I am learning how to set myself free.
For a long time, I have known that I set impossibly high standards for myself. I strive for perfection and beat myself up when I fall even a millimeter short. In my head, I know that’s not what God asks of me. He asks me to be holy and to rely on him more than I rely on me. And yet, over and over again, I choose the harder, more painful, less merciful path.
I need to soak in mercy. I need to unlock this self-created prison of perfection and let mistakes wash over me and see it’s all okay.
A couple days ago, my counselor said, “What if I told you to make twenty mistakes on purpose this week?”
I looked at him like he had sprouted three extra heads. “Seriously? Why would I make mistakes on purpose?”
“To learn and experience that it’s okay when you make a mistake.”
Sometimes, I want to facepalm myself because what my counselor says is so simple and obvious and commonsense. I know what he’s telling me in my brain, but getting my heart to believe it is another thing entirely.
I know this prison of perfection is damaging. I know it keeps me locked in tight, trapped in fear of failure. I’ve been in it so long that, to be honest with you, sometimes I don’t even realize an opportunity is valid because if there’s even a tiny chance of failure I dismiss it entirely. I think Of course not, when really, if I took a chance, not only would I be pleasantly surprised, I would also grow my courage and believe more and more in myself.
Remember when I told you about my first B in college? In the moment, it was utterly devastating, and I cried hard over it, but the next semester had a freedom I hadn’t experienced yet. I had more fun; I stopped worrying so much. I knew that I could do well—excellently well, in fact—without striving so hard.
Sometimes, our mistakes win us freedom. I wish I could always live in that B-won freedom: move a little more freely, spread my wings a little more fully, and live more lively, grounded in the confidence that I am beloved and capable and oftentimes, a B is good enough.
But somehow, between then and now, I crawled back into my hidey hole, merely observing from behind self-made bars, refusing to come out and dance in the sun unless I could do it with A+ perfection.
My prayer is that one day, I come out of that perfect prison, lock it behind me and throw away the key. I pray that I can trust myself enough to know I am still capable without perfection, and trust Jesus enough to live in his grace (which, I’ve found, only sticks for imperfect people anyway). I never want to return to this place of perfection, because really, it hurts me and it hurts the people around me. It keeps me from giving generously of myself, from loving people like they deserve, from moving outside of myself and bringing life to dead places because I think, if I can’t do it perfectly, I won’t do it at all.
That’s no way to live. And at the end of the day, no one else cares if I’m perfect.
