Women who worry too much
As expected, Maya Angelou was wonderful last night. She spoke about strength and courage, and how women are expected to be strong for everyone else, and forget to focus on themselves. One of the topics she focused on was on the Katrina victims who fled to Houston, and the strength of the Houston community for embracing so many strangers and welcoming them to this city.
It was a very powerful event. It made me realize that I am guilty of not doing things for myself and not taking care of myself. My mother always had this philosophy when we were growing up that you were selfish if you pampered yourself too much or did things for yourself when you should be doing something else, like laundry, housework, or studying. I now suffer from that same guilt, and it has taken almost my entire adult life to realize that it is OKAY to sleep late on a Saturday morning, or take a nap on a Sunday afternoon, or even spend the weekend doing something fun instead of cleaning the house and doing laundry.
I also realized that I continue to feed my bad habit of accepting people’s poor treatment of me. If someone who I consider a friend or close acquaintance is inconsiderate or rude, I automatically assume that I have done something wrong. If someone insults me, I internalize the insult and try to figure out what is wrong with me to cause someone to feel this way. It takes an enormous amount of obsessing and dissecting to finally come to the conclusion that maybe the person is just an a*hole, or maybe that person is having a bad day, or maybe nothing that has a thing to do with me.
At one time, I was convinced that this was a southern trait from being raised with this twisted concept of “southern hospitality,” where women need to always please everyone, and be pleasing. Through the years, I have learned that this is a trait possessed by a lot of women everywhere.
I am obsessive and I want to be perfect. It is restricting and confining and I miss out on a lot of things in life because of these problems. My son even made a comment to me on Saturday that caused me to wonder why I do some of the things I do. We were going to the crab festival, and I wore pants (because I have a fair complexion with pale white skin that has barely seen this sun yet this year) and spent way too much time deciding which way I should pin up my hair to be casual but not look foolish.
“Mom, why do you look like you’re going to work when we’re just going to the festival?”
As I walked around the fairgrounds, I saw women who were not model thin wearing shorts, halter tops, no tans, no makeup, looking like they didn’t really care. And you know what? They were having a great time. Why? Because they only cared about having a good time and were not obsessive freaks. They obviously enjoy their lives and do not spend every spare moment worrying about the fact that their bodies are not perfect, their face is not perfect, their hair might not be perfect, and their clothes might just be clothes: plain, cheap and boring.
I was ashamed. I felt shallow. I felt like I was not focusing on what was important. Enjoying this special Mother’s Day weekend with my son. Which brought on a new set of worries. Go ahead and laugh. I now began to worry that I will waste my life worrying!
I have no problem seeing the beauty in other women, and accepting the faults of others, and even offering encouragement to people who are struggling. I do all this without judgment, yet I cannot find the strength to accept myself enough to stop judging and just enjoy my life. Hopefully, attending last night’s event pushed me in the right direction.
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