Calling all
the shots was a mean voice in my head. My internal drill sergeant was
continually pushing me to make everything sound better, look better and taste
better. My body, my house and my achievements were never good enough. Holding
myself to such unattainable standards weighed heavily on my soul, and my inner
turmoil eventually spilled out at people I loved the most.
Sadly, there
was one person in particular who bore the brunt of my discontent: my firstborn
daughter.She could not make mess without me shaking my head in disappointment.
She could not forget her homework, her jacket or her lunchbox without me making a big deal about it.
She could not spill, stain, break or misplace without being made to feel like she’d made the worst mistake in the world.
Although it
pains me to write this, I remember sighing heavily in annoyance when she fell
down and hurt herself because it threw me off my “master schedule.” My daughter
was not allowed to be a child who learned by trying and, yes, sometimes
failing.
The truth
hurts, but the truth heals … and brings me closer to the person and parent I
want to be.Every time I came down hard on my daughter, I justified my behavior by telling myself I was doing it to help her—help her become more responsible, capable and efficient and preparing her for the real world. I told myself I was building her up. But in reality, I was tearing her down.
I vividly
remember the day my mother was visiting from out of town. The children were
playing alone in the basement. My younger daughter began crying hysterically. I
ran downstairs, fearing she was seriously hurt.
The first
question out of my mouth was directed at my older daughter. “What did you do?”
I asked angrily.
My child
didn’t bother to explain that her little sister had slipped on the library book
that was sitting on the bottom step. There really was no point. My beautiful
child with humongous brown eyes that once held so much optimism looked
defeated. Silent tears of a broken spirit slid down her face. My daughter knew
it didn’t matter what she said, she’d still be wrong; it would still be her
fault.
And there
was my mother standing beside her, a silent witness to the whole ugly scene.As my older daughter ran off to the sanctity of her bedroom, an unexpected question came out of my mouth. “You think I am too hard on her, don’t you?” I snapped.
My mom,
who’d experienced her own difficult parenting moments and struggles, held no
judgment in her eyes, only sadness. Her simple response of “yes” only confirmed
what I knew in my heart.
I mustered
up the courage to find the words that needed to be said. Apologizing didn’t
come easily for someone who strived to make everything look perfect all the
time, but I knew what needed to be said.
I found my
child crumpled up like a dejected rag doll on top of her bed—her face puffy and
red from crying.
“I’m sorry,”
I mumbled.
My daughter
didn’t move.
I sat down
on the edge of her bed and began saying things I’d never said to another human
being—not even myself. “I feel mad inside a lot. I often speak badly about
myself in my head. I bully myself. And when I bully myself, it makes me
unhappy, and then I treat others badly—especially you. It is not right, and I
am going to stop. I am not sure how, but I will stop. I am so very sorry,” I
vowed, trying not to cry.
My daughter
looked unsure as to what to do with this confession, this unusual offering from
her mother who rarely admitted any wrongdoing. I didn’t blame her for the
skeptical look she gave me. I understood why she didn’t say anything back, but
somewhere in those eyes I saw hope—hope that things could be different.
I desperately wanted things to be different too. It was time to stop being so
hard on my child; it was time to stop being so hard on myself. I prayed I could
stand up to the inner bully. I knew I needed an easy first step. I decided to
use one simple word: Stop.
Within the
hour, I had a chance to try it. The first critical thought that popped into my
head arose as I was preparing to leave the house: I looked at my reflection and
thought, “You look fat. You can’t go out looking like that.”
“Stop!” I
assertively thought to myself, shutting down any further criticisms. Then I
quickly turned away from the mirror and recited these words: “Only love today.
Only love today.”
I used the same
strategy when interacting with my child a few minutes later. Before any harsh
words came out of my mouth about the way she was sloppily packing her bag of
things, I cut off my inner critic by saying, “Stop! Only love today.” Then I
swallowed the hurtful words and relaxed my disapproving face.
Within mere
days of using the “stop” technique, I noticed a change. With a more positive
thought process, it was easier to let go of the need to control, dictate and
criticize. In response, my daughter began taking more chances and began
revealing her true passions.
She started
movie-making and website design on the computer. She made doll furniture and
clothing to sell in the neighborhood. She began baking new recipes without any
help.
Nothing she
did was perfect. Nor was it mess-free or mistake-free, but the moment I said
something positive, I saw her blossom a little more. That is when I began to
clearly see beyond the mistakes and messes to what was truly important.
I began
noticing my child’s inner beauty rather than looking for perfection on the
outside.
I began
paying more attention to the person she was rather than the successes she
achieved.
I began
letting her be who she was meant to be instead of some idealistic version I had
in my head.
When I
stopped being a bully to my child and myself, opportunities for growth and
connection opened up. Over time, significant progress was made. In a little
less than two years on my journey to let go of perfection and distraction, I
received the confirmation I never thought I would receive.
My daughter
was outside before school, tending to a garden she created smack dab in the
middle of the yard. I watched from the kitchen window as she lovingly tended to
her miniature plot. I was captivated by the utter joy on her face. She was
clearly at peace.
Since my dad
loves to garden and had taught my daughter a few things, I took a picture and
sent it to my parents. Nothing could have prepared me for the gift I would
receive in return.
My parents
wrote, “Thank for this precious picture of our beautiful granddaughter. Over
the last two years, we have seen a tremendous change in her. We no longer see a
scared look in her eyes; she is less fearful about you being upset or impatient
with her. She is much happier and more relaxed. She is thriving and growing
into a content, creative and nurturing person. We know for a fact the changes
we see in her coincide with the changes we have also seen in you.”
My friends,
I have the following message to offer anyone who wants to believe today can be
different than yesterday:
If you think
that criticizing, belittling or critiquing yourself will make you smarter,
fitter or more valuable, please reconsider.
If you think
badgering, bullying or constantly correcting your child will make him or her more
likable, more confident or more successful, please reconsider.
Because the
truth is this:
It’s hard to
love yourself with a bully breathing down your neck.
It’s hard to
love yourself when the one person who’s supposed to love you unconditionally
doesn’t.
It’s hard to
become the person you’re supposed to be when you aren’t allowed to fall down
and get back up.
If we want
our children to become who they’re meant to be, let’s ease up. “Nobody’s
perfect” can be two of the most empowering, healing words when said to oneself
or to another human being.
Let’s stop
the ridicule. Let’s stop the relentless pressure. Let’s stop the impossible
pursuit of perfection.
Only love
today, my friends. Only love today. Because love is always a good place to
start a new beginning. 
