Fear & loathing ain’t in Las Vegas
As my gaze scans the landscape of modern womanhood, an unsettling concern tightens its grip – the pervasive need for perfection. The irony doesn't escape me as I pen these words, witnessing my own inclination to edit and re-edit.
Ahh yes, the internal struggle to make this blog bolder, smarter, and eloquent enough...
We find ourselves entangled in the myth of perfection, withholding our greatness until the path ahead is crystal clear.
It's a rabbit hole of procrastination, a realm I've intimately known – a space steeped in profound sadness and despair that, truth be told, I occasionally revisit. After all, no one is perfect, nor should we aspire to be.
This fixation on perfection becomes a murderer of progress. Yes, ladies, own that inner murderer, for that's what happens when we shy away from embracing our imperfections and failures.
In my world, this murder takes shape in:
Not leaving the office until late because Miss Perfect should undoubtedly recognize and prove her worth by staying longer.
Avoiding a Facebook Live session because Miss Perfect would be ready, flawless in speech, without notes cluttering her screen, and certainly not in an office less magazine-worthy.
Refraining from seeking referrals or testimonials because Miss Perfect wouldn't need to ask for help; people would be eager to provide insights.
Resisting emotional and physical support from friends, family, or colleagues because Miss Perfect is a fully self-sufficient warrior. No cracks in this armour!
UNSHACKLING PERFECTION - GENERATIONS OF WOMEN HAVE CONTORTED THEMSELVES TO BE MORE BEAUTIFUL, MORE SILENT, MORE CHEERFUL, MORE STRONG -WAS IT WORTH IT?
In our 21st-century world, our brains are sharper, society more complex, opportunities more abundant, and in the quest for equality, women's efforts to be everything to everyone are straining our mental health more than ever before.
As a coach, I staunchly advocate for self-improvement, yet I grapple with the fine line between genuine self-development and the self-deception of demanding too much, pushing too hard, and seeing too little real-life progress.
The demands on women today surpass outdated stereotypes; we are now expected to embody the ultimate superwoman. The margins for failure we allow ourselves have shrunk, and we have no one to blame. No longer confined to the house, dependent on someone else's money, controlled, or suppressed, attributing our struggles to "pressure from society" is a distraction and an excuse. The power to unravel, own, and embody this responsibility as women lies within us.
Perfection is undoubtedly our adversary, but, surprisingly, I've come to view it also as our crucible – a place from which to forge a new relationship with self and others.
After all, something must die for us to be reborn.
So, today:
I pledge to cease my heart's rhythm dictating the need to research everything before I act.
I pledge to bury the cruel self-talk – whether spoken aloud or in my head.
I pledge to no longer breathe life into delaying actions just to claim I work better under pressure.
I pledge to spend my remaining days, whether few or many, exploring how love can arise from loathing and embracing the perfectly imperfect me.
I understand I might falter at times. I am, after all, no master at self-compassion and acceptance (yet, she says).
It's a journey of practice, of building muscles we never knew we had. It's a journey of inner discovery with no end in sight. With one life ahead of me, I know one thing for certain: habitual procrastinators experience higher rates of depression, anxiety, and poorer well-being.