43/100 days of emotional badassery - In which we're human and made a mistake

Photo by Andre Guerra on Unsplash
For this essay, I put the title first. Usually, it’s the last thing that comes, because there’s always a part of what I’m writing that stays intuitive. When my head runs the whole show, it’s very rare I like the result.
 
I prepared my first Badassery & Love letter earlier, the weekly offering I want to give to any willing hummingbird (my people, those who want to change the world, even if it’s one tiniest baby step at the time. I promised also a recap of my texts, I love round-ups, they’re so rich in learning and reflection, especially creatively.
 
As Twyla Tharp puts it “The real secret of creativity is to go back and remember”. 
 
I was so happy about this end of week. 
It wasn’t too late, and I had written that letter, and my text of the day. 
Yesterday, I finally posted a few things and texts on Instagram like I wanted to whole week but couldn’t muster the time or courage. 
I posted some of the texts of the week only today, because it was a hard week, but the editing and posting went smoothly. 
Happy, I was about to do the wrap-up, the last tiny part before the letter goes to their hearts of destination. 
 
But something was bothering me. I could only count 6 texts, which didn’t make sense, since I knew I edited the ones from last week, but not Monday’s. I checked my weekly log (I track them there) and if the dates of my Evernotes confirmed that the “unthinkable" had happen : I forgot to write yesterday. I wrote a ton, for Instragam. And forgot the damn text of the day. My heart sank. 
 
There’s a storm in my head right now. 
My inner critic is having a ball. About my lack of reliability. No matter that I wrote for 41 days straight in a row. “See you can’t keep up with anything seriously”. 
I’m very disappointed, and feel “punished” for having been too cocky, feeling too productive, proud of myself. So I’m writing this. To remind myself and anyone else out who needs it, that : THIS IS NOT A BIG DEAL.
 
Here’s a little letter for my vexed inner child :
 
My dearest,
 
It’s okay to make a mistake. It’s okay to forget, even something that felt important. It’s okay to be imperfect, we’re allowed to be proud of what we accomplished anyway. 
 
No one is perfect, and it's still okay even if this week was already far from perfect. And yes, it feels like we abandoned ourselves here. We didn’t honor a promise. That’s okay. Promises are sometimes broken. I’m still in my freaking kitchen typing this, waiting for the meal to be done, am I not? Repair is more important than perfection.
 
The rule I had to counter this was “I make up for one skipped day, not more, not less”. And I’m here. 
 
And then, there’s another layer of perfectionism, that is sure that this text is crap, utter bullshit. With no value or interest because it feels half assed, almost like over sharing more than writing. 
And yet, all humans make mistake and could use some reassurance when they do.
 
My Love, half-assed is okay too, always better than nothing. And even I had done nothing today, not realized I skipped a day in the midst of this hectic week : come on, can you remember which day or how many days you skipped in last year’s 100 days challenge? In your first 30 days challenge that took 60 days to finish…?
 
Don’t lie… You can’t… The same way you can probably remember your worst grade in school ever, but not each time you had a meh grade. Even if it was really disappointing, because it didn’t last. You overcame this. It wasn't important in the grand scheme of things.
 
And you see, after we wrote this, we're already feeling a bit better : we repaired. You’ll make other half assed texts among those 100 ones, you already did. We survived. The sky didn’t fall in. We’re still here.
 
Love,
L.

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