Good Enough
For anyone who’s spent a lifetime trying to get it right—may these words help you soften, breathe, and feel good enough inside… and help others do the same.
If you haven’t figured it out by now, I like to get things right. I learned early on that if I didn’t say or do things just right, there could be consequences.
From a young age, I would tell myself, “It’s better not to do it at all if I can’t do it right.”
I think many of us have internalized that message. It helped us survive during tough times, and it can even look like an admirable quality. But sometimes it’s too much—and blocks our way.
Knowing where that line is—that’s the real challenge. It wasn’t easy, but as I’ve gotten older, and a little wiser, I’ve learned to see it more clearly. Though I still can miss it now and then, I’ve learned to cut myself some slack—and that’s actually made me more endearing to others—and myself.
Things don’t have to be perfect anymore, because I know who I am. And gratefully, along the way, I realized that my safety and value no longer depend on perfection—or anyone’s approval.
These days, I often ask those who struggle with this—“When will you be good enough?” Many make the connection immediately. However, some, who are hijacked or blended with a wounded child part, tell me, “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s possible.”
Wherever they are on this journey we call life, I meet them with a strong belief in their healing power—while staying rooted in my own—helping them reflect on what’s going on inside and the meaning behind their words.
I‘m known to say, “It sounds like a wounded child part is hijacking your adult self, instead of the adult you’ve become, speaking through your Core Self, the quiet strength inside that’s always been there.”
Often the person looks up in surprise and says, “Oh my God, I never thought about it that way.” Still, for some, it simply opens the door a crack—weathered by life, never painted over to hide the scars—always good enough to let in a glimmer of light.
After a pause, I might gently ask them to consider how old that child was when they first learned they weren’t good enough. Many hesitate and say softly, “A long way back. It feels like I was always that way.”
I have a hunch that some of you also know perfectionism as one of your oldest invisible wounds—one that crossed generational lines without a passport, unaware of how to stop the trauma being passed on.
The healing isn’t easy, but if we name it, we can gently hold the wounded part in the light and give it the compassion it has always deserved.
This doesn’t mean we should ignore it when someone doesn’t live up to a commitment or crosses a line in a hurtful way. That wouldn’t be very compassionate to ourselves or to the other person.
That would be colluding, either with the child part that still needs to be perfect, or with the adult they’re blended with, who justifies their behavior by blaming someone else for crossing a line they can’t yet see within themselves.
I’m sure you all know people like that—even some who don’t seem to have a line at all, and try to use fear or other things to control us—or convince themselves. Perhaps we’ve slipped over that line ourselves on occasion. After all, we are human, but that’s not an excuse to let someone else carry our pain.
To make a long story short, I’ll skip to the good part—aware that I’m getting close to that line where I might not be good enough. Some people may not like it, but this is the best I can do for today. If I told you more right now, I wouldn’t be true to either myself or you.
After all, I don’t want to cover up my healing light as it helps you find your own special light inside—to shine on yourself. Our light always tells us we’re good enough—even when a wounded part is still held by the past and doesn’t trust the source.
If any of this still feels unclear, here it is in a nutshell: To be imperfect is perfectly human. But avoiding responsibility or blaming others often comes from a child part that needs to be heard—not dismissed, and certainly not applauded for dismissing or bullying others.
That’s too much—a line in my heart I know not to cross, no matter how you look at it—or whoever does it.
Instead, be grateful for your mistakes. We learn the most from them. That’s when the light of invisibility is brightest. Every misstep or misattunement is an opportunity for new learning and growth—and without that, I’m not sure we would really feel alive.
Whether you’re listening or reading these words, you might want to give your little one inside a hug. And tell them, with all your heart, “You are good enough. I know it now because I’m becoming the person I was always meant to be. You live in my heart, and you know it, too.”
As you listen to your own words with a full heart—you’ll know your truth even more, and it will take you home. Remember that you are good enough—you always have been.
Wow… somehow I know that I need to lean in to my little one right now. And as I do, I softly whisper, “It’s time to put this piece to bed—and me, too. No need to argue anymore and do something I might regret later. I have choices now that I didn’t have before.”
It’s been a long day’s night, and I feel pretty good—not perfect but good enough—still tending to myself and those close to heart across time… accepting what I can’t change, and grateful for what I already have.
Although I’m sure I could keep tweaking this one, I’m finally ready to let it go. I love it—and I hope you do, too. But even if you don’t, I hope you’ll always know that you are loved as the person you were born to be—without comparison.
Thanks for the reminder. Life is always changing, but who we are in our Core Self stays the same—better than perfect, the real deal.
Without hesitation—that’s always good enough.
Feel it in your heart—so you‘ll know it as your truth, too… and, like me, always glad to be back home—even when things are still a little messy.
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.