I don’t deserve to exist unless I’m perfect.

Yesterday, with the kinetic help of a wonderful massage therapist, I released a stuck emotion. As she was working the spot on my back that has been hurting for weeks, I started to cry. I took this opportunity to dive in, the same way I would if I took psychedelics and something came up. I don’t know exactly how the rails of my train of thoughts aligned towards this destination, but I realized what I was releasing was my fear of being completely deluded about myself, my abilities, my skills and my mission. So I named the emotion; Fear of being deluded about my skills, about my place in the world, about my intellect; Fear of being wrong; Fear of having a blind spot; Fear of being like my mom… There’s a part of me that feels like I have something very special between my ears. Combined with an ability – granted, an ability that could be refined – for putting complex thoughts and idea into words. However, after decades of watching my mother be so incredibly wrong about me, about the world, about the right way to do the human experience, I am MORTIFIED at the idea that I am just like her. Just another Andrew Tate, spewing utter nonsense and strutting around like I’m the smartest person around.

I feel like I can only exist, I can only speak up if I’m perfect.

So I isolate, I sell myself short, I waste my potential because I’m afraid of having a blind spot. I’m afraid of being Jaqueline Novak’s two fools:

“I fear that if I’m confident, I may turn into what I think of as The Two Fools. If I like myself, it might feel good, but what if I’m wrong about myself? What are me and myself? We’re just these two fools just congratulating each other. “Oh. Best in the biz.” “No one quite like us. We’re fantastic.” To me, it feels safe, you know, if I stand in the bathroom mirror, to look at that person in the mirror and insult the person in the mirror. Say, “You’re a fool.” That way, even if they are a fool, at least me, on this side of the mirror, I’m someone who can spot a fool, and then I am not, in myself, two fools. I’m a fool and someone who’s well aware. I’m a fool and someone apologizing for them. And then my duo has 50% dignity. Do you see? If you split in two and hate yourself, you get a guarantee of 50% dignity, versus taking the gamble of zero versus 100. Do you see… do you see… do you see how… how the math of self-hatred is unimpeachable?”

Up until yesterday, I thought this fear was real and legitimate. Now, I’m able to have some distance. I think this fear is useful. It keeps me curious and objective. However, it’s clearly holding me back; no one is perfect, and I should be waiting to become perfect to do the work I am here to do.

My message, my methods, may be very imperfect, but I know that they are important. I don’t need to fear being wrong, because I’ll never be two fools; I’ll always be the first to admit where I need refinement.