Chapter 1: The Weight of Perfectionism

For a significant portion of my life, I have chased perfection relentlessly. The pressure to get everything right felt crucial, likely stemming from an anxious upbringing with a critical mother who juggled four young children. However, this year brought a poignant realization: I could not continue down this path, especially as I reached the age at which my mother passed away. It was time for transformation.

In the shower, a place where many profound thoughts emerge, I had an epiphany: I am perfectly fine just as I am. Embracing imperfections is, in itself, a form of perfection. I am not the greatest, nor am I the worst; but then again, who truly has the authority to judge?

The memory of holding my mother's shoes in my hands after her passing on September 29th brings tears to my eyes. I often wonder if I will ever be worthy enough to step into her shoes. Yet, there’s a comforting thought—I must have been, for we shared the same foot size.

Reflecting on that moment brings sadness, as she loved me despite my flaws. Ironically, it was my husband who left six months later that could not accept me as I am. I recall my mother confiding in a friend that she doubted he was the right partner for me, especially after he abandoned my children and me during a holiday. She was correct, as she often was, in her intuition.

Another truth she understood is that I am indeed okay as I am! In her eyes, I was always the best—her “Golden Girl,” as my brother would say. If only she knew the mischief I got into, navigating a hippie-inspired world. While I never indulged in substance abuse, I feel certain that her love would have embraced me regardless of my choices, as that is the nature of a mother’s love.

I often believed that if I could love myself as much as she loved me, I would have truly succeeded. There would be no need to strive so hard for external validation.

Her grave is in New Zealand, and the last visit was bittersweet. I wandered, flowers in hand, struggling to locate it, tears streaming down my face. A quiet voice inside me asked, “What are you searching for?” To which another replied, “I just want my Mum!” Yet another part of me reminded, “But she lives within you.” With that realization, I laid down my flowers, caught a bus, and treated myself to a chocolate brownie and cappuccino.

That inner child of mine certainly deserved a moment of joy.