I must confess something. I have been very fearful these past few weeks. Very fearful. Having nightmares, not sleeping well, and over-reacting about popcorn. Yes, popcorn. Don’t ask.
I am moving out of my mom’s house and into a house with my sister, brother-in-law, and nephews in a few weeks. The Lord has provided a place for me with them, and I will have my own separate and large space, albeit, there is no air conditioning or heat, but if I get too hot, cold, lonely, ect., I can always come in and sleep on the couch. Plus, I lived in Honduras where the large range of temperature was never tempered by any sort of indoor regulatory measures, so it may just be a fun trip down memory lane. A very sweaty memory lane.
And in moving out, comes, well, bills. And, I do not make enough money. So I am afraid of that. Afraid that I will run out of money and I will just wither and die. Because, naturally, running out of money is quickly followed by withering and dying. Duh. And with moving out comes needing furniture, because we sold ours when we moved to Honduras, and then had some donated when we returned, but due to recent events, I don’t feel comfortable claiming any of those items.
But here is what I am really, truly, deeply afraid of. Perhaps, more than anything.
I am terrified to fail.
I am terrified of not being perfect, not doing it right, not succeeding. My perfectionism comes out most commonly in my lack of trying to do anything new because I am afraid of failing. If I can’t do it perfectly, I won’t try at all, then it will be crappy and I will know that it is because I didn’t really try. It’s a sick cycle. Right now, a big part of my life is failing. I have failed. Failed to keep a relationship in tact. Failed in Honduras. Failed in recovery. Failure. Failure, in that everyone knows the mess that is my life right now, and I am ashamed. I feel like a huge, giant, failure. The worst part about feeling like a failure is that I abuse myself because I mess up. I must be perfect in all ways and when I am not, I have some seriously harsh inner dialogue about it. I would never talk to another human being the way I talk to myself, yet, I take it and I believe it as gospel truth. Failure terrifies me.
As I cried about this on Friday, my counselor reminded me that failure is a part of life. We talked about my three year old nephew, how his entire existence right now is trying stuff and failing, and then trying again. And, amazingly, he does not beat the ever living snot out of himself when he messes up. And we talked about how God is kind and good and loving and He is my protector. He knows I will fail, and He will catch me. In fact, her exact words to me were “God will not drop you on your head, Kacy”.
He won’t. He has already provided a free bed, free couch, free dresser, and other household items. He has provided extra work and babysitting opportunities. He is holding me up. He holds me in yoga class, where I can never do the poses perfectly, yet I go back week after week, perhaps to challenge my perfectionism, perhaps because I like hearing Him remind me of His love when I can’t do it all correctly. He is holding me.
And, as He holds me, I with cling to the truth of His love and kindness. He does not expect perfection from me, because if I was perfect, then why would I need Jesus? So, as I embark on this new chapter of life, where I live a grown up life, all on my own, with no one else to take care of me, I will probably mess it up and not do it perfectly. And, I think it is a sweet gift of God that I will step out in challenging my perfectionism while living with a super fun three-year-old who fails and tries again and laughs about it.