*Originally Posted: January 18, 2009*


I just made it home from one of my more enjoyable trips up to Redding, and am now taking a second to reflect on one particular conversation that I had.


Right before I left… my Mom said something to me that managed to sneak underneath my barrier of chains and through the wall that hides my heart from the world.  After watching a video about the benefits of EFT (emotional freedom technique), she gave me a hug and said, “Caty you don’t have to be perfect.  You’re pretty close already, but you don’t have to be perfect.”  And with that statement I started to cry.  Hard.


I don’t think she knows (though she probably will now), but my entire life I’ve always felt pressure to be perfect.  It started as me being a little girl and just wanting to be the best for Mommy and Daddy so that they could be proud of me… so that there wouldn’t be any reason to be mad at me, and so our family wouldn’t fight.  As I grew up it got to the point where everyone expected me to be perfect, and so I was.  I got straight A’s.  I won the beauty pageants and talent shows.  I dated the Varsity quarterback.  I drove a Mustang.  I was tall, had a great face, and a killer figure.  I was Captain of the basketball and swim teams.  I got in to a bunch of different colleges.  I graduated college, with honors, in 4 years.  I never did drugs.  I have a decent job that is salaried and has benefits.  I have my own apartment and a dog.  


How many other kids at the age of 22 can say that?  Pretty close to perfect, huh?


Up until tonight (well last night, now) at 6:00 pm, I’ve always been under this subconscious pressure to be, “perfect.”  I think inside I kind of know why I succombed to the pressure, rather than tell the world to eff-off, but I’m not ready to publish that yet.  And I don’t know that I ever will.  Maybe it will get published in my book, but who knows.  I think I still have some investigating to do about the feelings and thoughts of perfection before I can fully explain why I struggled to be perfect for so long.


Now, the effects of this conversation doesn’t mean that I’m going to experiment with drugs (I’ve never had that desire), or that I’m going to run away to India and study meditation (I really like my house), or that I’m going to quit my job in order to do start my own business (well, I may end up doing that…).  The point is that I’m not sure why I needed Mom’s permission to not be perfect, but I feel much better about just being me now that I have it.  


Mom, thank you from releasing me from the chains that I feel I have been locked in for my entire life.  I really don’t want to be perfect any more… for now I just want to learn to be me.  I love you.