Perfectionism Sucks

I experienced my first yoga class this past weekend.  And I'm just now realizing that I probably shouldn't have tried to compete with the girl on the mat next to me.  She must have been a) an expert, b) double-jointed, or c) some sort of amphibious non-human creature.  I'd imagine that it's probably some combination of all three because the only body parts that aren't still aching after that 90-minute stretch-fest are my fingers.  On the bright side, there's no better time to blog than now, right?  



Onward and upward!  I have mentioned that I am a recovering perfectionist. What does that even mean? A recovering perfectionist?  Well, it's sort of like being an alcoholic. You must first admit that you have a problem.  Then you can work on fixing it.  I have admitted to myself (and now publicly to my sea of avid readers) that I have a real problem with perfectionism.  I've have been this way my entire life, but I never knew there was an actual term for it or that it was a problem until my freshman year at Meredith College.



You probably remember the post I wrote a while back regarding the woman in the Education Department at Meredith College who told me that I obviously didn't care enough about children to become a teacher since I couldn't decide between a career in education or communication.  Anyway, after numbly finding my way into the counseling center on that terrible afternoon, I found myself continuing to go back to counseling every two weeks from that point on.  It began with working through the traumatic encounter that had just happened with Dr. Parker, and then it progressed into dealing with other things. 



At the very end of our first session, my counselor handed me a bright green brochure with the word: "PERFECTIONISM" plastered on the front.  What's this? I thought to myself. 



Perfectionism is self-destructive thinking. It can include extreme fear of failure, striving to be the best, to reach the ideal, and to never make a mistake, a habit developed from youth that keeps you constantly alert to the imperfections, failings, and weakness in yourself and others, setting unattainable goals for yourself and becoming depressed when you don't reach them, and the underlying motive present in the fear of failure and fear of rejection.



According to LIVESTRONG.COM, there are many irrational beliefs that contribute to perfectionism: 



-the belief that no matter what you attempt it is never good enough to meet your own or others' expectations.

-the belief that whatever you attempt in life must be done perfectly with no mistakes, slip-ups or inconsistencies.

-the belief that unless I am number 1, there is no sense in trying. 

-the belief that winning is the only acceptable goal. 

-the belief that it is what I achieve rather than who I am that is important.

-the belief that I have no value in life unless I am successful.

-the belief that I should never let anyone know what goals I am working on--that way they won't consider me a failure if I don't reach them.



I think the worst part about perfectionism is that you learn to associate your entire self-worth based on how much you have accomplished.  Perfectionists often feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and depression as a result of their failures.  Looking back, I now see how this self-destructive disease contributed to my downward spiral after learning I was pregnant.  Not only had I failed myself, but I had failed, publicly, in front of everyone else around me.  To a perfectionist, that's like that end of the world.





I should probably give you some background about my prior-to-pregnancy life.  I'm the middle sister, therefore I have severe middle-child syndrome.  My parents would probably react the same way (by saying, "good job, honey") whether I had gotten an A+ on a math test or discovered a cure for cancer.  I thrived on their positive-reinforcement.  I was extremely competitive from a young age, and if I wasn't naturally good at something, I had a tendency to just give up. *"If I'm not "number one," what's the point in trying?*  My older sister practiced the piano often and quickly became a young Mozart, making up her own songs, singing beautifully when family and friends would come over.  She was good at everything and she didn't even have to try.  I practiced the piano and quit out of frustration when I couldn't advance past "the buzzing bee."  I wasn't very musically inclined, but I was good at sports.  When my parents threw me in the pool for the first time, I found that I was a natural at swimming.  I remember the sense of incredible accomplishment I felt after joining our summer-league swim team and beating all the other 8-year-olds in sprint free-style.  I loved to win, and I loved the recognition I received as I got better and better. I was finally the best at something.



When I was in high school, my perfectionism got worse.  I had the mindset that I needed to achieve more, to be even more successful, and that failure wasn't an option.  I won the gold medal in our district championship in the 50-yard-freestyle and finished in the top 10 at our state competition.  I made it on the front page of the Pittsburgh Post Gazette and I had a huge congratulatory poster displayed at school.  During my senior year of high school, I was crowned Homecoming Queen, and I had the highest hopes of earning a full-swimming scholarship in college the next year.  My life was completely perfect.  And then I found out I was pregnant. 



