Showing Up Imperfectly: Staying With Yourself Without Proof
- Dr. Kidi
- 12 minutes ago
- 7 min read
Segment 3: Devotion and Discipline
Episode 2
Showing Up Imperfectly
Reflection
ውብ በጉድለቱ (wib-etu-gudletu: Beautiful in its lack of perfection.
“I am embarrassed to be here,” he said. “This is not me. I am falling apart.”
I turned my screen away and faced him. His blue eyes held tears without retreat. He did not look down. He did not hide.
He sat across from me with a body shaped by years of training. Long limbs. Broad shoulders. A posture that once knew exactly where to go and what to do. He looked like someone who had been cheered for. Someone who had learned to keep moving, no matter what showed up.
“I just graduated,” he said. “The next day, it stopped.”
“What stopped?” I asked.
“Everything,” he said with a guarded smile, as tears slid down his cheeks. “There is no practice. No noise. No structure. I wake up and there is nothing pulling me forward. Nothing worthwhile.”
He was a Division I water polo athlete. Since childhood, his life had followed a disciplined rhythm aimed toward one goal: becoming an elite athlete.
Early mornings.
Repetition.
Competition.
A structure that taught him how to tolerate hardship in exchange for future glory.
His body knew the drills.
His nervous system knew the crowd.
But his sense of worth lived in the outcome, not in the journey that continued to shape him.
“I don’t know who I am without water polo,” he said. “I am not trained for how this feels.”
When I first saw him, before he had the chance to speak, I had already written a version of his story in my mind. I assumed he was there for something minor. I assumed strength, stability, control. I did not see the unraveling beneath the surface. Realizing this, I felt a quiet guilt.
Trying to help him find solid ground, I asked, “What about the journey? You practiced for years. Surely it gave you something. Maybe strength? Discipline? Preparation for life?”
He paused.
Then he shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said softly, as if he had practiced this answer before. “I learned how to win. And after graduation, it was like a switch turned off.”
The room grew still.
The kind of silence that follows loss.
The kind that reveals what was never practiced: How to stay intact when identity loosens.
His training taught him how to push through pain, how to appear strong, how to smooth over imperfection with performance. But it did not prepare him to meet his imperfections when the cheering went quiet and the scoreboards were turned off.
When his water polo days ended, he became undone, and my job was to help him see that being undone is not a failure. It is an opening, a chance to begin again without a script.
Beautiful in its lack of Perfection
I keep a clay cooking pot that belonged to my mother. An Ethiopian pot, darkened by fire, its surface lined with fine cracks from years over the flame. Someone once repaired it so it could continue. It has lived in our kitchen for as long as I can remember.
When I look at it, I see my mother's hands. Delicate and strong, turning the wooden spoon in steady circles as she stirs a spiced chickpea stew, thickened against the heat. Her voice moved between instruction and story, steady as her stirring, blending with the warmth and aroma of spices that filled the kitchen.
The pot still carries that warmth.
Recently, my friend Aster, who has a way of placing the right books in my hands at the right time, asked if I knew about kintsugi. I did not. She told me about a Japanese practice of repairing broken pottery with lacquer brushed in gold. Instead of concealing the crack, they trace it. Instead of discarding the bowl, they return it to use, its fracture catching the light. The break is not hidden. It is kept as part of the story.
She sent me photographs of bowls and vases held together by fine veins of gold, the repaired lines catching light where the clay had once split. The fracture was not disguised. It had been followed, honored, returned to use.
Curious, I began searching for an Ethiopian equivalent to kintsugi. I did not find a named practice. What I found instead was a way of living. When something breaks, it is repaired. Pots are mended. Baskets are rewoven. Tools are fixed and placed back into daily life.
No ceremony.
No display.
The object continues.
Kintsugi makes the break visible and honors it as part of the object’s story. Ethiopian practice repairs what is broken and restores it to daily life. No ceremony. No display. The object continues.
Different gestures. Same truth:
Nothing that has lived escapes fracture.
Nothing that fractures is stripped of belonging.
I wanted to hold both truths in my mother’s imperfect pot. I bought a kintsugi kit and traced the crack with lacquer mixed with gold. My hand moved slowly along the line of the break. Not correcting it.
Not hiding it.
Just following it.
As the gold settled into the seam, I thought of the young water polo player. I wished I could have placed the pot in his hands and let him see that the cracks in his story are openings through which light returns.
If imperfection is not disqualification, then how do we stand when it appears? How do we remain when the noise fades and the scoreboard goes dark?
We practice.
Five Tools for Embracing Imperfection
These are not fixes. They are disciplines.
