atelophobia;
the fear of not being good enough
Christmas cards, birthday cards, notes– I’m forever rewriting my message, sometimes ripping up the card and starting over because of a mistake or because I was unhappy with the thickness of the pen.
Perfectionistic tendencies have always been dominant. I fight them, I truly do, but they tell me “I’m not good enough,” or “what a mess you’ve made.” I fall for the lie, wonder of wonders.
I stare out the window at the rain. My mind begins to drift. I let it.
“Maeve,” get in here!
Oh great. Mom is summoning me. What did I do wrong this time– Or, what didn’t I do perfectly?
I take my time shuffling into the living room where she sits rocking on the lazy boy chair; smoke surrounding her like a glory cloud– except this one isn’t holy.
I breathe in as she sucks on her cigarette. We exhale together, our gazes locked.
“Yes, Mom– Is there a problem?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to put the furniture back in the exact spot after you vacuum? Look over there! I can see where the table legs were. Put them back right now.”
Sigh.
Slowly, I part the smoke cloud as I walk over to the table and put the table back in the exact spot.
I walk out of the room, my mind reeling trying to figure out if I were just smacked across the face or if her chastisements were that painful.
Fast-forward twenty years and I have my answer.
I’m forever rewriting my message, trying to get it right.
Thanks, Mom.
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