Listening Closer

My heart has been chained to perfection since I was a little girl. I would clean my room after every single playtime, I cried if I disappointed someone, and I was the first student to turn in my homework. It wasn’t pressure put on by others, but an innate need to see order and feel worthy. As I mature into adulthood, my striving for perfection has multiplied.

I remember sitting on my mom’s bed when I was seventeen years old after a tailspin of high school drama, and I confessed the plethora of sin I’d been walking in. I told her how I lied about sleeping at certain friends houses, stayed out later than I said I was, and drank way more than my body should’ve consumed. I wasn’t scared of what I did, I was scared of my capability to do it.

I loved God, and yet, I didn’t understand that I really needed the gospel. When I confessed the lies I told my mom, she spoke truth to me in a painfully insightful way. Her words pointed to my innate need for perfection, as she said, “I forgive you, but do you forgive yourself?”