I love the awe that built up with more and more excitement as you heard a choir sing in harmony. How alive you felt, how at One with all that surrounded you. Everyone in your world expected so much from you. Instinctively or simply because you thought there were no options, you set ambitious goals. You were determined; not just to get good grades but to ace, everything, make the team. It did not help that you started school early and were two-years younger than most.
You deserved, but seldom, if ever, had Mum or Da tell you that they loved you.
 
Jimmie, I wince when I reflect on the many times you heard, "Quit your crying, or I'll give you something to cry about." I see in your face, the void that these insensitive tirades caused, the confusion, the lingering hurt. I hear your soft whimpers at night when you had a stomach-ache but didn't dare to say anything for fear of being ridiculed. I listened to you in the brace of frustration, voiceless, with so little care or recourse. Feelings got stuck, festering inside, affecting so much...
 
Jimmie, you never acknowledged that you felt abandoned when Mum left Dad. I know you did. You carried that into your adult relationships. You had to experience anew how her leaving affected you. You had to give a voice to all the pain you stuffed down.
 
Jimmie, you didn't deserve to be pushed so hard, not then and not now as an adult either. Allow yourself downtime. For too long, you were stressed about not doing enough. You couldn't enjoy time with your kids. You were preoccupied with work."
 
Life goes on...relationships with my loved ones improved. Weaned myself from being an overachiever, I no longer consider slowing down a weakness.
 
In retrospect, the most profound conversations I have had with myself, and where possible with others, were those where I would say, "I forgive you.” Far too many years came and went where I could not offer forgiveness. Holding onto shame and regret was so destructive.
 
The frank conversation that I experienced beside the gravesite of my mother, whose funereal I avoided, about the pitfalls and damage, the hurt, ending with "I forgive you," was healing.
 
Years later, reflecting on Mrs. Judd singling me out in front of my classmates to motivate me to be one of those that made it off the welfare rolls, I said, "I forgive you. Thank you for taking that risk with me, Mrs. Judd."
I am so grateful today that my inner child never gave up. We got through tough moments with strength and perseverance. I have said to my inner child," I thank you for your efforts to protect me." It was work to juggle so many painful memories. "I respect you, my Inner Child. You don't get any judgment from me."
 
As a young person, I was simply wired to outperform, to overachieve, to meet someone else's standard, to be "perfect." I was demanding and cruel to myself. No matter how well I did, it wasn't quite good enough. But I did the best I could at the time, and my inner child did, too.
 
We are still doing the best we can. I give us credit for this. When I let go of perfection, the fear of failure recedes. Today, I allow myself to play. I appreciate the beauty of fully experiencing how things unfold.
 
Today, I invite myself to be just good enough, and that is awesome!