Imani entered today’s session exuding the same effortless elegance she always did. Her satin, deep blue blouse draped perfectly over her frame, paired with high-waisted black trousers that accentuated her poise. Her sleek bun, subtle gold hoop earrings, and polished nude manicure were impeccable. Yet beyond her refined appearance, it was clear she was on a journey toward building healthy relationships—not just with others, but with herself.
But this time, something was noticeably different. There was a lightness to her presence, a quiet confidence that had nothing to do with perfection. As she settled into her seat, she smiled—not the practiced, polite kind I had grown accustomed to, but one that seemed to come from a place of ease.
“I think I’m starting to get it,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “Self-acceptance. It’s not just about saying I’m enough—it’s about believing it.”
I returned her smile. “Tell me what’s shifted.”
She exhaled, her gaze thoughtful. “I’ve been paying attention to how I show up in my relationships. With Jaden. With my sisters. Even at work. And I realised something: I’ve spent years trying to earn my place in people’s lives—like I had to prove I was worth keeping around. But the truth is, real connexion isn’t about proving anything. It’s about being.”
Imani paused, her fingers tracing the edge of her bracelet. “For so long, I thought being perfect would make me more lovable. That if I could be the best at everything—successful, beautiful, composed—no one would leave me. But what I didn’t see was that my perfectionism was keeping people at arm’s length.”
I nodded. “Because perfection isn’t intimacy. It creates admiration, maybe, but not closeness.”
She tilted her head, considering. “Exactly. When I was performing perfection, I wasn’t giving people the chance to really know me. They were connecting with an image, not a person.”
This realisation was crucial. For so many women—especially Black women—perfectionism isn’t just a personal trait; it’s a survival mechanism. Raised in cultures where strength is revered and vulnerability is often misunderstood as weakness, many of us learn early that being ‘flawless’ is the safest way to navigate the world. But at what cost?
“So, what does self-acceptance look like for you now?” I asked.
Imani leaned back slightly; her posture still graceful but more at ease. “It looks like choosing relationships where I can be real. Where I don’t have to shrink or over-perform to be accepted. It looks like giving myself the same grace I give other people. And it looks like saying no to spaces that only value me when I’m at my best.”
I could see the conviction in her words. This was a woman who had spent her whole life trying to fit an impossible mold, and now, she was stepping out of it.
“And Jaden?” I prompted. “How has this shift affected your relationship with him?”
She smiled softly. “He’s been patient with me. The more I let myself relax around him, the more I see that he’s not with me because I’m perfect—he’s with me because he enjoys me. The real me.”
She hesitated before continuing. “I even told him about my dad.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised but pleased. “That’s a big step.”
She nodded. “I’d never really talked about it before—not in a way that was real. But I told him how it shaped me. How I spent years trying to make sure no one else would abandon me like that.”
I studied her face. “And how did it feel?”
“Like taking off a pair of heels after wearing them all day,” she said with a small laugh. “Uncomfortable at first, but then… freeing.”
“So,” I asked, “what do you think is the key to building healthy relationships now?”
She thought for a moment before answering. “Honesty. With myself and with the people around me. Not just saying what I think people want to hear, but actually being open about what I feel, what I need. I think I spent so much time fearing that my imperfections would push people away, but now I see that hiding them is what kept me isolated.”
I nodded. “When you accept yourself fully, you give others the permission to do the same. Healthy relationships aren’t built on perfection; they’re built on authenticity, mutual care, and the freedom to be imperfect together.”
She smiled, this time with no hesitation. “That’s exactly it.”
Imani’s journey was never about fixing herself—because she was never broken. It was about uncovering the parts of herself she had hidden away, learning to embrace them, and realising that she was worthy of love, just as she was.
For years, she believed her worth was something she had to prove. But now, she was learning that real love—the kind that lasts—is not transactional. It doesn’t require perfection as a prerequisite. It requires presence. Truth. Vulnerability.
If you’ve ever found yourself performing perfection, fearing that your flaws make you unlovable, ask yourself: What would happen if you stopped trying to earn love and started believing you already deserve it? How might your relationships change if you showed up as your whole, unfiltered self?
As Imani steps forward into this new chapter, she is not just building healthy relationships—she is building a healthy relationship with herself. And that, more than anything, is where true freedom begins.
