Excuse me while I step onto my soapbox:
I posted yesterday about being a terrible dog trainer. And all of you said some version of “Oh, me too. I’m so glad someone brought this up.”
As far as I can tell, we’re all women here. Women are under a lot of pressure to be perfect, from both inside and outside of ourselves. We feel like horrible people when our dogs misbehave. We feel bad for eating cheesecake. (We feel bad for not eating cheesecake.) We have nagging guilt over not going to the dentist every six months. We are deeply ashamed of things like the way our stomachs look when we put on our swimsuits. We wince when someone at the mall gives our shoes “the eye.” Just this morning, I was a little embarrassed because I was driving the oldest car in the parking lot. Those of you who have children, from what I can tell, feel bad about some kind of parenting decision basically all the time.
This is too much feeling bad.
Here at My Imperfect Dog, we are not on board with perfection. When I named the blog, I was pointing out the obvious fact that Silas is, umm, problematic. It was also a way to remind myself to accept that imperfection for what it is. No dog is perfect, ever, just like no human is.
There’s a fine line between having healthy, ambitious goals and living in guilty misery. Sometimes I cross it. Sometimes we all do.
Everybody fails. Those failures are important. They’re signs of trying new, hard things. A lot of those “failures” and “imperfections” that we beat ourselves up about, though, are not real at all. Your car is not a failure. Your clothes are not a failure. Your body is not a failure. Your dog is not a failure.
Love yourself the way that you love your dog. Extend your compassion toward yourself. Be gloriously imperfect.