Perfect

I was perfect.  Good grades, good schools, good friends, extracurricular activities. By the time I was 27 I’d gone to graduate school, had a house built, had a lavish wedding – even gave out communion at Saturday night Mass. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Until I wasn’t. It’s been years now, but I’m not even sure how I snapped. I remember making muffins for a Bake Sale and completely losing it. I said I was too young to be making muffins. I should be abroad, or in a city, looking at art, trying new foods.  I didn’t know how to change my life.   I had an affair. I snuck around.  I let someone else be the reason I left.  Until he left me.

Even though I felt sadness and resentment in my marriage, I’d felt powerless to change my situation.  I took those feelings and buried them in a secret – in an act of defiance.  Did that help me?  Of course not.  Was it selfish?  Absolutely.  But it made me take a really cold, hard look at myself and ask myself that when these relationships were over, what did I want?

Fast forward several years, through that toxic divorce, that new toxic relationship, moving four times, and I finally got it. 

I moved out of state. I took myself abroad on vacation. I visited friends I hadn’t seen in years. I relished my freedom.

If I could go back and give myself advice – if I could go out and give every young adult advice – I’d say, Don’t try to be perfect.  It really doesn’t matter.  Change your surroundings even if you don’t have the time or money.  Don’t ever let a relationship define you.