In my tiny little distorted perfectionist world, everything I had ever achieved had just flown out the window.  In my mind, I had failed and that canceled everything else out.  When you're a perfectionist, to fail is to lose everything.  I had lost everything.  



The big turn-around for me was when I finally made it into the counseling center on that fateful day.  I had no idea what perfectionism was, let alone that I had an extreme case of it.  When I realized how much of my self-worth was based on my achievements, it's no wonder I fell into such a deep depression after the pregnancy.  The more I learned about perfectionism, the more I realized just how destructive it had become in my life.  Perfectionism can be a positive thing because it can motivate you to do awesome things and it can keep you focused on setting high goals for yourself, but it can take over your life if you don't keep it under control. 



I'm proud to say that I am now a recovering perfectionist.  I have learned to recognize when my thoughts start to become too irrational, when my outlook starts to become too unrealistic, when I start to become too critical, and when my goals start to become too unattainable.  I have surrounded myself with easy-going, carefree people who have taught me how to loosen up, to let me hair down, and to get out of my comfort zone.  Nobody wants to be around the person who is always critical of herself and others!  



Don't get me wrong--I realize that I'm not going to be able to change who I am as a person. I'm still going to be the same Amy Hutton I was fifteen years ago.  Minus the big bangs and the buck teeth.  I'm still going to dislike the things I'm not naturally good at, I'm still going to be driven by the need to succeed, and I'm still going to be competitive at times.  I am how God made me, and that's not going to change.  But as long as I keep it all in perspective and as long as I'm not competing to do the best "downward-facing-dog" on the yoga mat, I think I'm going to be just fine. 

Reality of Being a Birthmom & Pepperoni Rolls

Sometimes I feel like I've come so far in the past five years.  I have been through some pretty tough life challenges, and I managed to survive.  Amen to that!  Since the birth of Deanna, I've spoken about pro-life issues, helped student moms, educated people about open adoption, graduated from college, landed a real job, and still maintained a close relationship with my daughter and her adoptive family.  I feel like I've accomplished so much in these past five years, and when I actually stop to think about everything I've been through, it all seems so surreal.  Is this really my life?  Sometimes I still can't believe how I got to be where I am today.



But sometimes, every so often, I have days where I feel like I'm right back to where I started.  Back to the bad stuff.  Recently, someone made a remark about how I "got knocked up" in high school.  I probably wasn't supposed to hear it, but I did.



Sometimes I think that no matter how much time has passed, no matter how much I have tried to right my wrongs and make up for my mistakes, some people will never let me be anything other than the girl who got pregnant in high school.  I know that I hurt alot of people because of my actions back in the day, but here we are five years later and I'm still paying for it.  I think I will always be paying for it.   



When you're a birthmom, your experience with unplanned pregnancy becomes a huge part of your identity.  And if you allow it to, it can take over your life.  It becomes a part of who you are, and it can be extremely difficult to relate to other people who don't understand you because of it.  When you're a birthmom, after going through arguably one of the most difficult life experiences known to mankind, you just have a different mindset and perspective on things.  It's hard to explain.  It can make you feel different.  It can make you feel alone.  It can make you feel years beyond your age.  Because when you're a birthmom, there are only a few people on this entire earth who can truly understand what you've been through.  That's mind-boggling.  Birthmoms: the few, the proud, the extremely fertile.



I recently received an email from a 15-year-old who placed her daughter in an open adoption about a month ago.  She said told me that she finally feels like somebody understands what she's been through.  I do.  Trust me, I do. I know how easy it is to feel like you're the only one when you're a birthmom.   



When people talk about my experience in a derogatory way, it takes me back to the high school lunch room.  This is my first memory of when my classmates first started finding out that I was pregnant.  You know how it works.  One person tells one person. That person tells one more person.  Soon everyone knows.  I remember standing in the lunch line waiting to buy a pepperoni roll.  As I stood in line, I glanced up and saw an entire table of football players staring at me.  They were pointing, whispering, and blatantly looking at my stomach as if they were going to see a baby bump suddenly emerge (I was two weeks pregnant).   As I made my way through the line, I got angrier and angrier.  I was truly embarrassed.  The staring continued, and I finally had enough.  I pointed at the ringleader of the table, and I gave him the double-bird.  Yep, I flipped him off with both fingers.  I know, I know.  That was really mature of me.  But at the time, it was my only line of defense. I paid for my lunch, and my emotions suddenly got the best of me.  Completely out-of-character, I marched right over to their lunch table and I asked them what the **** they were looking at.  Then, I seriously considered slapping the ringleader in the face with my pepperoni roll.  I didn't act on that urge, but part of me wishes I had for the sake of a good story and a nice week-long vacation from school.  



