Don’t fix what’s not broken.
I was a bit of a nerdy kid, especially in elementary school. It wasn’t my glasses that cemented it, even if they did make me look smart like my parents. I think being a little “different” came with the territory of being the daughter of two PhD chemists. (Shout out to mom and dad- Hi!)
Anyhow, in the 4th grade, my best friends and I formed “the Bug Club”. Yup, it was as dorky as it sounds! But to us it was the highlight of every recess, weekend, and summer vacation. On the back playground we carved out a bug hotel and camp from the Oklahoma red clay around an oak tree. On the front playground, by the basketball court, we created the bug hospital amongst the gnarled roots of the largest in a line of poplars.
Problem was, we could never find enough injured bugs to fill up the hospital, carefully covered by leaves between recesses. So, me being the fix-it type, I found it pretty discouraging not to have any bugs to heal.
Solution? Create injured bugs.
I have no idea whatsoever how it did not occur to me that this would create damage and pain to the little creatures. My mind was solely focused on making sick bugs better. (Why can’t I be a bit morbid and adorable at the same time?)
The only bugs easy to catch and find in spades were roly polies. And, much to my delight, their internals are a sticky green goo, meaning that, if I pulled one apart, I could stick it back together and “heal” it! I know it worked because by the next recess the little bugs were nowhere to be seen, having obviously discharged themselves.
Fast forward 35 years, and I still have the “fix-it” bug mentality. Except now the fixing is focused on myself.
Trying to heal an injury, become stronger, get healthier, break addictions, stop negative thinking, quit gnawing at your nails when anxious, and other self-improvement ventures can be very empowering and liberating. Word of warning, though- fixing can get a little out of hand!
Take my ankle for example. Years ago I suffered a bad sprain falling down the stairs. My range of motion is less now and my Achilles permanently tighter. (Btw, it’s called Equinus, for other nerds out there.) Frustrated at the discrepancy that never bothered me until a physician pointed it out (go figure), I now have a tendency to overstretch and over work it. The only result is more injury and another week of limping.
My little “issue” with evenness doesn’t stop there, either. It’s toned down a good bit now, but even when we purchased our second puppy, an adorable little miniature Australian shepherd named “Beatrix”, I picked her from the litter because her markings were symmetrical. My husband and I agreed at the time that the others, each with unique variations and equally cute but their sides not matching, would drive me nuts.
Going through my recovery, I’ve learned to accept a lot of things about me that I know aren’t perfect from the world’s perspective. Social media has left many of us with impossible ideals- standards of flawless skin, ab cracks, thigh gaps, brows shaped with that perfect arch, and a chronic frustration over hip dips. Diet plans promise to make you look like Aniston (so long as you use her skincare routine too!), and a pink bootie band will give your as* some sass by summertime, guaranteed.
All this diet-obsessed, photo-shopped world has actually done is fused the meanings of imperfect and unique with broken. Appreciation has been replaced by the word comparison, and admiration by critique.
The fact that clothing styles and hairdos change by the month and wardrobes are completely obsolete after about 2 years goes to show you that what’s “perfect” today might just be completely hideous tomorrow. (Anybody reading this remember pea green carpets of the 80s or Afros of the 70s? I try not to.)
Before you try again to loose that last 7 pounds, put hard-earned savings into another round of Botox, or pile on concealer to hide a beautiful birthmark that matches your mom’s, have a hard think about whether or not you are actually broken, and actually need fixing. More than likely, what you see as messed up, is actually how God designed you; it’s so you don’t look like everybody else!
“You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.” Song of Solomon 4:7
I’m perfectly imperfect, and that’s perfect for me.
P.S. Our next puppy is gonna be a Merle.
