Listen—
I used to treat my life like a dry-clean-only garment.
Spotless.
Pressed.
Not a single crease of chaos allowed.
Perfection was my guilty pleasure,
my performance,
my “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all together” mask—
even on days when my spirit was holding itself together
with spiritual duct tape.
But life—
Oh, life has jokes.
It tripped me one day,
real gentle-like,
as if to say,
“Sweetheart… breathe. You’re human. This is allowed.”
So I fell.
Forward.
Face-first.
Right into my becoming.
And honestly?
It was the best fall of my life.
Because progression—
baby, progression is sexy.
It’s bold.
It’s the art of trying again
with your edges laid and your courage loud.
Perfectionism?
That was just unresolved trauma
wearing Spanx and pretending to be confident.
Accountability walked in like,
“Ma’am… we saw that.
Let’s fix it. Let’s grow.
Let’s not do that again.”
And instead of folding,
I laughed.
I learned.
I loved myself harder.
I stopped auditioning for people
who weren’t even qualified to witness me.
Now?
I let progression lead.
I let Grace call the shots.
I let my humanity breathe without apology.
If I fall,
—and I do—
I fall forward,
hips and hope first,
because every stumble is a lesson,
Every lesson is liberation,
And liberation looks damn good on me.
So here I am—
un-pressed, un-performed, un-perfect—
powerful, present,
and rising anyway.
Because I finally figured out:
Becoming is the masterpiece.
Perfect was never the point—
Copyright © 2025 Sherley Delia | All rights reserved.
Healing Majestically 