Although I did not direct this at myself, these are my emotions. This is me. One of my best friends passed away this year. Reaching out to those who are hurting was one of her passions (there really aren’t words to describe how fiercely her fire burned). I started writing this before she passed and waited. I attempted to make it perfect. I waited too long. I prioritized how I felt and never shared it.
I am a perfectionist and I let perfection get in the way of being human. I want to create something and revise it until it is perfect because I don’t want others to see my imperfections. I want to hide my flaws and keep others from seeing the cracks that reveal themselves in my work.
I need to stop. I am constantly trying to make myself better and learn new things, but imperfection is the only way to improve and learn. This is imperfect. I am imperfect. And that is okay.