Perfection and imperfection

It was a good but busy weekend, the weather was fabulous so I got to spend some much needed time in the garden. I find the garden to be a very calming space, outdoors is where I am happiest.
The garden is a place where I have no need for my usual perfection, after all, I am very much not in control out there. I love rescuing plants that others think are beyond saving and nurturing them back to health.
That makes some places in the garden rather messy, but after 3 years of nurturing a tiny pine tree that everyone said was un-salvageable it has finally begun to recover and is a beautiful shade of green standing out against the darker firs at the bottom of the garden, next year, I think, it will be back to it’s former glory.
Watching the coverage of Chelsea Flower Show, I can appreciate the perfection that is possible in a garden, but for me, I would rather fill my space with imperfect reject plants in need of care and attention, than have a perfectly manicured space.
Still though, I can accept and even enjoy imperfect garden, but my need for my own perfection continues, unrealistic and at those times I feel the need to punish myself, painful. What is it in me that can nurture a dying or diseased plant back to health, with endless patience, and similarly in my work provide support to those who need it, but for myself there is no such tolerance or compassion. I guess the anger turned inwards is powerful that way. The damage it does and continues to do feels endless.



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