Perfectionism. The paralysing kind. The kind that permeates your headspace and puts a stop to growth, self-acceptance, and joy. This is the space I have always lived in. It sees me plunge myself into potentially disastrous states of work/life imbalance, lull myself into body insecurities, and stockpile any issue requiring my full attention.

My therapist and I named my polarised internal world ‘the black’ and ‘the white’. The former, where I usually reside, is akin to drowning in quicksand. It’s sticky, murky and filled with not-so-nice feelings like shame and frustration. The later, dazzling in it’s brightness, is where I argue that I should be however it’s unsustainable radiance quickly propels me straight back to the black - my place of paralysis. Basically, both suck.

Ironically it turns out that all I really needed in order to experience life in colour was two stints in isolation with it’s bounty of time and mental space. Lockdown number one uncovered the existence of red, yellow, pink and green. This time around purple, orange and blue are making an entrance.

Oh joy for rainbows within storms.

2 November, 2020