As I dug away at the dirt I wondered how many times I never tried because I was scared I’d fail. I wondered about the things I missed out on because I knew I wasn’t perfect. The moments I wasted wishing I was someone else – someone who was good at everything.
As I stared in the mirror I noticed the cracks in my reflection. The little failings that had accumulated over the years of fear. The deep hurt that came from maintaining appearances and the overwhelming crash from letting it all go.
I watched the bridges burn around me. I felt a numbness flash through my heart. I no longer cared about this so called perfection, I only cared about the freedom I might find in losing myself. I spiraled down, hard and out of control. I flung myself too far into the fires of nothingness.
I had been met with both extremes. The overwhelming consummation of the pressure to be perfect and the total loss of self in a desperate attempt to feel nothing. Balance seemed impossible. I felt I was one or the other and there was no hope for even ground.
As I teetered toward the lowest lows and back to the highest highs I reached out, grasping thin air, hoping to find a steady hand to grab onto. It seems I slipped through the cracks time and time again, but each moment spent on either end of the spectrum was becoming shorter. Balance will always be elusive.
I plant Mary into the uneven ground and surround her with beautiful flowers that struggle to thrive under my care. Her presence brightens them, allowing them to flourish despite the breeze that knocks them around. She makes even their path as long as they stay firmly planted in the depths of her grace.
I teeter slightly to the left then to the right, and it is okay. She finds great joy in rocking me back and forth, slowly smoothing out the unevenness of my heart. I release the pressure of perfection and the hurt of giving up, and I find comfort in the gentle sway of a Mother’s arms.