Every once in a while (probably around the same time of the month, if you get my drift) I feel those old, nagging nudges of “you’re not good enough.” It comes so subtly. Before I even realize it, I’m walking around depressed about SOME STUPID THING I’m not doing, or not doing well enough.
I’m sure we are not the first generation of women to feel discouraged about our performance as human beings. But somehow, I imagine THIS generation of women has a particular proclivity to the I’m-A-Failure Slump.
After all, never before have we women been expected to do so much. To produce annual, color-coordinated family pictures, cook up Instagram-worthy, non-GMO kid-friendly family dinners, throw Disney-themed parties for fully potty-trained toddlers – all while we run successful side businesses, mind you.
I know in my soul of souls that it doesn’t make sense. That’s its ludicrous. But still, every few months will find me forlorn on the pillowcases, moping to my (ever-patient) husband that: “I’m just a failure. I should just quit my blog. And our closet looks horrible. And I look horrible in all my clothes. And everything is just awful, awful, awful.”
Friends, the problem is not that we are failures, but that we are not content to be successful in a few things, that matter.
What Doesn’t Matter is enslaving us. But this, my friends? This is MY call to FREEDOM.
It doesn’t matter.
- It doesn’t matter that I have gray hairs. It doesn’t matter that I never know what to do with my hair.
- It doesn’t matter that I don’t have skinny jeans that fit me or a cute little blazer with the perfect handbag.
- It doesn’t matter that our Christmas cards aren’t matte, and my baby books are horribly behind.
- It doesn’t matter that So-And-So is selling all those products and evidently a colossal Home-Business Success.
- It doesn’t matter that I’m plugging away on my little blog, though I’ll never be as “It” as Jen Hatmaker or as humble-wise as Ann Voskamp.
- It doesn’t matter that I need pictures on my walls, and my guest room needs new bedding, and I haven’t dusted my blinds since last April.
- It doesn’t matter that my house never seems to be as tidy as my sister’s.
- It doesn’t matter that I don’t get pedicures, and I’m getting wrinkles around my eyes.
- It doesn’t matter that I’m not in shape anymore, or haven’t bought eyeshadow since 2011.
- It doesn’t matter that my floor needs to be mopped, my nails need to be painted, my car needs to be vacuumed, and my legs need to be tanner.
- It doesn’t matter that I’m not as peppy, skinny, trendy, witty, savvy, or crunchy as the imaginary Jessica in my head.
But you know what does matter?
It is this.
- I have a husband, a big bunch of family, and a handful of friends who love me. period. On sick days, on grumpy days, on fat days, on lazy days, on days when I’m not very lovable…I AM loved.
- I have three little kids who think I’m the best mommy ever.
- I have a husband who forgets all my over-dramatic moments, loves our lame, boring life, and somehow – beyond all logic – looks at me like I’m still his hot wife from the Rehearsal Dinner Pictures.
- I’m not the perfect mom… But I’m a good one. My kids get (mostly) nourishing meals, hugs when they’re sad, fun things to do, and when I fail them miserably, I ask for forgiveness.
- My sins are wiped clean.
- I am a child of God, and He made me.
- I’m redeemed, and safe, and spending eternity with my Loving Father.
- No matter how sick/tired/worthless/ugly/useless/distracted/grumpy/sub-par I may feel on any given day, I Am Loved, by the ones who matter, and the ONE who matters most.
Go confidently into today, friends.
You have NOTHING to be ashamed of.
“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?”
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