perfect.

Someone once told me that the need for perfection is the highest form of self-abuse.

He was right.

As I ponder the cruelty in simply striving for it, I am floored, yet still I find myself aiming for just that. I don’t expect it from anyone else, but myself. Not out of pride, but out of fear. The fear in a faulty performance, an imperfect heart, that causes people to be disappointed or let down. The fear is far from legitimate.

Perfectionism is a slow death. It is an enemy of creation.

The irony of it all is, I don’t really “want” to be perfect. I realize that is no life at all, it doesn’t exist in any human, and God did not create me to live in such a way. Nonetheless, it is not the desire to be perfect, but rather the worry or panic that if I don’t, or at least try (and try really hard) any grace given to me will be in vain or even taken away.

It is as if I create my own self-pressurized bubble of “hurry up” and “do it right” and “don’t mess up” or “don’t let them down” that before I know it, my downcast thoughts have created a kind of mentality in me that would make it absolutely impossible to be anything, but completely paralyzed.

How is it that we can be so gracious, patient and compassionate with others, but not with ourselves?

I don’t understand the constant scrutiny I often carry out on my heart.

It doesn’t do me any good except drive me further down into the hellhole of thoughts I’ve created and cultivated; simply by giving into the lie that if I don’t perform, if I don’t try harder to hold it all together, the world will fall apart as I know it (And when I was young, it did just that). It is all such an illusion because the second I think I’m juggling all the balls accurately, another one appears and I’m once again told that I’m just not adequate for the task at hand.

It is a never ending, cyclical torture and no one is involved except my own head and the lies in my heart.

There is no doubt that these improper patterns are rooted in my past. The enemy works in the most conniving ways—threatening and ruining our spirit before we even realize we have one.

This is one of the biggest frustrations I’ve ever dealt with: the knowledge of the enthusiastic spirit and joy inside of me, coupled with the lies and fears that suffocate them both.

Joy comes, then the fear floods.

The habitual thoughts are so mistaken and evoke a state of heart that wrongfully learns to fear its own healthy spirit. The enemy is so good at convincing us we will always be this way: “Will I ever be free from this?” The question alone provokes a kind of self-defeat.

I’m screwed before I even begin.

What is even more frustrating is we all know how beautiful imperfection is (Then why do I care so much?)

It is the way God intended: imperfect, all kinds of messy humans roaming the planet, loving Him and loving each other the way He taught. Period. Love your neighbor as yourself. That is quite a command, especially when we don’t even know if or how to love ourselves.

When we grow up or are surrounded by people, friends, family that love us conditionally, we often find our identity in striving to perform in order to receive their love. Or even more, they may love us, but don't really know us. Thus we struggle to prove ourselves for approval.

The crux of the issue is that no matter how hard we try, our hearts don’t know how to receive the love even if we did get it unconditionally.

And thus the devils’ moving target continues to wander.

The inability to love who I am as God’s daughter only becomes a symptom of the real problem at hand: Do I believe He loves me, no matter what kind of crap I carry, put at His feet, and sometimes pick back up again.

The most divine part about all of this is, is that God really can change it. He really can change me.

Not in a day and maybe not in a year, but change does happen. Not to mention the pains through the change, reverting back to my dark thoughts, applying the pressure to figure it out, coupled with some earthly timeline of when I should just be “free.”

I’m not sure if some struggles ever fade completely. Perhaps they do, but only manifest themselves in other ways once we’re married, have kids, grow older, etc.

Regardless of this reality, cultivating a kind of heart that senses His strength and moves with it is really all we can hope for. Trusting that He’s working, even when it feels as if we’ve become stagnant or numb to our own hearts and seemingly to His.

Even more, He gives us people and relationships to carry out His love in the most tangible form imaginable. This has been very true for my life recently. A handful of months ago, I was able to finally find the origin of so many of my dark thoughts and my need for self-perfection out of fear.

I remember the tears that came, and the healing as I cried, realizing that He loves me even when I am unlovable.

I still have a hard time wrapping my heart around it.

I truly believe that one of the most important steps in my heart process of realizing that I’m loved was mourning. Simply mourning my false identity and who I thought I was, or even more, who I thought I was supposed to be.

The pattern is so integrated in who I am, it’s almost painful to let it go. I want to let it go, but by way of nature and habit, it makes it difficult.

I have to act contrary to how I feel in order to become freer. Huh. I have to take His truth and actually put it into practice.

Active truth, active love, active faith, active everything.

That source of truth has had a ripple effect on my entire being.

Soon after He brought people into my life in the most incredible ways and they have been nothing, but grace and unconditional love to me.

Sometimes I find myself fighting it. Resisting the exact ingredient I need.

I start to produce thoughts that don’t really believe that someone can actually extend that kind of love in a way that has no attachments. I mean, seriously? And then when they do, I wonder how long it will last. Will this be the last time he/she puts up with my ish? But they do. Again and again and again. Each time I am amazed, I smile huge or the tears come. Each time my heart bows in gratitude and I think: I don’t deserve him, I don’t deserve her, I don’t deserve any of this.

I realize that deserving has nothing to do with it.

By way of definition, grace and unconditional love have nothing to do with "deserving." Regardless, the state of my heart conforms to a simple posture of humility.

I am loved. Thank you…my God, thank you.