Where's My Cape?

Ever since I was a little girl, I've put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to succeed. To be the best. To not let anyone down.

 

I must have only been seven or eight years old, but I would ask my mom and dad at the end of the day, "Was I a good girl today?" And their consistent answer of, "Yes," reinforced my good behavior. I distinctly remember one time after having company asking my parents that nightly question. For whatever reason it was, I hadn't been my angelic-self that day, and my parents' response devastated me: "No, you were not a good girl today."

 

In high school, I took honors, dual enrollment, and AP courses. I joined numerous clubs. I was the editor of my school's newspaper. I graduated with a 4.2 GPA. I looked really good on paper.

 

My first taste of being "Superwoman."

 

College rolled around and kicked me straight in the tail. My first semester yielded me less than a 3.0, and I was crushed. I had let "everyone" down. Who was "everyone?" I don't know. But the president of the "everyone" club was me. The next semester I swore my grades would improve, and they did. I rarely got anything less than an A - studying for long hours, being a constant visitor to the university's library, and finding study groups at every corner. The semester before graduation I had a cumulative GPA of 3.8. It wasn't good enough. I wanted to retake my few bombed classes to raise my GPA. Even after receiving word that I was selected to "Graduate with Distinction." it wasn't enough. What stopped me? Health problems that were triggered by stress and unnecessary pressures. So, I graduated with my "measly" 3.8, got a job within two weeks of graduation, and never looked back.

 

Instead, I looked forward - to my Master's program - where my main goal was to graduate with a 4.0. And I did. I walked across the stage, six months pregnant. Swollen ankles and all.

 

Superwoman.

 

So, now I'm the busiest I've ever been. Both my husband and I work full time jobs (and sometimes more than full time), we have two energetic sons, I'm five and a half months pregnant, and all the while trying to hold it all together. I hate when stay-at-home moms say, "Oh, well, at least you get to get out of the house and work." Well, yes, I do, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But because I'm a teacher, I'm out of the house by 6:30am, dressed up and pretending to be sufficiently rested. I'm at work by 7am each day where I get to teach 150 uninterested, unimpressed high-schoolers the importance of grammar and American Literature. Yes, I get home early, but that just leaves me with the other half of my waking hours with my own kids. Somehow, dinner must be made, carpets vacuumed, laundry washed and folded, groceries shopped, birthday parties planned, and I'm expected to do it all with a smile on my face.

 

Superwoman.

 

So where does that leave me at the end of a day?

 

Still putting that childhood pressure on myself.

 

Some things I hear in my head as I roll over at night:

- The kitchen's still a mess. There must be some law about sanitary cooking conditions.

- I didn't take anything out for tomorrow evening's dinner. What will we eat? We'll surely starve. And a restaurant is out of the question - it shows my weakness of not cooking gourmet meals.

- The boys didn't get their baths tonight. Will mold start to grow in their toes overnight?

- The boys didn't brush their teeth tonight (gasp). CPS will surely fine me for poor dental hygiene.

- B's birthday is in seven days and I haven't bought matching streamers and plates and balloons yet. He will be emotionally scarred and it will be a conversation he someday has with his psychiatrist.

- We're having company tomorrow; I better vacuum when I get home from work. Can't let people think we live in a pig sty.

- Are all my lesson plans done for school? What fascinating bit of knowledge will my kids depart with tomorrow? What if an administrator comes in and I look incompetent?

And the list goes on...

 

And I wonder why I can't sleep at night.

 

If I'm supposed to be Superwoman, WHERE'S MY CAPE?

 

I have to start learning, even at the age of 30, that perfection isn't necessary, and it's not even possible. If something's not clean, it's okay. If a miss a night of brushing teeth, the boys will survive. And if we have a weekly pizza night, at least no one goes to bed hungry. My success as a wife, mother, daughter, daughter-in-law, teacher, etc., aren't judged by these things. The Bible tells us that we are created in God's image. Well, if He's okay with crumby carpet and Chick-Fil-A dinners, then so am I.

 

But if I can't have a cape, then at least let me buy a pair of new shoes.