november 12 . 2018

I’m taking the next step in my separation from Perfectionism:

I’m writing.

I’ve learned that Perfectionism is a lousy lover…controlling, manic, arrogant.

You need the perfect environment to write well; wait until you can enjoy it.

Your thoughts aren’t formed enough yet; wait until you have something conclusive to say.

You have no photos to accompany your words. Wait until you can afford a camera to take your own pictures and impress people with them.

You’re not in a healthy state of mind/soul/body/being to write; wait until you are more stable. You don’t want people thinking you’re needy.

Someone else is already saying what you want to say. You’ll just look like you’re imitating them if you say it too. Wait until you have something creative and innovative to say.

Wait.

What a jerk. 

As it turns out, Perfectionism used Waiting to get me to befriend Silence and Scarcity. But I don’t like them either.

So, here I am. Writing. Practicing the art of ignoring my inner critic and laying fingers to keys, because – first, honestly, I enjoy the sound typing makes. And – I also have things to say. In a season where I have been telling myself I need to be careful and quiet and cautious – because have you seen how people’s words are being used against them day in and out? – I need to obey the stillest, smallest, most solid voice inside of me that is pressing against my throat: God in me, speaking, and wanting to use MY VOICE to say it.

Even if I’m only preaching to myself – I’m going to say it.

Written with a commitment to post within a few minutes of expression, very little spellchecking, and willingness to embrace the inevitable vulnerability hangover.