I ghosted Perfection. It’s true. We didn’t have big a fight, and there wasn’t a major incident. But as in any respectable ghosting, I came to terms with a relationship that wasn’t working for me, so even though I took my time, and even though it wasn’t easy, I ducked out.
I stopped listening to it. I stopped responding to it. I stopped letting it control me. I became more and more distant.
Perfection didn’t go quietly. It put up a great fight. It guilted me. It made me question myself. I stayed strong.
I know that Perfection wants to get back together with me. Perfection pursues me, often. And I think about it with the nostalgia of that “one that got away.” I look back and reminisce back to the time when Perfection and I were going strong, when the house was always, always clean, when my closets were all organized, when my bathrooms were in order, when every room was vacuumed and dusted and when shoes were in a closet, and not strewn around every corner, when junk drawers hadn’t multiplied like gremlins overnight.
When everything had a place and there was a place for everything.
Oh how I remembered those days.
I may even have a romantic notion of the relationship Perfection and I use to have, and there is no denying, there’s a little bit of longing on my part.
But the reality is that things weren’t working, most notably after the roommates that I took on, (more accurately gave birth to) one 11 years ago and the other 9 years ago. These pint-sized roommates were not very supportive of my relationship with Perfection. They were loud, obnoxious, demanding little people. They turned my home into what feels like a frat house, especially in their early days – staying up all hours of the night, crying, (sometimes for no reason), turning any room they were in into their own personal bathroom, vomiting on the carpet and couches.
They were totally inconsiderate.
Once these miniature people learned to walk, they left a trail of food and toys behind them, fingerprints and smudges on every surface they touched.
I won’t lie, it created some friction. It was too much for Perfection.
These inconsiderate little slobs turned Perfection’s world upside down. And things got worse before they got better. Once we adopted our rescue pup, George Bailey, whose favorite pastime is to shed hair all over every surface, well, it was the beginning of the end. I needed to start facing facts.
But like any worthwhile break-up, you know when it’s time to let go. I began to realize that my relationship with Perfection was unbalanced; I gave much more to it than it did to me. Perfection was a selfish time-suck. Perfection was taking up too much of my time. Perfection was adding to my stress, leaving me feeling unhappy. When I didn’t do what Perfection wanted me to do, I felt like a failure. Perfection was very demanding, and if I am being really honest about it, Perfection was a bully, and well, I’ve never really been one to let myself get pushed around.
So even when I consider a reconciliation with Perfection, I hold steadfast, and stay strong.
I won’t give in. I know the truth.
I’m better off without Perfection.
Moving on hasn’t been easy. But it’s the right thing to do. Since I ended things with Perfection, I spend less time doing things that don’t matter. I’ve let some unimportant things go.
I won’t let a disorganized drawer make me feel like I’m failing at life, all because of Perfection.
Without Perfection in my life, I can now walk out of the house and go for my run while there is still daylight, rather than worry that I didn’t wash the floors yet. I sit at my kid’s soccer games, and focus on the game, not the pending and never-ending to-do list that Perfection had me strapped to all the time.
I can go for ice cream after the game without rushing home, feeling the guilt that Perfection use to hold over me, having me feel as though I wasn’t doing the things that IT wanted me to do.
Once I realized that Perfection was not contributing to my overall satisfaction, the decision to move on was much easier.
Perfection did not make me happy.
But devoting more time to my slobish and inconsiderate roommates, well, that’s where happiness lives. They are much more worthy of my time than Perfection ever was.
Now, I’m still friends with Obsessive and Compulsive, but that’s a story for another time.