“Perfectionism is not the same thing as striving to be your best. Perfectionism is the belief that if we live perfect, look perfect, and act perfect, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgement, and shame. It’s a shield. It’s a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from flight”
– Brene Brown
It is hard work to project an image. To pretend, to live it, and to protect it. To convince that everything is fine and dandy; great even. Mustn’t allow the cracks to seep through. Forcing smiles on a face they don’t belong; you’re exhausted. There’s something about staring into the starless night sky that makes you feel abandoned. The lie becomes you and it’s lonely. It pushes you in front of a breaking wave. And you feel like a wreck, bearing treasures you think you cannot show without pulling anyone down with you. But, somehow…. somehow through this shitstorm, you still fiercely cling onto the canvas you painted of your peachy world.
A master of deception. A deflector of vulnerability. An admirer of artifice.
You silently weather the storms of insecurity; it’s cold. Every bone in your body is screaming and there’s dead butterflies inside of you. Faking comes easier to those who are numb; it hurts. Scripts like this aren’t meant for you.
Be something other than polished perfection. Strip the lies and undress yourself from the ugliness. Be a mess. Be authentic even if the truth is tangled. Listen to the sorry beats of the drummer that cannot create a rhythm in your chest; it’s whispering you stories with songs that are out of sync; the notes are unedited and it’s beautiful.
Long gone are the days of being a graceful pretender. Convene and accede being lost and decipher conflicts and struggles. Embrace vulnerability and watch your heart come back to life. Be open. Be penned by the truth and inscribe each detail of its profound elegance. And there’s inspiration laced in every uncertainty. Let go of the secrets that were never yours to begin with and allow them to fill journals. The wind will blow away the pages and the words of tragedy will find their way into somebody else’s hands.
Put down the shield. Take off the armour. You’re free from the walls. You’re more alive than you’ve ever been.