Perfectionism is a false god—partial by design, cruel by intention. It was never meant to save you. Only to discipline you into silence. Into submission. Into burnout.

“Weary are the caregivers, the teachers, the seers, the quietly faithful—doing good with no guarantee of thanks, restitution, or rescue.”

“Where in your life have you felt that something didn’t quite line up—the moment didn’t follow the script, the world broke form just enough for you to see through it? What past event still lingers, not as a clear lesson but as a strange, unresolved presence? Where have you encountered longing, faith, or calling in places the world told you were unworthy of such things? What have you felt in your body that you couldn’t name, but couldn’t shake?”