by Dyanne Kelley    May 2018

Are you freakin’ kidding me!  On three separate occasions I started this blog in my mind each prompted by a personal outrage.  Let’s start with are you freakin’ kidding me number two. It was Darling Daughter’s bridal shower this past weekend.  I felt nervous anticipation about it for months, more so as the time drew nearer.  The bridesmaids were in charge, and I struggled with what to say, not to say, how much input to give. I definitely did not want to be the Mother-of-the-Bridezilla.  This meant giving up control. Not an easy thing to do when you want things to be perfect. There it is again, the curse of perfection.

It was also the first time I would see my former in-laws in many, many years.  My ex’s girlfriend would be there too.  All good reasons to want to look and be my best. I already gave up on losing those five extra pounds. Had to. Stress eating became a must. I fretted about finding the perfect dress taking pictures of myself in the dressing room and sending out photos to my friend and daughter for confirmation. Then it was just the right shoes. Again photo confirmation from friends. My Guy sends a photo to his guy friend asking his opinion. Really, I say aghast! Then ask, which ones did he pick?

I had the prerequisite pedicure and facial.  Normally I treat myself to a facial and massage on my birthday each year, not something I do regularly. Not only did I have a facial, I schedule a microdermabrasion facial, my first. I ask a lot of questions, saying I’m really nervous. It reminds me of when they gave me Valium before surgery once, back in the day. I grilled the docs, the nurses, even the gurney guy, about their jobs and memorized their names. Like I was coming for them if even the slightest thing went wrong.  I knew I must never, ever take that drug again. My esthetician said she has women coming in every four-six weeks for one of these types of facials. Some actually fall asleep on the table, she says.

I say, okay, let’s do it. I grab onto the side of the the massage table. She starts by cleaning my face with one of those circular rotating cleansing brushes. It’s like using an S.O.S. pad over a dirty pot. I really don’t get this.  You’re supposed to very gently in circular motions wash your face. Not use a wash cloth. Tap dry. Dab on your under eye make-up with your ring finger. Make sure you are always swiping your hands upward so as not to drag your face down and promote jowels. How can anyone fall asleep when it feels like sand paper is being scraped across your face? I start sneezing repeatedly. Plucking my eyebrows brings on the same reaction. I say it’s not likely that she will see me in four-six weeks. She laughs, brings out her scheduling book and says how about eight? Okay, I say, one more time before the wedding. Then I quit. Although she does call me Love…

The bridesmaids pick an international theme for the shower based on the places Darling Daughter has visited in the world.  I’m excited about the specially baked Bailey’s Irish Cream and Vanilla Cappuccino cupcakes I ordered from The Pennsylvania Bakery, best bakery around, about 25 miles away from where we are staying.  The morning of the pick-up, I have the place to myself as My Guy and daughter’s finance’ put on their waders and go creek fishing.  I meditate, journal, chant the sounds of the chakras, and do a little yoga. Such a perfect morning.  Off to the bakery I go.  I had forgotten how stressful the highways are here and felt particularly proud of myself for getting there and back, the cupcakes in one piece.

Now up the stairs to the kitchen. I was holding onto the big box of two dozen cupcakes very carefully, going slowly and mindfully up the stairs worrying about falling with the precious cargo. Made the first set, now an extra three steps to the kitchen. Last one. Oh no, my toe catches at the top. Oh no, I can’t stop my momentum. I go flying across the kitchen, holding on to those cupcakes, not letting go. I trip forward now at eye level with the table. Smack. My head hits the butcher block table and pushes it across the entire floor of the kitchen. The box drops and skids toward the kitchen sink.  I know I am hurt. I tend to the cupcakes first. Shaking I set them back up one-by-one and hope I can salvage them later. I put them in the fridge and then tend to myself.

I look in the mirror in disbelief.

I have a lump the size of two-and-a-half golf balls on my forehead above my eye.  Are you freakin’ kidding me?? I get the ice and lie down.  My mind instantly shifts from wanting everything to be perfect to oh geez, what if I have a concussion, what if I don’t make my own daughter’s bridal shower, what if it gets worse overnight, what if I get nauseous and end up in the ER?????? I’m in shock. Literally. I copy and paste my photo and send it to my friends. Yes, it’s as bad as I think. I iced all day.

The lump went down overnight although the side of my head remained swollen. My eye started to get black and blue. Nothing a little purple eye shadow and coverup couldn’t take care of. I wore my glasses the whole time.  I made it.  No one noticed. Lucky for me. In the next few days I would have a complete black eye. Darling Daughter says, mom, next time let go of the cupcakes. I just wanted everything to be perfect, I say.

By the way, everything was perfect.  We were all genuinely happy to see each other I think.  Darling Daughter was the picture of happiness and beauty. The bridesmaids did a stellar job. And I was in complete gratitude for just being able to show up. My friend hugged me and said, it’s like you always tell us, these things rarely turn out as imagined.  I know this to be true.

As for the lesson, I focused on messing up and did. I focused on appearance and perfection and was hit over the head with a spiritual 2×4 which I decided I have to stop saying.  What really mattered was the coming together in joy, no matter the miles, the emotional distance, the relationships, for a single person and upcoming union of love.

Somehow it always comes back that. It always comes back to love.

Now that’s perfection.

Until next time….

Goodnight from Greenville (only I’m at the beach)


Copyright © 2018 Soulfire Woman, All Rights Reserved

Dyanne is an Soulfire Woman coach, psychotherapist, writer, Modern Day Wisdom Elder, Integrative Yoga Therapy teacher, certified “Journal-to-the SELF” instructor and creator of, helping women heal and step into their power. She is the author of the soon-to-be released book, “Soulfire Woman:  How to Torch Your Past, Ignite Your Present, and Set Your Soul on Fire.”

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