past imperfekt

atelophobia;

the fear of not being good enough

Christmas cards, birthday cards, notes– I’m forever rewriting my message, sometimes ripping up the card and starting over because of a mistake or because I was unhappy with the thickness of the pen.

Perfectionistic tendencies have always been dominant. I fight them, I truly do, but they tell me “I’m not good enough,” or “what a mess you’ve made.” I fall for the lie, wonder of wonders.

I stare out the window at the rain. My mind begins to drift. I let it.

“Maeve,” get in here!

Oh great. Mom is summoning me. What did I do wrong this time– Or, what didn’t I do perfectly?

I take my time shuffling into the living room where she sits rocking on the lazy boy chair; smoke surrounding her like a glory cloud– except this one isn’t holy.

I breathe in as she sucks on her cigarette. We exhale together, our gazes locked.

“Yes, Mom– Is there a problem?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to put the furniture back in the exact spot after you vacuum? Look over there! I can see where the table legs were. Put them back right now.”

Sigh.

Slowly, I part the smoke cloud as I walk over to the table and put the table back in the exact spot.

I walk out of the room, my mind reeling trying to figure out if I were just smacked across the face or if her chastisements were that painful.

Fast-forward twenty years and I have my answer.

I’m forever rewriting my message, trying to get it right.

Thanks, Mom.

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photo taken by a family member 1965