A while back I came across a photo of myself as a little girl, probably around four or five years old. She is smiling as she walks toward the camera, and appears, by her expression, to be a happy child.

When I first saw it, I was flooded with emotion. First, a poignancy about that little girl who looked so happy. Then sadness, because I knew she had so much judgment coming her way. And finally, anger, because that little girl grew up into someone who struggled, throughout adolescence and well into adulthood, with perfection.

What a waste of my one wild and precious life.

For most of my life, I had a constant companion. An insidious voice in my head that reminded me, no matter what I had accomplished, that I was not perfect.

You're not perfect. You're not perfect.

Then one day, after years of introspection and discovery, I had an epiphany. I gave up on perfection. And I realized that while I would never be perfect, what I could be was better.

She was good just exactly as she was.
And so, I'd be willing to bet, are you.