I refuse to be a slave to perfectionism. To fall victim to the unrealistic expectations I set for myself. I know who I am and what I am made of.
Health Life

In Which I Find My Self-Worth

I refuse to be a slave to perfectionism. To fall victim to the unrealistic expectations I set for myself. I know who I am and what I am made of.

By Darla Halyk of NewWorldMom

Perfection.

The painstakingly intricate endeavor I cloak myself in. I wear it like a disease.

It plagues me.

I feel it turning my skin black, attacking my organs, my heart, my self-worth.

I purchase my maladies as if they are packed on a grocery store shelf, allowing my hand to reach up and pluck one more inequity from a newly surfaced row of insecurities. I then stand in line expecting the clerk to inform me I must be mistaken, these aren’t my predicaments, they are too expensive, too heavy for my ego to carry.

Yet no one stops me from purchasing the pain I collect. Some even place flyers upon my doorstep, announcing the clearance of my merit.

Nonetheless, I pay for it and throw away the receipt.

I take each broken encouragement home and gorge on it as if I haven’t eaten in days. Swallowing all of which will inherently break down any portion of admiration I have for myself.

I allow my insecurities to take root and neglect all that is competent inside my fatigued spirit. Rarely is an adequate existence placed upon me or whom I let myself consider I purport. Continually comparing myself to the better person I see within. Granting the ones I believe cherished me permission to pour bitterness down my throat.

The desire to please. The impossible to achieve.

The power of hate is insurmountable, particularly when used against oneself. Imagine every good thought which passes through your mind. Now picture a bomb exploding inside your brain every time it does.

This bomb has a voice and most days it is mine.

I will not let that bomb refute. I speak this with fierce condemnation.

I am angry, and for the first time in a long time, it is not at myself. I am sore I bought in, sad I consumed the venom.

Disgusted with the poisonous falsities I let eat away at my vigor.

I paid dearly for the ruthless words which were laid upon my skin. I believed the lies, employed the hate. I ignored who I am and what I was made of.

How far I had come, begotten by sour useless statements that I let seep into my soul. Not merely a warrior abused by my hate for me, a giver and lover of humanity beseeched by words, unbearable to take on. My own hateful statements emblazoned and dripped from my very own tongue. Sold only to me and paid for with my worth.

It is the time I sell my soul back to the one who loves it most. She deserves a chance in an already hard to navigate society.

I deserve to believe in me – because I shine love with intent and purpose. I am more than worthy of the arguments I allow my thoughts to breed inside my mind.

I am kind and am worthy of every good thing that comes my way.

We all are.

Now watch me tell that insecure bitch to get out of my head. She has no place here anymore.

This post was originally published on NewWorldMom

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About the Author

Darla Halyk is the mom of a teenage boy and girl. She studied Business Management at Simon Fraser University. Soon after receiving her degree, she married and quickly got pregnant with her first child. Deciding to stay home with her kids instead of returning to the workforce after the birth of her son, she become an SAHM, but not your average one. The gig lasted until the kids were school-aged, and her marriage ended in divorce. Darla has enjoyed writing since she was old enough to hold a pen to paper. Currently, she writes for her blog at NewWorldMom — bringing a fresh, honest and humorous take on parenting, women’s issues, relationships, divorce, and life, in general. Follow her on Facebook and Twitter.