My wild perfectionism cure

I have been a tightly wound perfectionist for as long as anyone can remember.

As a little kid, I would pound the piano keys with every mistake of my fumbley fingers, weeping in rage and frustration. I once scheduled a meeting with a grad school professor for giving me an A on a paper I truly felt deserved an A+.

I am my own worst critic. The hardest demands for me to drop are the ones I create inside my own mind. As recently as a few years ago, I could not tell you one hobby that I had (“what even is a hobby??” I would’ve asked you). I was driven to excellence by a motor inside my own brain.

I need you to know this when I tell you that playfulness, lightness, silliness, and joy do not come to me easily. My sweet silly inner child has languished in a self-imposed prison for decades.

But now joyful play is a major focus of my life.

When I was diagnosed with PTSD from my parenting experiences, I took my healing really seriously. 90 minute intensive trauma healing EMDR sessions, plus somatic experiencing, plus trauma-informed yoga, plus talk therapy, plus daily walks and water and the safe and sound protocol and 8 hours of sleep (you get the picture). 

This was good medicine for a time, but it became clear that I couldn’t break through to the next phase of my healing and development without a genuine reckoning with the role of perfectionism and excellence in my life.

They could ONLY be a part of my story in a healthy way when accompanied by an equal and opposite commitment to magical, childlike play.

Sadly, play requires vulnerability, embodiment, and practice, which makes play pretty hard work.

My first embodied experiment in play was to take myself on a solo trip to Disney World, which led to a panic attack under the big metal ball at Epcot (and a subsequent breakthrough of allowing myself to be visibly distressed and disabled and to get accommodations!). 

But I didn’t give up, and after two years of dedicated practice, I now consider joyful play and magical presence to be core to my way of life.

I begin each day with tarot and coloring. 

I anchor my midday with sitting in the sunshine and singing aloud to my favorite music. 

I rest with a sticker book, swinging, and giggles. 

Even when shit hits the fan, as it always does, my magical practices support me in finding my way back to myself again.

I firmly believe that regular rituals of play, combined with a cyclical connection to the earth, anchored within a vibrant relationship with your inner child, has the potential to change the texture of your daily life. 

From boring, exhausting, and demoralizing to a life that you are eager to wake up to every day. A life that pours as much into you as you need to face the challenges that come our way.

When I began embracing my inner child — not just privately, but in community with others who were brave enough to do the same — something shifted.

I found a spaciousness I didn’t know I was missing. Play poured back into me. I could laugh, be silly, and create without apology. 

And that overflow made me so much more present with my kids. I could meet them in play instead of collapsing into fear or shame. I could respond with kindness and compassion instead of old wounds.

I invite you to experiment with bringing more play into your own life and see what happens!