Compromise Is Not Surrender: Extending Grace to Myself

I took a walk this morning, which is quickly becoming a new normal. But what wasn’t normal was that I invited my 4-year-old along.

I was listening to a great podcast from Ian Cron, author of The Road Back to You (which I highly recommend) with author/blogger Kendra Adachi. They were talking about being an Enneagram 1.

If you don’t know much about the Enneagram, 1’s are called Perfectionists, Reformers, or Improvers, depending on who you ask. I’m wired this way, which means I like to make things better. No matter how good something is, I can generally always find ways it could be better.

I don’t necessarily demand perfection from myself in each task, but I’m fairly merciless with myself when it comes to accomplishing what I’ve set out to do.

I will absolutely watch Netflix on a Friday night and eat junk food but I’ll be secretly feeling guilty for not being more productive and for taking a night off from my diet.

I’ve done things I didn’t think I could do. In part, because I decided that I could, in fact, do them, I just didn’t want to. But I decided to anyway. When I ran my first (and then 2nd) 5k. When I decided to give up sugar for 40 days, and then again the following fall.

But here’s the thing. I don’t plan to live a sugar-free life, nor will I probably become a runner. I like the idea of running a half-marathon, but I’m not crazy about the amount of time the training takes.

There is no objective standard for a life well-lived. Click To Tweet

While I do believe in the concept of absolute truth and morality, I also believe in redemption and grace. Yet there are things that are not those levels of issue to me.

I have friends who believe very strongly in providing all fresh, organic, local foods, and meals for their families. I have respect for this. I may even wish I could be more like that. But it is not one of my values at the moment.

One of the problems of motherhood (especially as an Ennegram 1) is that you feel like you have to do everything right all the time or you’re failing. But the definition of “right” is subjective!

Another study, another expert, another book or blogpost, and suddenly you aren’t sure what’s fact or truth anymore.

Is milk really bad? What if I can’t afford all organic produce? Should I be worried about giving Miralax to my chronically constipated child?

When the experts don’t agree, and the facts conflict we are left with trusting our own instincts, which can feel even less trustworthy and certainly not objective.

I like to think that I’ve learned the art of compromise.

My house won’t always be clean and tidy. But I will try to instill regular habits of tidying in my children, even if the results are mixed.

I don’t want to eat a diet so strict that I cannot manage a family dinner or share a meal with friends. But I can make healthy choices (or at least my interpretation of them) most of the time, to leave room for the times when the people matter more.

My life as it currently is makes writing as much and as frequently as I’d like difficult. But I refuse to abandon the joy writing brings me because I cannot do it perfectly. I won’t give up on the pages onto which I’ve poured my love and tears because I don’t have a large following, an agent or a publishing contract.

But the truth is that I still struggle with all the ways I feel like I’m failing. Because sometimes compromise with myself feels like surrender rather than grace.

Compromise is not a dirty word, it is a tool to keep the perfect from being the enemy of the good. Click To Tweet

So I let my four-year-old join me, and even adjusted my route with his randomness. It meant I didn’t keep the pace I usually would, or get in the miles I usually do. We walked the final several blocks home with him crying and dragging his scooter after a minor spill. I waved and smiled to the neighbors calling reassurances.

“He’s Ok. He’s just upset that he fell down.”

I wasn’t my most athletic walk. I could have been embarrassed to have the whole neighborhood seeing me escort a weeping preschooler home. But instead I enjoyed a rare solo walk with my youngest. I let him make choices. I still got outside and moved my body. I choose to focus on the success rather than what could have been better.

Would that I could do that in more areas of my life. There are lines we must hold, but much of life is lived in the gray.