see someone who wasn't afraid to try a revision, even if it didn't work out. I wanted them to see someone who cared, just like I wanted to show my friends that I cared through my Friendsgiving pumpkin pie. I wanted to show that I’m someone who puts her heart into her stories and characters and every word, even if the words on the page or the pie aren’t perfect.

Because I am enough. I was enough starting from the moment I came screaming into this world. And if I'm enough, then my best is enough, too.

The kicker to all of this is that perfection is limiting. We like to think that if we can achieve perfection, then the world is our oyster. But if we don’t take the risk, or do the thing we want to do until we, or our output, is perfect, then we’ll never actually do the thing we want, or go after the dreams we have. Why? Because perfection doesn’t exist. And if we spend time chasing something that doesn’t exist, what we’re really doing is limiting ourselves from opportunities and growth.

Another culinary adventure - reindeer truffles! None quite turned out the way I imagined, making it a great way to challenge myself to adopt the concept of “my best is enough.”

If I only allowed myself to bring a perfect pie to Friendsgiving, I wouldn’t have brought any pie. If I only allowed myself to bring perfect pages to the workshop, I wouldn’t have brought any pages. I would have missed out on sharing a beloved family recipe with my friends, and I would have missed out on an opportunity to strengthen a story that’s so dear to my heart.

Chasing perfection is limiting (and it doesn’t exist).

I almost ended this post with the results. Did my friends like the pie? Did the final critique group like my revised pages? But I realized my results-oriented mindset and my perfectionism fuel each other. If I ended this post with how things turned out, I would only be feeding the beast I’m looking to soothe.

Instead, I’ll say that my pie and my pages were the best I could do at the time, and that next time, my best will look a little different. Because the beauty is, “my best” will evolve. It will improve. From each opportunity “my best” gets, it will learn and gain confidence. 

And, best of all, so will I.