I never thought I was a perfectionist.
In college I valued sleep way too much to pull an all-nighter in hopes of securing a perfect grade. But let’s be honest, I’ve never been someone to lose sleep over pretty much anything.
Recently, I’ve felt off. There’s been an ache in my chest like a brick sitting on my lungs. I feel like I’m not truly present in this space and my brain feels disheveled and messy.
Yesterday I sat in my favorite coffee shop, at my favorite table and literally stared at my Bible. I didn’t flip a page. I wasn’t reading, I just stared. Asking, begging, pleading with God to help me figure out this funk I’ve been in for the past several weeks.
I realized that weight I’ve felt, that brick, it’s shame. It’s shame creeping around every corner over every project at every meeting. It’s this voice that whispers I’m not enough. I’m not gifted or useful. It’s weighty, it’s loud, it’s paralyzing.
This shame has taken root as perfectionism. However, instead of working tirelessly to achieve said perfection, I sit, paralyzed. Fearful. I don’t try new things. I rarely finish a project. I won’t write. I won’t eat. All because I’m fearful of imperfection. I know I can’t be perfect so I don’t try. I let this ache consume and suffocate. I hang out with friends and I beat myself up over the words I say. I delete half of my Instagram photos. I have countless blog posts archived because I'm afraid to post something imperfect. I’m even afraid to spend time with God.
Shame, perfection, whatever we’re calling it holds me back from things I love. From speaking up, from writing, from art. It holds me back because if I can’t be perfect, I can’t be anything.
I’m not perfect. I never will be. I’ve never done anything perfectly. And I’m learning to believe that’s ok. It’s ok to post an imperfect Instagram. It’s ok to submit an imperfect blog post. It’s ok if I don’t always say the “right” things. But I can’t let that stop me from living. I can’t just sit around and let life swirl by without me.
So here I am, friends. Letting you in on my lazy perfectionist problem. I’m committed to digging in, staying, and working. I want to know where this lie comes from and how I let it consume me. Even now, I have mega anxiety over posting this blog because it isn't perfect.
Thanks for reading my messy, imperfect blog. Y’all are really the best.