Over the past five years, I've learned to deal with criticism differently.  Instead of wishing to slap someone in the face with a carb-wrapped meat roll, I have found more constructive ways of dealing with things.  I think, I reflect, I blog, and I understand that people are people.  And some people are never going to let me be anything other than the girl who got pregnant in high school. That's the reality of being a birthmom. 



On the other hand, I know that there are so many people in my life who love me for who I am and respect me more for what I've been through.  There's a bigger, better part about being a birthmom that overshadows all the bad stuff.  It's called saving lives. When you're a birthmom, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you saved at least one life.  Probably more, depending on who has heard about your story.  Birthmothers take the road less traveled, knowing upfront that it's not going to be easy, all in the name of giving their child a better life.  Birthmothers will probably never know the full extent of the positive impact their decision has had on others.  Birthmothers are people who had acquired incredible mental toughness and maturity, and who have the satisfaction of knowing that sharing their stories can help so many other people.  How many people can claim that?  To me, that's one of the best parts about being a birthmom. 



This entire post has been somewhat of a word-vomit, but that's okay.  I'm not trying to make everything perfect.  I'm just trying to be real, to be honest about what it's really like to be a birthmom.  Sometimes it's just an explosion of crazy thoughts.  But I'm going to continue sharing because I know that somebody out there is taking something positive away from it.  People always ask me, "Do you have any regrets?"  My answer to that has always been no...until now.  After taking a trip down memory lane and remembering the lunch room tale, I sort of kind of slightly maybe just a tiny bit regret not launching that pepperoni roll after all.  That would have been a heck of a story to tell the grand kids someday!

New Year

New year = new look.  Hope you like.



For those kind folks who are interested in volunteering to help with the 5K Classic, please chime in with your contact information and someone from the volunteer committee will be in touch.



Christmas in the 'burgh:

Cheers!

Second Empire 5K Classic

Back to life, back to reality....so I'm back in Raleigh after spending a week in Pittsburgh for Christmas with the family.  We drove 8 hours back to Raleigh yesterday, so I'm a little exhausted.  And by drive I mean curl up in the fetal position under a blanket in the passenger seat while my boyfriend piloted my car through rain, snow, and freezing wiper fluid for the majority of the trip.  It's good to be back in the south. 

I wanted to let everyone know (very much ahead of time) about an awesome event to promote adoption coming up in Raleigh: Second Empire Restaurant and Tavern (yes, THE Second Empire) is proud to present the 10th Annual Second Empire 5K Classic.  The race date will be held Sunday, May 2, 2010 at 2:00 PM.  The event will feature the CU Fitness Center Pump 'n Run Competition.

 

The race will be celebrating adoption this year with proceeds benefiting NC Hopeful Parents. The mission of Hopeful Parents is to support, educate, and celebrate with members of the adoption triad. More specifically: to assist prospective adoptive parents in preparing to adopt, to provide community support for adoptive families and to honor birth families through charity.

This year’s event will include competitive and non-competitive 5Ks, a 1 mile fun run, as well as a kids dash. There will also be an expo area to learn more about adoption and supporting organizations.

For more information, visit the website at:  http://www.second-empire.com/race/ and don't forget to become a fan of "Second Empire 5K Classic" on Facebook.

I was invited to serve on the planning committee for this event, and I've met some pretty cool people involved in the adoption triad.  It's kind of a neat story.  The owner of Second Empire, Kim Reynolds, saw the article in the News & Observer about our adoption this past Mothers' Day, and she contacted me about joining her in planning this event to promote adoption.  It's funny how things have panned out from there.  We have a Public Relations agency working with us, and I've learned so much about event planning.  If Kim hadn't read the newspaper that day in May, I would have never had the opportunity to plan such an awesome event to benefit a cause that I care so much about--adoption.  This was either a case of being in the right place at the right time, or part of God's plan.  I'm gonna go with option two. 



So come on, bust out the old running shoes.  Even if you don't live in Raleigh, make it a weekend trip!  I hope that you will support and celebrate adoption by participating in this awesome event.

