What a paint and sip revealed to me about my crippling relationship with perfectionism.

I can’t…

I said, holding my paint brush nursing both my 8 month old son (ask later, motherhood is complex)and a blank canvas.

I just couldn’t.

Or so my brain kept telling me, as it searched for lines, tracings or anything that would dictate whether or not it was “doing a good or bad job”.

Parameters, guidelines, for godsake someone come punish me already for the stroke that I’m just thinking about making…