Perfection is not our game

I didn't have my finest parenting moment today.

Ah, we try our best, don't we?

I'd prepared lunch, the girls had finished their learning, and Doshi had done an amazing job helping me mash the potatoes. We were all settled in. I turned around quickly to tidy something up before sitting down to enjoy lunch with the family when suddenly I heard—

Crash.

I turned around and the cup of broth I'd brought over, leftover from yesterday's veggie soup, had spilled all over the table. Everything was soaked.

Now, I know what my preferred response would have been:

"Are you okay, my love? It was hot. Did you burn yourself? What can Mummy do?"

To simply be there for her.

But unfortunately, in the shock of the moment, what came out was:

"Ah! How did this happen? How could you spill the soup? Why weren't you more careful?"

And almost immediately, something about that reaction felt familiar.

Because that's how my dad reacted whenever I spilled something as a child. Or broke something. Or fell over.

A few minutes later, after taking some deep breaths, I realised:

Damn it.

That's not how I wanted to respond.

That's not my preferred choice of parenting.

And then came the guilt. The frustration. The anger at myself.

How can I still do this? After all this time? After all the work I've done? How could I not recognise it in the moment and practise what I teach?

But then I reminded myself: this was a pattern I learned from my dad. And he probably learned it from his parents, and perhaps they learned it from theirs.

And it's okay.

Because it's precisely in these moments that we practise.

Awareness gives us the opportunity to change the direction of our choices. Not necessarily before the pattern appears every single time, but when we become aware of it.

So I went outside for a moment to collect myself.

And I realised that the self-blame I had slipped into was toxic. Unnecessary. Counterproductive, really.

It was also the opposite of Inner Coherence.

I believe deeply in love and compassion for ourselves, for others, for the planet and for all sentient beings. But if we cannot begin with ourselves, how can we possibly extend that love authentically to everything around us?

It starts within before it moves without.

So the first thing I did was give myself a big hug.

Literally.

And I said out loud:

"It's okay. You're okay. You're trying your best. You're allowed to have these moments."

Then:

"Okay. What are you going to do about it?"

Because no, that wasn't my preferred choice.

I had a moment of incoherence.

But what an incredible opportunity to practise.

Parenting comes with so much pressure. Be this. Don't be that. Use this parenting style. Don't use that one. This is good for your children. That will damage your children.

It's a lot.

Sometimes we need to give ourselves a break.

Once I was able to offer myself compassion and understanding, I could feel myself settle. I came back into coherence.

And when I regulate myself, I become capable of helping another person co-regulate too.

So I went back to Doshi.

I gave her a big hug and took her over to the couch. I could tell the poor little dot had been holding everything in because she could sense that I was upset and angry.

And the moment I hugged her, she felt safe enough to release it.

She sobbed into my shoulder.

"Mummy, I burnt my tongue. It hurts and it feels weird and I don't like it."

Oh, sweetheart.

So I held her.

We breathed through it together, and I gave her space to express everything she had been holding in.

And then I said:

"I'm sorry for allowing my big feelings to control me in that moment."

Because I want her to see that this isn't about perfection.

It's about recognising when we've become incoherent.

It's about learning from it.

Repairing.

And moving forward.

We cleaned everything up together. We had a good chuckle. Lunch resumed.

Our relationship was repaired — perhaps even strengthened.

My Inner Coherence was re-established.

And she had the opportunity to see something I hope she carries with her:

Perfection is not our game.

Progress is.

Consistent progress.

Practising in these tiny, ordinary, messy micro-moments of life.

And perhaps having the opportunity to regulate, repair and reconnect together is one of the greatest gifts I can give her.

We're not perfect.

We're human.

We're humans having a human-ing experience.

And I think we deserve to give ourselves love and respect for that.

Because ultimately, that's what I want my children to walk away with.

Not the belief that they must never fail.

Not the belief that they must never lose their temper, make a mistake, spill the soup, say the wrong thing or get it wrong.

I want them to know how to return to themselves when they do.

And above all, I want them to have love and respect for themselves — even when they fail, even when they make mistakes.

Love,

Kim x