The cult of perfection

I’ve been thinking a lot about ‘women who have it all’. You know the kind- the strange beasts who have a perfect house, gorgeous husband, high-powered job, a couple of non-bratty children, enviable social life and still find time to be perfectly manicured and preened, and churn out home-cooked dinners using produce from their allotment. Then there’s the flip-side, the kick back opposite of these- the ladies that say it’s just not possible to have all of the above and without an army of helpers, a ridiculously large salary, no time to yourself and a heart attack by the time you hit 35… or at least a vague feeling of permanent guilt that by ‘having it all’, you’re not actually able to enjoy any part of the ‘all’ and thus it’s much easier to be happy, chilled and sit in a gravy-stained cardi, in front of the telly of an evening, having made the decision that life is too short to do ironing.

I have planted myself firmly in the gravy-stained cardi camp, being slightly messy of hair, generally messy of house and full of good ideas that I never quite manage to put into action. Far from feeling chilled and happy with the aforementioned though, it just makes me feel a tiny bit like I’m not making the most of what I’ve got- Not having it all has transformed itself into a vague feeling that I’m just too lazy- I don’t particularly want to get to my deathbed thinking ‘yeah… probably should have watched less TV and played fewer hours of candy crush’!

So I consider this my call to arms for my own personal cult of perfection.. I’m pretty sure that if I spent less time fannying around and more time doing the stuff I should be doing, maybe life will be better all round! Or am I just kidding myself and will just wind up stressed out and knackered? Only one way to find out, I guess!


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