Summer journey

This summer, I learned that I’m a perfectionist. I hate typing that word. Perfectionist. But I know it’s true now, completely supported by the fact it took me 20 minutes to figure out how I wanted to start this blog post before I could even start typing. Or how I have so many unfinished drafts saved to perfect later. Or that I backspace a little too much.

I find it curious how certain revelations come to you in the most striking clarity in moments you least expect. We can hear something over and over from someone, with it taking years for it to really make sense or resonate at a subconscious level.

I learned perfectionists may procrastinate because they’re terrified of doing it wrong. I’ve always been a person who wants to get things off my desk, but when I question my ability in something - whether my insecurity is true or not - I feel rigid. I wait for the perfect amount of inspiration or time or space to urge me to get started. Those moments of motivation do spark, and I finally muster up the energy to begin. But it’s hard. I worry I am doing it wrong, that I’m incapable. Please know I’m rolling my eyes at myself as I write this, but it’s true.

One of the truest things I ever heard from a writer I admire deeply is the urgent need for writers to quiet the critic in their minds. It wasn’t until recently I realized how loud my critic is and that I need to quiet it down.

A deeper awareness of this critic reared its ugly head recently. While I don’t think I was given much choice, I decided this summer was going to be a season of searching and transformation. Through the help of a therapist, I went on a journey that opened up my mind to sadness, grief and hope in my life. I took this leap of faith for many reasons. I believe the more we learn about ourselves, the truer and more free we are. the intention I set was to understand my anxiety more deeply.

There were four distinct visions and experiences I had. I became more aware of how my mind can seem like a labyrinth if I don’t take care of myself and allow myself to get lost in its maze. The brain does so much, so caring for it with mindfulness, meditation, and compassion are really important practices to help keep my feet on solid ground.

The longing for my father still felt so profound. I had a strong sense that his spirit is like an enormous tree with vast roots and embracing limbs that provide solace from the sun. That root system seemed to be a metaphor for how his love is a part of every one of my cells, that I am intrinsically connected with him. Almost as if the love must stay in you as it has nowhere else to go but to rest in your soul and body. It was a deep knowing of belonging with him still.

I had an incredible experience of moving through a very dark, night sky. The moon was so bright, just beyond the horizon. It provided just enough light to see. Later, what became painfully evident during my journey was this fear that something is wrong with me or I am not doing something right. I felt trapped in my mind. It was during this time as I was moving through the feelings, I was both carried by a loving mother and I felt as though I was standing strong beside Brandon and Jackie - that we all were unmoved by all the turmoil surrounding me.

Over this past month, I’ve been sitting with some of the lingering discomfort and also listening for and embracing new ways of thinking. I believe I know myself more deeply, and I think I’ve let a little go as it relates to this need to know the why or have some type of explanation for whatever I’m feeling. Sometimes, it’s just an anxious feeling and it needs to pass through me. It’s wrong or bad. It just is.

The young mind wants fireworks. And I was searching for that often. I’m realizing now that is not what I want to aim for. Instead, it’s a steady, intentional life, one where we must forgive ourselves and be open. We must have compassion and know we will run late. It’s my prayer that I remember I am good and loved as I am, even if I slip back into the labyrinth of my mind or question how I’m ending this blog post. It is a knowing that I’m not going to have it all figured out tomorrow or in 5 years. Maybe all we can hope for is to find the sweet in the bitter; the stillness in the uncertainty; the resilience in heartbreak.

Mother and father, I stand beside you
The good of this world might help see me through
This place needs me here to start
This place is the beat of my heart

Oh, my heart
Oh, my heart

• “ Oh my heart” - R.E.M.