Freedom From Perfection

As I turn my face toward the glow of the digital alarm clock, I can almost hear the seconds ticking away. I will myself not to look at the time, not wanting to know the limited hours until I must wake my son for school.

Instead of counting sheep, I talk to the Shepherd who keeps watch over them, but my thoughts are too many, too pressing, too jumbled to make sense in the unnamed hours. I silently mouth the words, “Oh, God…” and after more tossing, am finally able to slip into the abyss of sleep.

The perfectionist in me exhausts until my tank is far past empty. It is bone dry.

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Today I am honored to be sharing my words over at (in)courage: Home for the Hearts of Women. Please join me over there!

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