Hospitable Self

The inability to make mistakes. The inability to allow ourselves to fail. Because failure means something grave. That if we admit that we failed we would be admitting that we are less than perfect. All those hard worked hours or moments of planning have surmounted to failure. We have yet to learn the true asset of true failure. We tried and we failed. Get better next time. But it takes years even our whole lives to learn what failure is.

I am far from perfect even though maybe secretly I want to be. Or maybe I actually do think I am perfect, and it hurts because I am unable to make authentic relationships. Inside I can feel the low quality around me, and I judge people. I say I love. They let me down because they don't live up to my standards. I get frustrated. They are on to me. My love is less than perfect. Maybe I think if I am always out doing everyone around me, I have eliminated the hassle. I like an adrenaline rush. I am getting things done.

Until something breaks I have yet to master that. The in-your-face incomplete feeling that I failed and there is nothing I can do about it but accept it.

At first it is a struggle but then a type of sadness overwhelms me. The one that reveals that in my race somewhere along the line I have rejected myself. This went deeper than I was prepared to go. I have to face the fact as to why I am so hard on myself? Get it together.

I look around at an empty room which I know I deserve, I created it. It looks gorgeous but I do not feel so pretty in it. Maybe I also have to face the fact that in, my pursuit of error free perfection I somehow backwards like neglected myself? How could I have neglecting I?

It is painful tears start to come waves and waves. I was not able to live up to the me I thought I was supposed to. Now it appears I have a ton of time to figure it out. It is a quiet place that not everyone can understand. Inside is heavy truth and maybe a heavy lift.

Zero mistakes=passive version of saying I hate myself.

The dissolvement of the most important relationship I have to myself. We can't divorce ourselves so easily. Even if love was the thing, I needed I became the household terrorist who would not allow myself to receive it. Love is a big risk and scary. These types people now make me laugh. Then why do we insist on silently crying out for it everywhere we go but destroy it when we find it. The good old bench seasons.

My perfectionism has peeled off another chunk of my heart I couldn't afford to lose. I was right until I was alone. Outraged.

I also was not very honest in my relationship with Christ when I told me I did not need to perfect to be loved. I never was and I never will be. Now I can savor the occasion of failures and short comings knowing that I will be getting out the other side a better person. I will be more than ok. I can love harder wiser.

To the love of Christ

Jesus Christ Forevermore

A woman of God who fails and loves it. My own kind of winning.