Most Sunday mornings I feel the need to look absolutely perfect in order to go to church. So this morning before I left the bathroom, I grabbed the fingernail polish remover so that I could take the two-week-old nail polish off of my fingers. It didn't quite go with my outfit. It ruined the perfect-ness.
On the way to church, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to take it off. I had a momentary freak out, but then I realized it wasn't that big of a deal. It was an imperfection, but maybe I could deal with it. I have to admit that it bothered me more than it normally would, and it really made me consider some things.
I have a tendency to try and make up for the imperfections on the inside of me by trying to look twice as perfect on the outside. The more screwed up I feel on the inside, the more put-together I insist on looking on the outside. I don't understand this.
My nail polish bothered me this morning, because I was afraid it might give evidence to the fact that my heart is hardly beating. I had everything else together, and I was ready to put on the act. This is so bizarre, because I go to a church full of people who are admittedly imperfect. And yet, when it is really truly coming apart at the seams for me, I feel the need to cover it up with my outward appearance. I don't know how to not hide.
It's now the end of the day, and my nail polish is still there. I give up; I can't hide it. I've found myself screaming out loud to my demons at least twice today, and I can only hope that my constant (purple) reminder will go to show that I definitely don't have it all together. This is something I don't know how to admit without turning people off, but maybe I can learn.
The only perfect part of me are my obvious imperfections. I don't have it together. I don't know what's going on right now. I'm not sure who I am. And I am definitely not ok.
And that's a start.
On the way to church, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to take it off. I had a momentary freak out, but then I realized it wasn't that big of a deal. It was an imperfection, but maybe I could deal with it. I have to admit that it bothered me more than it normally would, and it really made me consider some things.
I have a tendency to try and make up for the imperfections on the inside of me by trying to look twice as perfect on the outside. The more screwed up I feel on the inside, the more put-together I insist on looking on the outside. I don't understand this.
My nail polish bothered me this morning, because I was afraid it might give evidence to the fact that my heart is hardly beating. I had everything else together, and I was ready to put on the act. This is so bizarre, because I go to a church full of people who are admittedly imperfect. And yet, when it is really truly coming apart at the seams for me, I feel the need to cover it up with my outward appearance. I don't know how to not hide.
It's now the end of the day, and my nail polish is still there. I give up; I can't hide it. I've found myself screaming out loud to my demons at least twice today, and I can only hope that my constant (purple) reminder will go to show that I definitely don't have it all together. This is something I don't know how to admit without turning people off, but maybe I can learn.
The only perfect part of me are my obvious imperfections. I don't have it together. I don't know what's going on right now. I'm not sure who I am. And I am definitely not ok.
And that's a start.
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