Perfectionism was a Loyal Guardian
The rules didn’t stay tucked beside a photograph in a velvet pouch.
They followed me.
Into my goals.
Into my work.
Into the way I measured my worth.
Work hard.
Persevere.
Be respected.
Those rules governed the goals I wrote on that paper.
They promised that if I worked hard enough, proved myself enough, controlled enough, I’d be rewarded:
Joy.
Freedom.
Ease.
Authenticity.
Those rules became a way of living.
A way of earning safety.
A way of proving my worth.
The backbone of that strategy was perfectionism.
Not because I wanted to be perfect.
Because I wanted to feel safe.
