It’s (almost) always funny to me when I finally see a blind spot I have been unaware of. Most of my kitchen knives are kinda dull. That’s not exactly true, but they certainly aren’t sharp. I have the tool to sharpen them, and I’m actually adept at using it. The old saying about “a knife sharp enough to split hairs”, I can create that with quality steel blades, a little time and a little patience. I have even bought lovely new kitchen knives to avoid having to sharpen the ones I own.
So the mystery, why are my kitchen knives not sharp? I finally realized the ‘reason’ this morning. And perhaps that realization may be as useful to someone else as it was to me.
My ex-husband, Jerry, was a very lovely human being. We were just not a good fit. Or perhaps we were the perfect fit, because our dysfunctions fit together perfectly, until they didn’t. He was an absolute perfectionist, mortally terrified of being criticized, so he almost never completed anything. Sharpening ‘my’ kitchen knives was an exception. Perhaps it was the one task he could control, or keep working at, until they were absolutely magnificent.
I could tell the story about why he came to be that way. And it doesn’t actually matter much. Suffice it to say that he came from a very dysfunctional family that no one, and no thing could ever be good enough. I’m not like that, though I was raised that way, too. It was not possible to be recognized for doing anything truly well in my family of origin, because praise was seldom (never) given. It might make us think too highly of ourselves, or something. My reaction to being raised that way is to swing to the opposite extreme. I’m not quite the queen of “that’s good enough” but I am a long-standing member of her court. That must’ve given him some relief for those 10 years we were together. I didn’t see the dynamic we played out daily until many years later.
Getting back to my knives… So why haven’t I gotten the sharpener out, and done the deed that will take at most 10 minutes per knife? I did so much in that relationship (I told you it was dysfunctional), to do this would be to take away the one thing that Jerry did perfectly. My blind spot was that I didn’t see him as perfect regardless, but instead as someone for whom I ‘had to’ (I actually chose to) do virtually everything for. Accepting all the facets of his perfection, his kindness, his caring nature, his skill, his brilliance at so many things, and also his shortcomings, and finding peace, ease and joy in that for me, and knowing it for him, gives both of us space to develop further. He’s gone on to his next iteration, whatever that means, but I’m still here, working it out on the earth plane.
With that recognition, I think I’ll get the sharpener out and take care of my kitchen knives. <3
–Rev Janis Farmer