I can’t do this anymore

I just wrote a piece and spent far too long carefully going back over everything, fixing it up, embellishing it, until I finally felt I could do no more.

But I can’t keep doing that to everything I write. I won’t get anywhere. I’ll never put anything out there. I’ll be paralysed, stuck at the fixing stage, while idea after idea keeps crowding my head.

It’s unsustainable.

“One should never think that man can reach perfection,” wrote Jung “he can only aim at completion – not to be perfect but to be complete. That would be the necessity and the indispensable condition if there were any question of perfection at all.”

I have to find a way to do this that doesn’t burn me out. And it’s going to mean me just writing and putting it out there.

I’m sorry if it’s not perfect. I’m sorry if it’s not polished.

Really, though, this isn’t about me feeling sorry that I’ve disappointed you. If I’m honest, it’s about me letting go of trying to appear perfect. 

1. It’s impossible.
2. It takes too long, is too draining.
3. It’s not truthful.

That’s right, not truthful. Because I’m not perfect. And I guess that’s something a part of me is trying to hide from. 

I need to realize and start accepting that I’m not a perfect writer. I’m just me.

I’m just sitting here, being me, in this body. With my ups and downs, features and flaws. It’s just me.

I’m ok as I am. Not perfect. Just living out this life, doing my best.

And slowly beginning to realize that my best means doing it in the way that flows for me, and not trying to be anyone else.