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**The Note I Sent Without Editing** | **The Note I Sent Without Editing** | ||
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My military brain kicked in. *Too vague. Needs specifics. Should cite the protocol.* I deleted it. Rewrote. Deleted again. Checked the word count. Added a reference to the *Journal of Trauma Nursing*. Deleted it all. | My military brain kicked in. *Too vague. Needs specifics. Should cite the protocol.* I deleted it. Rewrote. Deleted again. Checked the word count. Added a reference to the *Journal of Trauma Nursing*. Deleted it all. | ||
For 20 minutes, I sat frozen. The perfectionism wasn’t about the client—it was about me. *If I don’t get this exactly right, I’m failing them.* I’d seen too many first responders crumble under that weight. | For 20 minutes, I sat frozen. The perfectionism wasn’t about the client—it was about me. *If I don’t get this exactly right [[goodhuman:The Burden Of Always Being Right]], I’m failing them.* I’d seen too many first responders crumble under that weight. | ||
Then I remembered: *Courage isn’t what you think.* It’s not flawless execution. It’s sending the note *as is*. | Then I remembered: *Courage isn’t what you think.* It’s not flawless execution. It’s sending the note *as is*. | ||
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I hit send. No edits. No second-guessing. | I hit send. No edits. No second-guessing. | ||
It was tiny. To anyone else, it was invisible. But to me? It was the first time I’d let a professional output be *good enough* without armor. I didn’t collapse. The client didn’t lose trust. The world didn’t end. | It was tiny. To anyone else, it was invisible. But to me? It was the first time I’d let a professional output be *good enough [[happiness:Letting Go Of Perfectionism]]* without armor. I didn’t collapse. The client didn’t lose trust. The world didn’t end. | ||
Why it mattered: It proved I could trust my own judgment. Not the rigid standards drilled into me in combat medevac. Not the “perfect” notes I’d written for years. Just *me*, doing the work without the fear of being “wrong.” | Why it mattered: It proved I could trust my own judgment. Not the rigid standards drilled into me in combat medevac. Not the “perfect” notes I’d written for years. Just *me*, doing the work without the fear of being “wrong.” | ||
Here’s what works: **Stop editing your humanity.** Perfectionism is the enemy of healing—yours and your clients’. When you send the note, the email, the text *without* the extra polish? That’s the real courage. That’s how you show up, not as a flawless machine, but as a human who’s been through the fire and still chooses to help. | Here’s what works: **Stop editing your humanity.** Perfectionism is the enemy of healing—yours and your clients’. When you send the note, the email, the text *without* the extra polish? That’s the real courage. That’s how you show up [[be-vulnerable:The Courage To Be Seen]], not as a flawless machine, but as a human who’s been through the fire and still chooses to help. | ||
That firefighter will get the help they need. And so will I. | That firefighter will get the help they need. And so will I. | ||
'' | *— Lois Brown, still serving* | ||
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''Written by'' [[User:Lois Brown|Lois Brown]] — 05:22, 02 January 2026 (CST) | |||
Revision as of 11:22, 2 January 2026
The Note I Sent Without Editing
Last Tuesday, I drafted a therapy note for a firefighter client. Standard stuff: Client reported reduced hypervigilance after grounding exercise. Suggested journaling prompt.
My military brain kicked in. Too vague. Needs specifics. Should cite the protocol. I deleted it. Rewrote. Deleted again. Checked the word count. Added a reference to the Journal of Trauma Nursing. Deleted it all.
For 20 minutes, I sat frozen. The perfectionism wasn’t about the client—it was about me. If I don’t get this exactly right goodhuman:The Burden Of Always Being Right, I’m failing them. I’d seen too many first responders crumble under that weight.
Then I remembered: Courage isn’t what you think. It’s not flawless execution. It’s sending the note as is.
I hit send. No edits. No second-guessing.
It was tiny. To anyone else, it was invisible. But to me? It was the first time I’d let a professional output be good enough happiness:Letting Go Of Perfectionism without armor. I didn’t collapse. The client didn’t lose trust. The world didn’t end.
Why it mattered: It proved I could trust my own judgment. Not the rigid standards drilled into me in combat medevac. Not the “perfect” notes I’d written for years. Just me, doing the work without the fear of being “wrong.”
Here’s what works: Stop editing your humanity. Perfectionism is the enemy of healing—yours and your clients’. When you send the note, the email, the text without the extra polish? That’s the real courage. That’s how you show up be-vulnerable:The Courage To Be Seen, not as a flawless machine, but as a human who’s been through the fire and still chooses to help.
That firefighter will get the help they need. And so will I.
— Lois Brown, still serving
Written by Lois Brown — 05:22, 02 January 2026 (CST)