I am a perfectionist. This is not a big secret to anyone who knows me.
I design beautiful ideas in my head. Neatly organized patterns of action and organization that fit together so perfectly. They are works of art. I would have made a great theoretical scientist. My delima always develops when I try to put these ideas into practice.
Life is so very messy. Nothing ever flows like it did in my pristine picture. My own rigidity starts to show. As the glitches, hiccups and adjustments of practice arise, my stress level rises disproportionately. I can physically feel the pressure. My gut impulse is to throw the whole plan out as a loss so I can retreat back into my mental world to design another beautiful plan.
The wonderful thing about having a child is that you cannot throw the plan out. The child is still there. That little person’s life is still continuing and I am forced to improvise, revise, and appreciate progress rather than perfection.
I no longer spend my evenings doing homework with my Apsie Son. He is handling that part of life on his own now. Grant it, I still occasionally find a gallon of milk in the pantry, but I do not receive any more emails of missing homework from his teacher.
Helping my Aspie Son overcome his own struggles is forcing me to overcome my own rigidity. I am learning to focus on my purpose instead of potential. I am learning to face my own insecurities. I am learning to appreciate progress rather than perfection. This is a more balanced approach to my life.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had not had my Aspie Son. That is a silly line of thought. I am thankful to have my Aspie Son in my life. I am a better person because I have him in my life.