I’m no Super Woman

What I learned this week is that I am not Super Woman nor will I ever be Super Woman. I know your surprised – this came as a total shock to me too!

Not really, but I did realize that I try to do way too much in far too short of a time span. For some odd reason, I felt like I should be able to over excel at my job; be a trophy wife that cooks, cleans, and always looks well manicured; spend quality time with my husband, family, and friends; and still be able to write several chapters in a weeks time. And when I don’t succeed at meeting these extreme standards, I get frustrated and even more stressed out.

I decided it was time to really take a look at those areas of my life and see why I feel this way. What I found was that in each realm I was trying to please everyone around me.  At work, I wanted to please my manager and my teammates. At home, I want to please my husband and family. Socially, I wanted to please my friends. Not to mention, I wanted to write – which means keeping up with all the social media and building an author platform.

I was trying to juggle all these things at the same time, with one hand tied behind my back and jumping on a pogo stick. (Okay, maybe not the pogo stick. I’ve never been able to stay on one of those things.) But here’s the kicker, I don’t know how to juggle. Therefore, I spent most of my time chasing the balls I was dropping all over the place making it impossible to get anything accomplished.

I finally sought the advice of my best friend: my husband. He told me that I am making him happy and the rest of my family and friends too. They all appreciated the extra efforts, but it wasn’t really necessary. I would only burn myself out trying to give more to everyone in my life all at the same time. Especially if it meant that I wasn’t paying attention to my own needs and happiness. And as usual, he was right.

I concluded I needed to revise my expectations and balance them more appropriately. So from now on, I’m not going to worry anymore whether I’m making a name for myself at work. I do my job and I do it well. That’s good enough for me.

I’m not going to fret over my husband doing the cooking every night. He says he likes to cook for me and he’s pretty good at it. Who am I to shun the offerings of a talented man in the kitchen?

I’m not going to let it bother me if my hair is a bit unruly or is turning gray or white or silver. Okay, we all know that one isn’t going to stick. How about if I just continue to buy hair dye and we call that one even?

I’m not going to stress over not having the petite body I used to have when I was 16. I will never see size two in my closet again and I’m not sure I really want to. I kind of like having curves. Besides, what matters is that I’m working out and eating better.

And I’m not going to fuss over not twittering six to ten times a day or whether I should get a Google + account. I am a writer with a full-time job and family. There is very little time in a day where I can actually write. If a publishing company or agent won’t give my book a chance because I’m not becoming a social media goddess, then it probably isn’t a good match for me anyways. It takes time to write a novel. I can’t squeeze it into a few months and have it be my best work.

It all boils down to if I’m not making myself happy, I will never be able to make others completely happy either, no matter what I do. I have to set reasonable expectations for myself because I’m not Super Woman. I’m just me and I kinda like it that way.