Open Adoption and Christmas

This past weekend marked the first time that Robbie, Deanna, and I--just the three of us--got to spend some alone time together since Deanna was born.  As De pointed out, this time was (hopefully) much less stressful than the first time (in the hospital).  When Robbie and I arrived in South Carolina on Saturday afternoon, Don asked us if we would mind babysitting that evening while he took his wife out on a date.  Robbie and I have never babysat Deanna before.  I had no idea what to expect!



After Don and De left for their date, Robbie and I let Deanna open her Christmas presents.  Robbie got her a huge Tinkerbell craft set, a Cinderella blanket, and a Disney Princess sweatshirt.  I got her a storybook creator craft, a Sleeping Beauty snow globe, and a book called Pinkalicious.  We spent the rest of the night playing with her toys.  The Tinkerbell craft set that Robbie got Deanna was a hit!  It even came with a little paint-sprayer.  That gift required alot of adult supervision.  I was afraid Don and De's couch would be painted green by the time they returned home later that evening.  Deanna's fine motor skills are exceptionally advanced for a four-year-old, and she managed to keep every bit of paint on the paper.  Whew!



Then it was bath time.  After Deanna's naked lap around the house, we managed to contain her and get her settled into the tub.  Once she was actually in the tub, bath time was much easier than I thought it would be. She loves playing with her bath toys, and she even knows how to wash herself.  It was a piece of cake!  I still can't believe she's not a little babe anymore.  I laugh when she calls me "Amy Hutton."  Robbie is just "Robbie"  but I'm "Amy Hutton."  Isn't it funny that she calls me by my full name?  I think she thinks that I have a double-name like many girls in the South.



After bath time, we read three books (including the ever-popular Pinkalicious) and put her into bed.  Robbie laid beside her and scratched her back until he thought she was finally asleep.  As he quietly tiptoed out of her room, Deanna said quietly, "Goodnight Robbie."  



We are so blessed to be able to experience Deanna this way.  I realized after Deanna was asleep, just how much work it takes to raise a child.  It's 24/7!  While I enjoyed every second of our visit, I was exhausted!  We played and played and player some more.  And I noticed something when we were playing.  Deanna loves playing with baby dolls.  When we were playing with her dolls, she would say to me, "Pretend you're the big sister."  This happened a few times throughout the weekend.  I think this is significant because my guess is that as Deanna gets older, she will probably start to identify with me as being more of a sisterly figure than a motherly figure.  After all, we are only 18 years apart.  As she gets older, I hope she feels comfortable enough to tell me anything and everything that you would normally disclose to an older sister.  Yeah, we've got a great relationship now, but I'm excited to see what the next few years of our lives will bring.



I'm not sure whether we will continue these Christmas visits or not, but as long as Deanna, Don, and De are happy seeing us, we would love to make visiting South Carolina every December a tradition for many years to come.  Aside from watching Clark Griswold flying down a snowy hillside on a sled coated with non-nutritive cereal varnish every Christmas, visiting Deanna last week has been my favorite Christmas memory yet. 



This post was written for Open Adoption Roundtable #11. 

"Write about open adoption and the holiday season."

Blonde Moments and Christmas Visits

I had an interesting morning.  It started with me running late...and it ended with me burning my hand.  Okay, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but sometimes I can be a bit ditsy.  When I was in 6th grade, I asked my mom how to make popcorn.  She said, "take it out of the box, put it in the microwave, and press the popcorn button." (in a slightly sarcastic tone that meant I should have known how to make popcorn by age 12).  So I followed her instructions exactly.  But she never mentioned anything about taking the popcorn out of the plastic bag!  It became known as the infamous popcorn debacle of 1999.  Our kitchen smelled terrible for days, and I was banned from cooking for the majority of my adolescent and young adult years.



Then, a few years later, I became a member of Team GAP.  That's right, I worked my way through college by constantly tidying piles of messy clothes and convincing customers that they needed to purchase that amazingly colorful cable-knit.  I hated it.  When I first began, they put me in charge of cleaning out the fitting rooms.  The fitting rooms were always messy, and I dreaded it.  One day, in the midst of the holiday shopping season, I was in extreme stress mode.  Must...clean...fitting....rooms...now.  I walked into a very messy fitting room, grabbed three pairs of pants that were strewn about the floor, walked out of the fitting room, folded each of them and put them back neatly on the shelf.  As I was folding the last pair, however, I noticed that they were exceptionally warm, and they necessarily didn't look like the style of jeans that we typically sell.  Not thinking much of it, I lackadaisically placed them on the jean shelf.  Moments later, I noticed a man modeling a pair of jeans for his girlfriend outside of the fitting room I had just cleaned.  SHOOOT!  I had a moment of panic as I realized that I had folded the pants that the man came into the store wearing.  I had just put his own pants on the shelf to sell!  Wallet, keys, and all.  How in the world could I be so clumsy???  I raced across the store, grabbed his pants off the shelf, and hastily threw them back into his fitting room before he returned from modeling the jeans for his laayyydayyy.  The man never noticed, but my co-workers never let me live it down.



