Addiction to perfection leaves the individual stagnant.
A perfectionism that is so surreal we can only achieve it once in a blue moon can lead to fear of failure and a loss of desire, which stops us in our tracks and we then fail for real.
Hello, my name is Asia and I am a perfectaholic.
But lately, I have been wondering, “Is there room for perfectionism in motherhood? or Marriage? or even in my craft?
For now I want to focus on perfectionism in motherhood.
It is impossible.
I am in the middle of teaching a class while my son is staring into the depths of my soul screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, and “his father?” you ask. My husband is also in a meeting because we are both working parents and stay at home parents, or at least we are forced to be right now in this pandemic.
Today, I legit stared at lifeless sentences that needed to be cut out, but insisted that I could breathe life into my already dead words. I was so focused on not starting over that I had convinced myself that although my editor had already declared these paragraphs totaled it wasn’t actually that bad and if I could just bandage it up enough it would all be okay.
I love the snow!
Especially because this is Judah’s first real snow!!!!
I was worried at first that Judah would be cold and not enjoy it but the full body snowsuit was very warm and water proof. It’s crazy to think this is my son’s first time seeing snow and playing in it.
A friendly reminder to never lose focus.
Those houses on Redfin and Zillow you be liking won’t buy themselves. My screen time average is high because on Sundays I scroll through Redfin and Zillow like a maniac, tapping hearts on houses that I’m trying to move into tomorrow.
You ever find yourself thinking, “I can do more,”
But then look in the mirror like, “Bro I’m already doing everything.”
In college my grandma and I had our first talk about race.
“What are you talking about? You have black children and grandchildren! You need to understand this!” I screamed from the top of my lungs, eyes red with frustration and my cheeks stained with tears, I stared at my grandma waiting for a response.
There is something so beautiful about seeing a healthy man love his son.
And I don’t mean when Shawn Wayans plays the role of a baby father and picks his son up for two seconds and then sets him down to tell the mother he will be back the following week to (literally) pick him up again. If you don’t know what I am talking about look up dance flick, “Such a good father,” or if you are on instagram, swipe left.
My plan was to breastfeed until my son hit a year, but that was before he bit me. It was before he would pull away from my boob making a smacking noise just so he could see what everyone was doing around me, and then proceed to pull the boob in his mouth only to pull the boob out of his mouth two seconds later to once again check his surroundings. I could also go into how frustrating it is when milk just starts squirting everywhere while he is enjoying the scenery, but that’s for another day.
Although the year isn’t over, so much has happened in the past 7-8 months. I could focus on the tough moments, but it is sunny outside and I want to highlight what has been pushing me forward during this time.