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Recovering Perfectionist

I call myself a recovering perfectionist.

Recovering.   Rediscovering.   Finding something lost.  Guarding the discovery.

Years of striving, seeking, organizing, cleaning, reaching, even grasping for that unattainable prize - perfect.

There was a voice inside of me that defined my worth by the perfectness;  by the cleanliness of my house, the hygiene and clothing choices, the intelligence of my children, the healthiness of my cooking and a million other criteria for which the measurements never cease.    My worth.    The value of me.

In truth, the voice never quite disappears.   In the past, the voice screamed at me - You are just not enough.  No matter what you to do to clean, cook, create, appear... you will never be enough.  

Two decades ago, I began to talk to back to that ugly voice... begging it to come out, name it's master. At first, I cautiously challenged the voice, wondering if, perhaps, my worth had less to do with my success or the fleeting praises of others and mo…

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