It's 1988 in suburban, St. Louis. A warm and clear Spring evening at my childhood home - the windows are open, the crickets are chirping. All should have been at ease. But I was 16.
I don't remember what the fight with my mom was about, but given my age, it was probably about me spending time with my boyfriend. If you know me, you know that I wasn't much of a rebel in high school (maybe I was 0% rebel in high school - how boring!), so I didn't usually fight with my mom. But this night we were arguing - and I raised my voice to her. "Keep your voice down!" she whispered in one of those really loud whispers that mom's use when they're mad, but in public. I strode over to the window and yelled out, "What?! Don't you want the neighbors to know that the FRIEDMANS HAVE PROBLEMS!!!" (my maiden name was Friedman). I was ashamed of being mean but also kind of proud that I thought I taken a stand. It wasn't like I was a teenager who went around feeling disgusted by my family. I actually was very proud of them. But on some level, a message had seeped into my consciousness that is was a big no-no to let on to anyone else that we were imperfect.
Especially now that I am a parent, I don't feel angry at my parents for conveying this message. I understand the pressure to appear, at the very least, like you have it together. Sometimes, it can feel like you have to look 'perfect' - i.e, my house is perfectly clean, my kids are perfectly polite, my mental state is perfectly upbeat.
I've seen a little bit of just about everything as a social worker, and I can tell you what I learned a long time ago: even the most perfect looking outside has a vulnerable, tender inside. Several years ago, I became willing to write about my experience and share it, because I knew deep down that me sharing my goofy life might encourage others to be more compassionate with themselves and with others too.
But the past couple years have allowed me to experience this, not in some esoteric way through my work life, but in a very personal way.
My husband and I separated for over a year. Then we reconciled. This was a little beyond "You don't want anyone to know we have problems!" Everyone knew we had problems. Everyone knew we were not only imperfect, but struggling. My experiences in the past couple of years took me beyond giving compassion, to receiving compassion.
If you are hurting like I was, I want to tell you that the world is good, even if you're imperfect. Maybe especially if you're imperfect. When I was in the greatest pain during my marital separation, amazing people 'showed up' to support me and my family. Family, friends, acquaintances, even strangers. Moms from school, friends from church, even the guy who upgraded me on the rental car. I ran into one lady who simply asked, 'how are you?' on her way out of church and I started bawling. You know what she told me? "I trust you." She trusted that I had the strength and wisdom to navigate this painful period, even as I was a blubbering mess. It was such a gift. I will never forget that.
As humans, we are tempted to present a perfect outside not only because of how others will perceive us, but also out of a desperate hope that we can maintain control. We may not need to have an immaculate home, but we may want to be the perfect father so our kids will turn out great. Or we may want to be the perfect employee so that we never get fired. Or even perfectly fun so that we hide even from ourselves how much pain we are in. The difficult, but freeing truth is wisdom for the ages that I have to remind myself of everyday - there really is no control. Really. And, you can still have a beautiful, amazing life.
If you follow Oprah or TED, you've probably heard of Brene Brown, who is a social worker (woot!) and was launched into the public spotlight several years ago after doing a TEDtalk on vulnerability. She also wrote a book, Daring Greatly, which I recommend. Here is a quote from Teddy Roosevelt, which kickstarts her thesis:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.” (http://blog.ted.com/2012/09/11/5-insights-from-brene-browns-new-book-daring-greatly-out-today/)
I hope I am daring greatly to share with you my imperfections and struggles in the hope that you might be sitting there and love your own goofy self and all the imperfect people around you more and more and more.
