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The grief is real - for all the art, creativity, expression, beauty I didn't create because of perfectionism and the fear of failure, judgement and rejection.
But, inevitably, perfectionism would betray me.
Perfectionism is just shame masquerading as discipline. Inside the delusion of shame and not-enoughness was a world of hurt - chronic burnout, perpetual injuries, broken trust, failed relationships. Perfectionism wasn’t making me better; it was making me miserable. When I think back to all the time and energy that I invested in proving and performing, when I could have been loving, connecting and creating. The cost of my addiction was irreparable, but the choice to do something different, to own my imperfections and appreciate my worth without conditions, was profoundly shifting.
While I'm still recovering from this affliction, these days I'm practicing making art even if it sucks. I'm giving myself permission to take risks and fail forward. I'm celebrating my mistakes and opportunities to learn and grow. And I'm surrounding myself by creatives who have said "enough" to waiting around until things are so-called 'perfect' and letting ourselves be seen, heard and appreciated because we matter and our art matters.
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