Just Enough

 

What is enough?

This question plagues me in one form or another pretty much daily and has for my entire life. I didn’t think of it that way as a kid, but I was constantly trying to prove that I was enough. Just enough. Because you don’t want to be too much either, and I tended to overcorrect in that direction. 

Even when I was being too much, the other side of the coin was that I wasn’t enough of something else. There was no balance. I was never just enough. And, I have spent my whole life chasing this idea. As if it was something outside of myself and I could fix it if I just could catch up. That’s another cruel joke played on people with CPTSD. You’re so grown up and mature for your age - until you actually grow up and realize (or don’t sometimes) how woefully behind you are.

I was a problem child. I mean, not really, but that was the narrative. Honestly, compared to a lot of people (including some of the people who labeled me), I have led a pretty dull life. I drank for a bit in high school and college, but nothing severe. I smoked too much marijuana, but it didn’t adversely affect my life. I struggled with eating disorders and depression and anxiety, but these are not the marks of a problem child. Just a child who has a problem. But, when your family is the problem, they have to find some other label.

So, I was the problem child. I got straight A’s until my junior year of high school, and even when I gave up on perfectionism I still graduated with a 3.6 GPA. In college, while I fully indulged in the social activities of campus life and smoked a bunch of pot, I again still graduated with a 3.6 (I’m consistent), and I won an award in my major. 

I followed that with a happy marriage, a job in my chosen field (which had been declared useless and impossible for “real life”), a job working with kids, and having two wonderful babies of my own. 

I tried so hard to get it right. I wish I had known sooner that I was never going to be allowed to be anything but the label I was given after my suicide attempt at age 14. Honestly, I had the label before then, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I’ve always been different - for a litany of reasons that now all have official names - and because I was different, I was embarrassing. I’d love to know what kid who was left to figure life out on their own managed to do so without being embarrassing. Some of those moments still haunt me. Some for good reason. Others because of what followed.

It’s hard to explain abuse when it’s invisible. Bruises can’t be denied. Nasty comments and helping me diet into an eating disorder is easier to hide. It’s just my fault, right? I just somehow knew that my body wasn’t right and I needed to fix it. I just knew how that worked. I know I wasn’t old enough to buy the extremely dangerous diet pills that I got addicted to. And I know there was no support when they were suddenly ripped out of my life.

The lessons I received in life were not the helpful ones. Something I didn’t consider until I was parenting my own kids. One of the most important things I have done was choosing to raise my kids differently and fighting to stick to that choice. It has not been easy, but I don’t regret a second of it. My kids are loved and accepted. They are listened to and allowed to voice their opinions. I’m proud of that, and trust me, there is very little that I have ever allowed myself to be proud of. 

I hope they know they are enough right now, as they are. Imperfectly perfect because perfection is a lie. I’m working on this myself. A quest for perfection taught me nothing except to hate every single thing about myself. And, I am only slightly exaggerating here. I never minded my nose. That’s all. Out of my physical, intellectual, and emotional qualities and abilities, that is the one thing I allowed myself to approve of. Honestly, I just didn’t think about my nose because there was so much to focus my hatred on. I realized in my late 20’s that my nose had been left off the hate list. But, I felt ambivalent about it at best.

So, as I am unlearning all the bullshit and trying to better understand and appreciate myself, I am faced with this question of what is enough? And, I don’t have an answer. I am trying to get to a place where I am enough just as I am at that moment, but I’ve only had glimpses of this. Short moments of peace. 

I guess this is progress. I can build from here. But, man, I am exhausted. I’ve been putting in the work all year, and I am tired. Now more than ever I need to find peace within myself and acceptance of who I am right now. 

Maybe I can give myself that for the holidays.