There is much freedom in admitting mistakes. The perfectionist in me still lurks close to the surface, though. It takes humility to say, “I’m sorry, I did wrong,” and ask for forgiveness. But the relief it provides is liberating. One would think that humbling oneself would be a downer, but just the opposite is true. When I admit I was wrong, or I’m not perfect, I am freed from having to put on a good face. I just am—with all my wrinkles and kinks, all my quirks and idiosyncrasies. I let go of the false image I have been trying to create for others to see. An added benefit is that I can let go of my expectations of others. They’re not perfect either.