It’s roughly 3:30 AM, and sleep is eluding me. I managed to doze off while standing beside my infant’s crib, my 6-month-old clutching my finger with a grip so tight that I was hesitant to pull away, particularly since he was finally in slumber.
My own mother often joked that I would one day face my own payback for my restless nights as a baby. I found it amusing that my first child slept like a dream, but my second has brought me back to the sleepless nights of my childhood—those moments of quiet that invite introspection, especially when one is delirious from fatigue.
I recall grappling with anxiety as a child, beginning with the embarrassment of bedwetting. I would dread falling asleep, fearing the inevitable waking to wet sheets. The daunting trek to my parents’ room remains vivid in my memory—I can still picture them in the dark, trying to decide who would awaken to my gentle nudge seeking help to change my sheets. Just when I thought I had that phase behind me, my parents’ separation unfolded a new layer of emotional turmoil.
As a child, I was marked by shyness and sensitivity, traits that followed me into adulthood and my early marriage. It felt as though my true self had been muted. Then, I became a mother, and the collision of insecurities and fears gave birth to an overwhelming desire to not mess up my children’s lives, combined with the fear that I already was. I often reflect on how grateful I am for the journey I’ve taken, but I can’t help but think how much smoother it could have been if my current self could advise my younger self. This leads me to ponder the challenges my boys will inevitably face as they grow.
I wish for them to be strong, self-assured young men, but I recognize that perfection is an illusion. Every individual I’ve met who seems to have it all together eventually reveals their own struggles that shaped them. Initially, this realization frightens me for my sons. In the next room, one of my boys is experiencing a milestone: sleeping in underwear for the first time instead of a pull-up. Yet, I never recognized my own childhood struggles as struggles at all; I was merely living my life. We all face challenges, address them, and move forward.
And one day, my children will do the same—they’re already on that path, often without even realizing it. I am still on that journey myself. This is what growth looks like. Every experience influences what we do next. Just as with planting a garden, we might space the seeds differently the second time, but growth occurs regardless. So, I’ll commit these thoughts to writing, giving them a permanent spot in this world.
To my boys, I don’t apologize for my mistakes. I will only regret it if, one day, you fail to see that those little errors might just be what leads you to true perfection.
“There are two kinds of perfect: the one that is unattainable, and the other, which is simply being yourself.” – Jamie Turner
This piece was initially published on October 9, 2009.
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Summary:
This reflective piece discusses the challenges of parenting and the anxieties of childhood, emphasizing that every individual faces their own struggles. The author shares personal experiences with insecurity and fear, while also recognizing the inevitable growth that comes from overcoming obstacles. Ultimately, the message is one of acceptance and understanding that imperfections are part of life’s journey toward becoming one’s true self.