My sister rushed to my aid and wiped my foot free of blood and removed the shards of plate so I didn't cut myself again. My mom quickly vacuumed up the broken plate. No criticism over a broken dish. No anger expressed. No dissatisfaction. The whole ordeal lasted only a few minutes. But the feeling inside hasn't subsided all evening.
By nature I am a perfectionist. This story should give you an indication of how much: In Kindergarten, I circled the dog house in red instead of blue on a test. I knew my mistake, tried to change it, was told I couldn't, had a meltdown and had to sit in the hall to calm down. They brought my older sister down to my classroom to tell me it was OK. I think I ended up having to go home early that day. The test wasn't a big deal. I didn't fail Kindergarten. It truly was not worth the ordeal I made it.
But when I make mistakes, which I try desperately not to do, I dwell on them. I analyze them over and over in my head. And if they are my fault, it takes me a while to admit my culpability, but I do. I may be prideful, but I can't live with that kind of guilt. But even after admitting my guilt, I can't let things go. I make sure I do not make that mistake again. And if I do, the time spent dwelling on the mistake becomes even more intense. I second-guess my choices. I drive myself crazy and blame myself, riddling my mind with doubt until I just have to let it go.
When something is simply an accident, I have been trained throughout my life to somehow analyze it until I have found a reason that it is my fault. I realize that is through years of emotional abuse, poor choices, circumstances beyond my control, and residue from various complex emotional situations, including repeatedly being physically assaulted even when it has been my job. And that is how something as simple as dropping a plate onto the tile floor turned into a stampede of buffalo thundering inside me. And left thoughts of the past 4 months swirling in my head. I replay everything. And things start to consume me.
Since September, I've relied heavily on my mom. She and I have not always had the closest relationship because of this and that, but I consider her one of my best friends now. She helped me understand that the hardest part of forgiveness during repentance is forgiving ourselves for the mistakes we make. I have rarely found it difficult to forgive others when they have sought my true forgiveness (and honestly, even when they haven't), because forgiveness of them is for me, not them. But I rarely forgive myself.
Again, my morning devotional was so spot on with this. President Packer says "If we are not aware of what the Savior’s sacrifice can do for us, we may go through life carrying regrets that we have done something that was not right or offended someone. The guilt that accompanies mistakes can be washed away. If we seek to understand His Atonement, we will come to a deep reverence for the Lord Jesus Christ, His earthly ministry, and His divine mission as our Savior."
If Christ can forgive me, I can forgive myself. And that means that whenever my doubts start creeping in, I need to let faith push louder. So today, I've just begun singing Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side. I don't know all the words. And I am not the best singer in the world, let's be honest. But it worked well enough to ebb the thoughts for the time being.
I want to gain a trust and testimony of the Atonement strong enough that I can understand and apply it to my life. I want to be a more perfect version of me, which means being less of a perfectionist. That is so incredibly ironic. But it also means I need to learn how to be loving and forgiving of myself and my mistakes. Right now I just need to have the faith... especially when lately some days wanting that is just hard enough.
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