“I’m a perfectionist” has for a long time been one of the phrases I repeat by rote when asked to describe myself.

It’s always been on the positive list, you know, next to being gregarious and mostly cheery and kind.

But I’m wondering more and more whether it better belongs with impatience and procrastinating and sometimes being sad for no reason.

Perfectionism is what prevents me from writing every day, it stops me from doodling because doodling isn’t drawing, it is exacting and exhausting and paralysing. It’s what makes me twitch when I see yesterday’s post, and the glaring oversight in the too-heavily edited photograph that is very far from perfect.

I’m scared of making mistakes because I’m a perfectionist. I don’t allow myself time to be a beginner, to learn.

So I’ve left yesterday’s post there, with its photograph. Just don’t tell me you see what I mean. Please.