When did you last go out in your pyjamas? I’m going to bet it wasn’t too recently, and if it was, I’m going to guess that it’s not a regular occurrence! (Totally open to being proven wrong on this point, and I look forward to hearing your amusing tales).
I’m sitting here writing in my PJs. They have a black and pink and white tartan pattern with a fine thread of silver to add a little pizzazz – for what purpose, I am not sure. Perhaps to make them ready to go club-hopping at a moment’s notice? I’m also wearing my pale pink and black leopard-print, floor length, ultra-plush dressing gown with satin-lined hood, even though it is not really cold (in fact, I’m a little bit warm in this get-up). But it’s like wearing a very ostentatious yet placid kitten, so one must persevere.
And I’ve given myself until 10pm to finish writing this post, which kind of freaks me out a little bit. Because what about the editing, and picking through my sentences with a fine-tooth comb to make sure I’ve chosen just the right words for just the right places? And what if what it looks like in half an hour is not nearly what I desire to present to the world? And what it it’s not perfect and poetic enough and what if it doesn’t PLEASE you, dear reader?
But, in an effort to press on with my quest of personal growth and just bloody the sing notes in front of me, I finally decided that I procrastinated long enough with getting another post out there, and by golly I just need to do it, hence the time limit. And I got to thinking, how often do I limit myself or hold myself back or stay in the shadows or behind the curtains because I’m not ready? Because I’m not prepared for people to see me how I truly am (slouched at my dining table, pyjama pants and tatty singlet, pimpin’ dressing gown), I make excuses when I don’t have time to edit. What do I miss out on when I put perfection and performance ahead of participation?
As a Type Nine my general state of being is to remain inert, and bucking that requires enormous effort. So it is very easy to stay in my pyjamas and say ‘thanks but no thanks’ when life offers me something other than a safe and cushy chair to curl up in all day. Because I have lived with a desire for perfection for as long as I can remember, I present myself with the choice of all or nothing, and far too frequently choose nothing because I’m afraid of appearing less-than-all: unedited. I feel I have lived with a preference to be isolated when faced with my imperfections, rather than allowing others the chance to extend grace towards me by being imperfect around them.
After our third child was born at the end of May, I lived in somewhat of a uniform for at least the first eight weeks: yoga pants, nursing singlet, maternity top, ugg boots. The sort of attire you really only want your family to see you in. But my family really made up the bulk of my visitors anyway, and I rarely ventured out of the house.
It took me twelve weeks to make it back through the doors of my church. I go to what a lot of people might consider a ‘mega church’ though I don’t know that its scale is on a par really deserving of the label. However, despite the connotations of the label, and irregardless of its faults or shortcomings, I love my church. They are my family. It is home.
My first week back, one of my daughter’s little friends came over for a hug. Her mother, Anna, referring to her child said, “Yep… she’s in her pyjamas”. Clothes just weren’t going to happen for her that day. Despite the distractions from my children and feeling uncomfortable in the clothes I had somehow managed to squirm into that morning, I really enjoyed the service. The worry and the tension and the tendencies to depression that had followed me around since the birth of my child just sort of melted away.
I felt at ease.
I felt that I wished I’d come back much sooner.
I wished that I had had the carefree nature and attitude of my dear friend Anna, and not cared so much that I didn’t have the time to edit myself and my kids before showing up at church, or anywhere else for that matter.
I wished that I had just hung out with my family.
I wished that I had shown up in my pyjamas.
here’s to being a first draft,
living life unedited
trusting grace abounds
to be uniquely you
put pen to paper
step out in your uggs
turn your face toward the sun
and let the light illuminate
those glorious imperfections
(I am proud to say, it’s 10.11pm and I am done. I am not going back to re-edit this. Boo-yah! And the dressing-gown came off at about 9.47pm – this third day of Melbourne Spring is too warm for its luxuriousness – such a shame!)
What does it mean for you to ‘show up in your PJs’? Is there anywhere you might be unnecessarily editing yourself? I think that some of our greatest insecurities come from the fear of people finding out who we truly are. Would you agree? Why or why not? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. And don’t forget you can now subscribe to receive updates via email!