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Dear Mistakes,
I’m sure you’re as surprised to get this letter as I am to be writing it. I had an epiphany on my walk this morning, though, and I need to tell you something I never thought I’d say to you:
I love you.
Ok, maybe love is a liiittle bit strong just yet, but I definitely like you more than I ever have, which is big considering my visceral loathing of you since forever.
You made your grand entrance when early-onset perfectionism hit me around age five. Any mistake, no matter how small, was cause for a meltdown. My parents tried everything to cheer me up, to tell me it was ok, that I did well, but I was determined that you were evidence that I was no good.
Worse than that. Actually, you were evidence that I was unworthy of being loved. I wasn’t perfect, so why would anyone love me? They had every right not to.
Over the years I’ve narrowed my life to try to avoid you. I’ve quieted my voice, sequestered myself from others, and ended relationships to keep you from hurting others, including me, anymore. When I remember you, I relive my embarrassment at your destructive capabilities, wishing I could be done with you once and for all.
I was thinking about you—yet again—on my walk, when this thought came out of nowhere: You’re not the problem. You don’t hurt anyone, you don’t cause anger or upset, you’re not evidence that I’m no good, and certainly not evidence that I’m unworthy of being loved.
It’s not your fault, and it has never been.
You exist. That’s it. You are the facts, you are what happened, you are the circumstances. What does hurt, causing anger and upset, isn’t you, because it can’t be you. Facts can’t do that. So, there’s only one conclusion:
It’s not you; it’s me.
My REACTION to you is, and has always been, the problem. I’ve been the one creating the upset for me and others, not by making mistakes, but by being embarrassed and feeling shameful and guilty when I make a mistake. I’ve been hiding behind these emotional reactions for decades, unable to face you as you are.
In my five-year-old mind, making a mistake meant being unworthy of anyone’s love, so of course, my five-year-old self would want to avoid you at all costs, hide my face, and run the other way. The good news is I’m no longer five. I don’t have to do that anymore. I can change how I understand you, and I can choose, powerfully and honestly, how I react to you.
I can react to you now, not as evidence of being unworthy of love, but as evidence of being human.
We humans, myself included, make mistakes. We try things, we act impulsively, we get caught up in our feelings, we push the boundaries, we get frustrated, we remember, we forget to let go. Sometimes I need reminding that this is all ok, that there’s nothing wrong with being human and making mistakes.
So, let’s have an adult relationship, you and me. Let’s grow, learn, expand, and improve together. Let’s see each other as we are, greet each other as friends, and allow for some grace to enter into our relationship.
How will things be different? I commit to facing you and acknowledging you the moment you show up. I will thank you, make amends to those who have been affected by your presence, then seek to learn the lesson you have to teach me.
It’s going to take some practice for me to be consistently loving with you. I have well-worn neural pathways with you that have become automatic over time, and those habits will take some time to reset. Please be patient and generous with me.
I hope to see more of you in the future because I choose to relate to you as an integral part of my life that you are, evidence of being human, of being engaged and in the game, of exploring at the edges of what’s possible.
Thank you, my mistakes, for what you’ve taught me so far, and for the countless things you’ll teach me in the years to come.
Love, Me
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