Okay, so back to how I burned my hand this morning.  As I was rushing to get ready for work, I grabbed the pants that I planned on wearing today.  But the pockets on the rear were sticking straight up!  Darn.  I didn't have time to heat up the iron downstairs, but hey--wait a minute!  My curling iron was still hot.  I put my pants on the toilet lid, and pressed the hot iron over the first pocket.  Yes!  It worked.  Then, I moved to the next one.  I pressed the iron over the second pocket.  But this pocket was being stubborn.  So I tried to strategically "roll" the curling iron over it.  Bad idea.  I looked down and realized that the most vulnerable and tender part of my hand was pressed firmly against the hot curling iron. YOOWWWZZAAAAHHH!   Yes, it hurt.  Anyways, long story short, even though I may seem wise beyond my years, I still do have the occasional ditsy/clumsy/blonde moment many years after the infamous popcorn debacle. You may have noticed that in my blog description I have the words, "accident-prone" in describing myself.  Now you know why.



I have some great news that doesn't involve burnt popcorn, warm pants, or scolded palms.  I'm going to be driving down to South Carolina with Robbie tomorrow morning to visit Deanna.  I'm so excited!  Robbie and I decided that since we both really wanted to visit Deanna and the Dollars before Christmas, we might as well make the 3-hour trek together.  We're going to give Deanna her Christmas presents too.  This is the first year that we'll be able to see Deanna open her gifts, so I'm really looking forward to seeing that and spending some alone time with Don and De.  They're such great people.  Check back soon for pictures and updates on our fun-filled family Christmas visit.



Here are Deanna's latest gymnastic pictures...

Can you believe how big she is getting?  She's such a sweet pea.

"Save the Neck for Me, Clark"

I have the best job in the world.  Seriously.  I can't tell you exactly what I do or I'd have to kill you....and because that's not really the purpose of my blog.  However, the trade show in Chicago was AMAZING!  And I even got to catch up with my good friend Billy.  I love what I do, and I love the people I work with,.  How many people can truthfully claim that????  Yes, I am blessed.



I often find myself wondering how I landed such an awesome job fresh out of school.  I think alot if it has to do with the fact that I always want Deanna to be proud of me.  I worked my butt off in school, in my extracurriculars, and in every single aspect of my life after the adoption.  I really did.  Because when Deanna gets older, I hope she looks back at all of the things I did with my life, and I hope she sees that I truly made something of myself.  She's my motivation.



Here are some pictures from Thanksgiving and Chicago...

Caitlin has been my best friend since 1st grade.  We used to take our "first-day-of-school" pictures right here in front of my fireplace.   She thinks little babe looks just like me as a child.  Fun fact: Caitlin and I both had mono at about the same time...but we never came in contact with each other!   We're so much alike.

This is my dad and I on Thanksgiving.  My dad is the 7th of 10 children.  For coming from such a large family, he's surprisingly even-keeled and extremely easygoing.  And he can fix anything.  When I found out I was pregnant, my dad gave me a big hug and told me I was really taking the hard way.  But he stayed calm, in even the most intense and difficult situation, and I'm so thankful for that.

I'm so thankful for my grandparents.  This is my grandma and I on Thanksgiving.  She's stayed youthful and spry, despite double knee replacement last year.  And she absolutely loves playing Wii Fit!  Last year, she made Deanna a pillowcase with her name on it and Deanna loves it.  Deanna calls my grandma and pappap to talk every once in a while, and I'm thankful that they are able to maintain a relationship with their favorite (okay, and only) great-grandchild.

My family likes to hold an extreme talent show and play charades after Thanksgiving dinner...What, your family doesn't do that too???

I'm hoping to make a trip to South Carolina soon to see Don, De, and Deanna before Christmas.  I'll keep you all updated.

"Save the neck for me, Clark!"

-Cousin Eddie, Christmas Vacation

Signing off, I'm Amstel Light.  That's all folks!