Don’t Wait Until It’s Perfect

You know those ordinary days that turn into huge life turning points without warning? Same. I was sitting on the couch after a long day of parenting, working, and pretty much everything in between. The house was quiet — finally — but instead of resting, my brain was spinning into overdrive.

I kept thinking about all the projects I wanted to start, the words I wanted to write, the people I wanted to encourage, the dreams I wanted to bring to life. And then, right alongside that list, was the equally if not more important desire: to be a present mom, maybe even homeschool my son one day, to keep building a marriage that thrives, to make space for friendships and laughter and rest.

And suddenly, the question rose up like a lump in my throat: how am I supposed to do all of this?

Because when I looked around for examples, I couldn’t find the woman I was trying to be. I knew incredible businesswomen, but many of them sacrificed the kind of family life I craved. I knew incredible mothers, but many of them sacrificed personal dreams in order to hold their households together. I admired both. But I couldn’t find anyone living the both/and I hoped for.

For a long time, that kept me stuck. If I couldn’t see it, if I couldn’t find a model, then maybe I just had to wait. Wait until my son was older. Wait until my schedule was calmer. Wait until I had the perfect plan. But here’s the thing: perfection is the best excuse to stay still.

Then I remembered — this isn’t the first time I’ve had to walk into uncharted territory without a roadmap. When I stepped into Glinda in Wicked, there was no one who looked like me to point to, so I became the role model I wished I’d had. Maybe this moment was asking me to do the same thing again.

That night, I decided I was tired of waiting. Tired of trying to make the beginning look like the ending. Tired of hoping that someone else would show me how to do it before I gave myself permission to try.

And so, instead of waiting to find someone to look up to, I decided to become her.

Not the polished version. Not the finished version. Just… the starting version. The one who says: I may not have it all figured out, but I’m showing up anyway.

Because that’s how everything in life begins. Messy, uncertain, half-formed — but begun.

So this is me, starting before it’s perfect. Writing words that may not be the best words I’ll ever write, sharing ideas that may grow and shift as I do. But they’re here. They exist. And that means something.

I don’t have it all figured out, and I probably never will. But I’m here. And sometimes, that’s enough to change everything.

The beginning is just… the beginning. Perfectly imperfect — needing only the courage to begin.