Mismatched socks 🧦
And embracing the less than perfect
I both love and hate therapy. You talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing until you find yourself unexpectedly baring your soul. The other person involved – not a friend but winds up knowing you better than some of your best – invites you to look at your best and worst selves and try to make sense of it all. For me, the goal of therapy is peace (with myself, those around me, the world). Which is a bit ironic, given the path to that peace often involves puddles of tears and arguing with my therapist about whether or not my various coping mechanisms are normal or actually a trauma response.
I highly recommend.
A few years ago, my therapist at the time made the observation that a lot of my angst seemed connected to one particular pattern of behavior: perfectionism. When I shared how I struggled with various situations in my life, a common theme emerged. I would set out to do something with incredibly high standards. If I succeeded, well, great. That was the expectation. But if I fell short – even if there was just the perception of falling short – I would ruminate in my inadequacy, self-flagellating in the hopes that next time I would finally live up to the version of myself I strived to be.
My therapist wondered if perhaps I was being a bit too hard on myself. No, no, I shook my head. It felt good to have high expectations, in fact it was one of the things that helped me live such a wonderful life now, I assured her.
Well, yes, she pushed back. But it was also feeding my anxiety and causing quite a bit of suffering. It wasn't bad to have high expectations, but approaching everything that way wasn't doing me any favors. Especially because I tended to have those high standards for things that didn't really matter at all. I shrugged. Sure, that probably happened sometimes, but not often.
She gave me a homework assignment: Try doing something imperfect on purpose as part of my daily routine. Like wearing mismatched socks. Some of her clients – apparently she meets with a lot of perfectionists – take it even further and wear mismatched earrings. She said that it could be an intentional way of reminding myself not to take things so seriously. Would I be open to trying it?
It sounded like the stupidest thing I'd ever heard.
I left that session rolling my eyes. Really, socks? But I figured I'd give it a try anyway. I uncoupled my socks and put them in a little pile in my sock drawer. Each day I randomly grabbed two and put them on my feet. (A quick note: All of my everyday socks are the same cut from a variety pack with different colors. There's no way I'd find myself sporting one mid-calf and one ankle sock. I shudder just thinking about it.)
The first few weeks, I didn't even notice the change. After all, no one really saw my socks except my husband. I worked from home and often wore slippers. Heck, I didn't even see my feet all that often. And when I randomly caught sight of my mismatched toes, I startled a bit, then chuckled. What a silly thing to do. Look at me being all chill about not being perfect.
One day I came home from running an errand and our son’s nanny just happened to be by the door. I struck up a conversation with her, slipping a foot out of my sneaker. Then the other foot. And I realized I was standing before her in my definitely not matching socks.
My reaction was immediate. I felt myself flush, then start stammering. Relax, relax, don't draw attention to it, I told myself. Maybe she won't notice, she probably won't notice. Oh god, how could she not notice?! I tried to keep my tone neutral as we continued our conversation, but my heart pounded in my chest. I feel so stupid, I probably look so stupid. She's probably thinking I'm weird right now. She probably thinks I'm a CRAZY PERSON! Should I explain my therapist told me to do it? That sounds even crazier! She's not going to want to work with us anymore and probably thinks I'm unqualified to be a parent. I quickly shoved my feet into my nearby slippers and scurried off to my workspace.
The whole scene left me a hot mess. Once I got a grip of myself and calmed down, I was left looking at myself in the metaphorical mirror. What was that? I had to laugh. The fact that two seconds of being seen in mismatched socks caused me to react that way was. . . just wow. In such a short span of time I went from living my happy little life to being convinced that someone else thought I was not only crazy, but a bad person with questionable judgment. Over my socks.
At my next therapy session, I sheepishly brought up the incident and told my therapist she might be on to something. I don't remember the details of what we talked about, but the experience has stuck with me. It was eye-opening to see my knee-jerk reaction in that moment. No wonder I was exhausted and on high alert all the time. Not because other people expected me to be perfect, but because I put such unnecessary pressure on myself for things that shouldn't matter as much as I let them. It left little bandwidth for the things that do actually matter and are worthy of my best.
Years later, I still mismatch my socks. Sometimes, when I go to friends' houses or other events where I find myself taking off my shoes, I still startle when I realize people will see me in all my mismatched glory. But most the time people don't even notice. And sometimes – huge plot twist – people even compliment me on my style choice. But at the end of the day, who cares?
I've come to embrace my socks as a reminder that it's okay to not be perfect all the time. Sometimes when I see my feet, it serves as a reminder to check in on other areas of my life: Am I being too hard on myself? Does this thing I'm stressed about matter as much as I think it does? Are my high standards serving me or interfering with my well-being?
Like everything, it’s a work in progress. But my hope is that over time, it’ll become second nature to give myself space to be less than perfect. Just like reaching for those two random socks.
Small victories 🏅
Jess and Dylan tied the knot! And are currently enjoying some honeymoon bliss. The wedding festivities were absolutely wonderful and beautiful. What’s more, it brought together an amazing group of interesting, talented, thoughtful humans. Old friendships were deepened and new friendships were forged. It was lovely.
A special thank you to my mom and sister; without them, my husband and I wouldn’t have been able to sneak away from the kids for the weekend! And kudos to me leaving the baby for the first time. I only cried once, a major victory.
Hot mess recs 🔥
Who doesn’t love a good pair of socks! LOL. I’d be remiss if I didn’t share my absolute love of Bombas. Not only do they fit like new socks every time I wear them, but they’ve lasted me a loooong time (longer than is probably appropriate). Also, their toddler socks were the first ones we found that didn’t immediately fall off our wiggle worm of a kid.
This is so random, but if you have access to a Trader Joe’s, I recently discovered this Unexpected Cheddar Cheese Spread and I’m obsessed. I bought it on a whim because their Unexpected Cheddar is also delightful, and it is just so dang good. I love it with pretzels.
Depending on where you live, you might be entering (or fully in) the loveliness of spring. Go outside, breathe in the air, look for something growing and let it remind you that we’re all figuring out this life thing together. Fresh air is good for the soul.
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That’s all for now,
Sam