The Shower Bench That Broke Me (And Why That’s Okay)

We were one week into a remodel. One week from wrapping it up. Tight timeline. Clear scope. I had created it myself—the scope of work. It was detailed, organized, thorough. The kind of thing I pride myself on because it keeps everyone on the same page.

I handed it off to our crew leader. I gave it to our foreman. And then I did what I’m working on doing more of in life: I backed off. I trusted. I took a step back from micromanaging.

Until the client called.

“Hey, was there supposed to be a bench in the shower?”

I froze.

And my body did that thing it does when shame hits hard and fast - it shut down. My brain went blank. Breathing got harder. Functioning became foggy. I couldn’t even think straight. I just felt the flush of shame.

Not guilt. Not oops, that was a mistake. But deep, body-wide shame. The kind that tells you, you suck. You failed. You should have known better. You should have already had this figured out.

And that right there? That voice? That’s the one I’m learning to notice.

Because the truth is, I had written it in the scope of work. It was included. It was communicated. But it got missed. In the flurry of a thousand moving pieces, it got skipped during the walk-through. And despite all the logic in the world, my nervous system didn’t care.

I spiraled. Not outwardly, but inwardly.

A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have even noticed the spiral. I would’ve slapped on a podcast or a song or called someone and moved on. I would’ve numbed. I would’ve distracted myself.. But today, I paused.

I let myself feel it. I sat in it. I named it.

I realized: I don’t need to be perfect to be worthy. I don’t have to get everything right to be enough. And I can model that for my clients, my team, and most of all, for my own kids.

Here’s the truth though: in this case, the client was kind. They understood. It was fixable. There was no delay. And we were able to pivot without issue.

But that’s not always how it goes.

Sometimes, clients don’t respond well. Sometimes, our mistake triggers their shame spiral - their trauma, their control issues, their childhood wounds. Sometimes it’s not easily fixable. Sometimes it’s going to cost money, time, and stress.

And even then? It’s still okay.

It doesn’t make you a failure. It doesn’t mean you’re incompetent. It doesn’t mean you should’ve never taken on the project.

It means you’re human.

And being human means making mistakes, learning from them, and finding better ways forward.

So here’s what I’m doing now:

• Creating a checklist that we go over internally before a job starts

• Walking that same scope with the client on Day One

• Keeping a printed copy of the scope on site for reference

Not from panic. Not from fear. But from wisdom. From care. From growth.

And maybe most importantly, I’m looking at the younger version of me, the little blonde-haired girl who thought perfection was safety, and telling her:

"Erika, you’ve been through some things. Things that weren’t fair. That wasn't right. It makes sense that you tried to protect yourself with perfection. But you’re not a robot. You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe. You’re allowed to be a human being. And you are so wildly loved, even when things go sideways."

So if you’re in a moment like this, whether it’s a missed shower bench or something bigger, can I just remind you:

You are not your mistake. You are not your oversight. You are not broken.

You’re just becoming more fully human.

And that, my friend, is enough.