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Confessions Of A Perfectionist
Like everything in life healing is a journey
The past several weeks have felt volatile; like the sea in monsoon, I have gone through cataclysmic upheavals, thoughts that swell, momentarily buoyant but restrained by a ceiling where the grey tones of despair from yonder years suffuse into deeper shades of falling short, eventually plummeting and crashing into the swirling nothingness of the subconscious.
You might think this is heavy and somewhat disturbing. I’m not going to lie; it is at times. But this is also who I have become as a result of chasing perfection to the point of exhaustion.
Yet in my forties, I have been at this cat-and-mouse game for too long. I have woken far too many times with a pit in my stomach because of a feeling that I was not there yet. Sometimes I wished that I were doing fewer things because that’d be less to keep up with.
I’d look at the clouds scudding across the vast expanse of the sky and wonder what it would feel like to let myself become like them — weightless, assume any shape, even nonsensical ones, and just flow to wherever the wind takes me.
I know that I could just hang up my boots and stop. But when the pursuit is ingrained within you, to the point that being a driven and tenacious goal chaser is your identity, it isn’t…
