Imperfect action is a lot better for my mental health
Perfectionism is not altogether a bad thing. It's good to have high standards.
But it's doing me more harm than good.
I think I may have unwittingly passed my perfectionism on to my kids.
I realized this playing catch with my son. He was way too hard on himself because he wasn't catching every ball.
One of my simplest pleasures is a game of . . .
I wonder why I put myself through the mental wringer
Depression tracks me like a ninja, quietly plotting his course in the dark; muted footfalls, cagey eyes.
Living with it requires constant vigilance, self-care. Ignoring the signs can lead to disaster. I constantly calculate the costs and benefits of disclosure. I'm afraid of appearing weak.
I push through.
Deep down, I know something's . . .
I called him back—find out what happened
The call came at 5:09 on a cold January morning, waking me from a sound sleep. It was a text-to-landline message.
"Goodbye Nicole, I love you," the robotic voice said. An obvious wrong number.
I thought about the message. Maybe it was a husband sending a sweet message to his wife. But I felt a finality to it; five words can mean a lot.
I . . .