Perfectionism Kills-I Choose Gentility

I didn’t know I was growing up with perfectionism. I knew I had to be quiet. I couldn’t give an opinion. I had to hide my fears and tears. I knew there was something wrong with me. I strived to meet the standard, always unreachable. Because I was unable to reach any goal, I thought I’d be killed by the relentless judging overseer; or die by my own hand.I was wrong. There is a gentleness, an abiding love. My mother had been a school teacher as a young woman. She taught me how to behave. Learning discipline, learning to listen, and learning manners have served me well. My father was an engineer. My father loved nature and shared that with me. Experiencing paddling a canoe in a lake surrounded by forest green and seeing lady slippers in loving acceptance kept me going. My learning experiences with my mother were harsh. My dad expected obedience too; however, I felt his acceptance of me. His enthusiasm and joy in nature gave to me. To this day, the woods and lakes feed me spiritually, as well as the joy of physical movement. When I couldn’t meet the perfect mark, I found myself acting like my mother. I came to the brink of life and death. In that unforgiving, totally frightening place of no choice; I was sure I would die. I thought the choice of death by my own hand might even lead me to a worse hell. I couldn’t imagine a worse hell. The choice I made led me to mercy and acceptance. It was gentle. I know there’s an abiding gentle love that’s here for me and there for everyone.

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