This Isn’t About Perfection, It’s About Permission

The First Steps You Witnessed

You have seen it before. A child steadies themselves against the edge of a table, wobbly legs testing ground they have never trusted before. Their face is a mixture of wonder and determination. You hold your breath as those little feet shuffle forward, one brave step, then another.

And then, the inevitable. The fall. Their small body topples to the ground. For a brief second, silence fills the room. Will they cry? Will they stop trying?

But almost before you can answer, you see it. A giggle. A deep breath. Tiny hands pushing against the floor. And then, up again. No apology. No shame. No fear that falling meant failure. Only another attempt. Another try. Another beginning.

The courage was not in the first step. It was in the second. And the fifteenth. And the countless rises after each tumble.

What you saw that day was not perfection. It was permission. Permission to stumble. Permission to rise. Permission to begin again.

When Did We Forget?

Somewhere along the way, adulthood convinces us that beginning again is a sign of weakness. That falling means we failed. That if we cannot do it flawlessly the first time, maybe we should not even try.

We wait until the timing is better.
We wait until we feel stronger.
We wait until we believe we can guarantee success.

And in all that waiting, we forget what that child already knew. The fall is part of the learning. The stumble is part of the becoming. The rise is the real victory.

This is not about perfection. It is about permission. Permission to try again with trembling hands. Permission to move forward even when your knees still ache from the last fall. Permission to begin again when life has knocked the wind out of you.

The Gentle Courage of Beginning Again

Think about the places in your own life where you have stumbled. Maybe it was a dream you tried to build but felt too heavy. Maybe it was a relationship that broke you in ways you did not see coming. Maybe it was your health, your faith, or your own heart that betrayed you when you needed it most.

Perfection tells you that you should have known better. That you should have done better. That you should not need to start over.

But permission whispers something else. Permission says that each time you rise, you rise carrying more wisdom than before. You rise with softer edges and deeper compassion. You rise not because it is easy, but because you refuse to stay down.

Falling does not disqualify you. It refines you. Starting over does not erase your worth. It reveals your courage.

What the Child Teaches Us

When you watched that child take their first steps, you did not scold them for falling. You did not say, “Come back when you can do it perfectly.” You clapped. You smiled. You celebrated every wobble because each one meant growth.

What if you gave yourself the same grace?
What if you celebrated your own stumbles as evidence that you are still in motion?
What if you remembered that your story is not over, it is only pivoting?

The child never demanded perfection before trying. They simply lived in permission. And you can too.

The Framework: The Pivot of Permission

If you are standing in your own stumble today, let this be the reminder that you do not need perfection. You need permission. Here is a way to practice it:

1. Name the Fall
Say it out loud: “I stumbled, but I am still here.” Naming it disarms shame.

2. Release the Shame
Falling means you are moving. Standing still is the only way to avoid it, and that is not growth.

3. Give Yourself Permission
Say the words: “I have permission to begin again.” Repeat it until it feels true.

4. Take One Small Step
Do not wait until you can run. Like that child, just take the next step in front of you.

5. Celebrate the Courage, Not the Outcome
Clap for yourself. Every rise matters. Every attempt is progress.

The Gentle Truth

Friend, you do not need to wait until it all looks perfect before you start again. You do not need to prove that you are ready. You only need permission.

The child you once were knew this. The child you watched taught you this. And the woman you are becoming needs this reminder:

This is not about perfection. It is about permission.
Permission to stumble.
Permission to rise.
Permission to begin again, as many times as it takes.