I used to have the missionaries over to dinner fairly regularly.  (I’m going back about 18 years here.) I had three young sons I figured would likely serve missions one day and would need feeding, so I was doing my part in the hopes that someone else would do the same when my missionary boys were poor and hungry.  I had 6 children back then and was homeschooling 4 of them.  Before I had any children, I used to enjoy hosting a small party or inviting someone to dinner, but by this time, having anyone over to my home caused me enormous anxiety.  I’m not sure exactly why (besides perfectionism), but that’s the reality.  When the feed-the-missionaries calendar was passed around in Relief Society, was I willing to admit that reality? Not a chance. I signed up, wanting to serve, knowing it would be good for my children to interact with the missionaries, and not wanting to look like a heartless slacker. Immediately remorse set in.  I started worrying about what I was going to feed them, how we would squeeze in two more chairs around the full table, and when I would have time to get the extra-special groceries. On the actual day of the “event,” the kids were either ignored or grumped at, as I frantically tried to get school completed and put away, the whole house cleaned (because we know 19 year old guys are picky about spotless floors and bathrooms), and a delicious home-cooked meal—including dessert—ready on time (because we also know missionaries are famous for punctuality). I took breaks to hide in my closet and cry. The kids loved seeing the missionaries, but afterwards I always felt enormous guilt and sadness, giving myself a Bad Mom Award, for my complete freakout all day. Mom fail. After years of this pattern, I finally came to the conclusion that I couldn’t host missionary dinners anymore.  Even though I felt guilty about that, I felt worse about the Bad Mom Awards piling up.

Why did it cause me such anguish to admit that I couldn’t do this? To pass that calendar by without adding my name to it? I didn’t want people to know I flip out about such a simple thing. So many of us spend our lives hiding major parts of who we really are. We live in fear of being our genuine, silly, flawed, messy selves. We want to be—or at least look—perfect. We say and do the things we think will bring approval and love—our most basic human needs.  We try to control how others see and feel about us. It traces back to our beginnings.

Every human parent fails to meet all the needs of a precious child.  Plain and simple.  No matter how much we know or how much we try, our humanness prevents us from being capable of perfection in the parenting arena.  Plus, most of us know next-to-nothing about parenting when we actually become parents.  I, therefore, must conclude that this is the plan.  Any parent knows that children teach us far more than we could ever teach them.  These poor, unsuspecting innocents must be sent here to help us grow and learn.

It follows that no child ever receives all the love and nurturing she needs.  Every one of us has holes inside that weren’t filled, simply because our parents (and their parents) were human and messed up more often than not, even when, bless their hearts, they tried as hard as they could. Hopefully we can recognize this, appreciate their sacrifices for us, and the countless hours and ways they did love and nurture us, and forgive them for the hurt they caused simply because they’re human.

Thankfully, we have Heavenly Parents, and a Savior and Brother, who can fill those holes, if we let them.  They know how to parent perfectly.  They are masters at tough love.  They recognize that we need to be told “no” sometimes.  They understand that letting us struggle teaches us more than rescuing us, even though it’s excruciating to watch a child suffer.  They don’t shame or criticize.  They don’t yell or say mean things (when they’re tired or hungry).  They don’t over-schedule or do the easy thing.  And most of all, they don’t ever, ever give up on us or abandon us. 

Compared to Jesus, I am a spiritual toddler, still learning, not understanding, falling, crying, throwing tantrums, and sometimes being mean to myself.  When I’m struggling, I say things to myself like, “You are so stupid.  Why did you do that again?  Don’t you ever learn? You’re hopeless.” But what I hear when I pray and listen is a loving Father saying, “I love you, no matter what.  You are priceless.  I forgive you.  Keep trying. You can do better. I’m here to help you.”

Of course, as humans, we often don’t know how, or forget, to reach out to that Source of love.  We also don’t realize we can give ourselves the love and approval we need, being gentle and compassionate to ourselves when we mess up or are hurting.  So we are empty.  We look outward to fill the hole.  We end up wearing a mask that hides our vulnerable parts so we can feel, temporarily, the belonging we seek.

When my children were young, some of them would cheat at games.  I couldn’t understand why anyone would do that. I would say, “But you know inside that you didn’t really win, so how can you feel good about that?”  It’s like those high-powered execs on TV who have “yes men” following them around pretending they agree with them and think they’re amazing.  Who would want that, when you know inside that they are just saying what you want to hear because they’re paid to? I began to understand this better one day when having a discussion with a counselor.  I was lamenting the fact that even though I recognize that I’m trying to please, and even though I’m 52 years old, I am still doing things I don’t really want to do, or feel are best, because I want someone’s love and approval.  I’m hiding the real me in an attempt to control how they feel about me and respond to me.  I’m cheating.  How can I feel genuine love and approval when I know I’m not being the real me? 

This understanding helped me see that the only way to truly feel loved is loving and accepting myself as I am right here and now, seeking and feeling Heavenly love, and having the courage to let that be enough.   I can’t control how anyone else sees me or responds to me or feels about me.  I can only control my choices and actions. It’s enough to be the imperfect, genuine me.  I want to be perfect, but since I can’t, I’ll be perfectly real.  No cheating or pleasing. No hiding or pretending. REAL.  Let the chips fall where they may.

Remember I’m of infinite worth

Entreat Heaven’s help

Act in my integrity-be authentic

Let the chips fall…