1. Stay a Student
Accept that you are unfinished and commit to lifelong learning. Mastery has no final point. There is always more to refine and understand. The posture of a student keeps you open. Imperfection becomes material for growth rather than proof of failure.
2. Choose Truth Over Being Right
Perfection seeks victory.
Purpose seeks clarity.
When the ego fights to be right, learning stops. Listen to understand. Hold beliefs lightly. Ask questions. Measure your day by what you learned, not how you were perceived.
3. Receive Feedback Without Defense
Pause before reacting. Test criticism for truth. If it holds value, adjust without shame. If not, release it. Separate who you are from what you did. Imperfection is information, not an attack on your worth.
4. Release the Need for Recognition
Recognition rises and fades with other people’s moods. When identity depends on applause and awards, peace becomes fragile. Strive for excellence, but let your standards be internal. Let the work be its own purpose. Serve meaning, not image.
5. Devote Yourself to Discipline
Devotion without discipline drifts. Discipline gives imperfection a container. Without structure, impulse leads. With structure, character grows. Start small. Be consistent. Align action with intention. Begin again and again. Discipline is not punishment. It is how you become reliable to yourself.
Together, these tools do one thing.
They move you from proving to practicing.
From perfection to purpose.
From image to integrity.
And that is how imperfection becomes strength.
Closing
The young water polo player had trained for perfection. He had not trained for continuity. When the structure disappeared, so did the mirror that reflected his purpose.
That is the difference between perfection and purpose.
Perfection ties identity to outcome. It needs an audience. It survives on comparison. When the result fades, so does the self because it measures arrival. It asks, Did I succeed?
Purpose does not disappear when the lights go out. It does not wait for applause. It moves with you. It is not proven once. It is practiced daily. Because it measures alignment. It asks, Did I act with intention?
Pause and ask yourself:
What moving target are you chasing?
What success never quite settles?
What body, what recognition, what perfect moment are you waiting for before you allow yourself to begin?
Notice where your worth has been tied to an ending instead of a direction. That awareness is the beginning of return. Let your journey be its own purpose. Let the reward be the discipline of acting with integrity.
When you live this way, self-worth takes root in practice, not praise. Energy returns to the work itself. You stop proving. You start participating.
Over time, the inner life steadies. Choices align. Imperfections become part of the terrain rather than obstacles to hide from.
Healing follows the same logic.
It does not reward perfection.
It responds to presence.
It grows through practice, adjustment, and persistence.
So, on the mornings when rising feels heavy, remind yourself:
I rise to do what is mine to do.
Not perfectly.
Not famously.
Just faithfully.
When things become uneven, I stay.
I adjust.
I continue.
I show up imperfectly, and I keep walking.
This is what healing knows.
Tinfash: Dr. Kidi’s Healing Space:
This healing space is called Tinfash, the Amharic word for breath. Because breath is the most faithful practice we have.
You do not have to remember it.
You do not have to do it well.
It keeps returning.
This healing space is called Tinfash, the Amharic word for breath.
Because breath is the most faithful practice we have. A Moment for MeditationA Journal Invitation
Writing by hand helps you slow down and listen more closely. It connects your thoughts to your body and invites honesty without the need to edit. This kind of presence supports deep healing. Your words do not need to be perfect. They only need to be yours. Let your words arrive just as they are.I have been seeing __________ as a failure, and when I sit with it more gently, I begin to notice …
A Healing Mantra
Mantras are healing because they steady the nervous system. They interrupt spiraling thoughts and help your body feel safe enough to soften.
Choose a quiet moment.
Sit, stand, or lie down.
Take one slow breath in and a gentle breath out.
Repeat the mantra softly, out loud or in your mind.
Let it move with your breath. My imperfections guide me back to purpose.
A Call to ActionAs a doctor and a fellow human, so much of what I know about healing has come from meaningful exchanges with people like you. Our shared stories and quiet beginnings teach me again and again that there is wisdom in simply starting.
I would love to hear your thoughts about beginning again.
I am here for you.
I am also here to grow alongside you.
If you have suggestions, ideas, or requests, share them in the comments. You can also jot down your reflections and send me a screenshot.
If you feel moved, review, rate, and share this with a friend who may be ready to reconnect with their own healing.
Visit drkidi.com for more reflections from What Healing Knows.
Follow @drkidi.healing to join a community learning to return to themselves, one gentle moment at a time.
To read my short stories go to Substack @drkidi.
With that, we have begun our healing connection.
Until next time,
Embrace the journey. Keep listening. Healing knows the way.
Love and more love,
Dr. Kidi
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