Dear Perfectionist
I was thinking about how, when I was a little girl, I would immediately run to my mom or dad to tell them about anything good I did. It usually ended with them saying, “Wow! I’m so proud of you.” I don’t know exactly when I learned that there’s a reward for doing good, even if the reward is just a simple “I’m proud of you,” but that became everything to me. “Dad, I read my Bible!” “I’m proud of you, Madison!” “Mom, Dad! I made all A’s!” “We’re so proud of you, Madison! Good job!” At that time, all I knew was that what I was doing was good. It pleased my parents. It made them proud. But somewhere along the way, pleasing turned into perfection. Perfectionism became my struggle, not just doing the right things, but doing all the right things right. That’s an incredible amount of pressure. This kind of pressure made me afraid to fail. Afraid that failure would change how people saw me, loved me, or appreciated me. I carry that weight constantly. I’ve let what was once about pleas...