My eyes look all crinkly. My chin is broken out. My mom hates when I take close selfies. I could go on...
Oh, this is going to be a tough one… Guys, I'm scared. Here goes…
Hi. My name’s Kelly. And I’m a perfectionist.
Well, that sure sounds like a very responsible and prudent personality complication to have, you might say- but it’s actually kind of debilitating. How so? Well, perfectionism is, at least for me, rooted in some serious anxiety. Listen to this mess…
I don’t abbreviate at work because I’m afraid it could be viewed as a sign of laziness.
I don’t take the free samples of things at the grocery store. (People will think I’m being cheap!)
Chipped nail polish will consume my attention for the entire day. I’m internally freaking out until I can fix it.
I put garnishes on meals I make for myself to eat alone. (I know...trust me. I know.)
If another driver flips me off, I think about it for hours. Sometimes I cry. (They think I’m a bad driver! And they were SO mean.)
They're watching "White Christmas" - so pure.
I know what you’re thinking: WTH? Don’t worry about that crap! Live your life! Oh, I’d LOVE to. But the fact is, I REALLY care what people think of me (and people who say they don’t care AT ALL are lying! At least a little!). But I care to a fault. To the point where I’ve made myself terrified of failure. If you also set impossibly high standards or if you can relate to the constant cycle of striving for perfection and coping with the inevitable dissatisfaction that follows, this is the blog post for you!
Perfectionism is like a disease, and I own up to having it. Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you that perfectionism is the mask that shame wears. If we can appear flawless, then maybe the perfection outside can mask all the stuff that feels wrong inside- likely residual emotional junk that's the result of rejection somewhere along the line. My logic: If no one ever sees my flaws, do I really have flaws at all? But it gets more complicated than that…
Did this blog just get heavy or is it just me? That's heavy, that is. Because be it physically or emotionally, that probably wouldn't be acceptable... Uhhh. Somebody hold me.
I have acceptance problems, too. Got a “B” on an English paper? Some boy doesn’t like me back? Spotted a wrinkle? Misspelled something? Made a work mistake? Not possible. I reject your reality and substitute my own. This makes me sound egotistical and self-absorbed, but when this stuff happens, the walls cave in on me for a minute and that anxious little voice in the back of my mind says, “See? You failed. And everyone knows it.” I know we all have this voice, but for some of us, it doesn’t whisper- it screams.
Long ago, my dad- who died when I was 14- would say, “Kel-Bel, you can have anything you want in life if you just work hard enough.” I hung on every word. I’ve always been a super hard-worker, so that was just a technicality. What's that you say, father? I can actualize ALL my dreams?! It was an incredibly motivating piece of advice, said with the very best intentions. However, these days I respectfully disagree. You can’t have some things, no matter how hard you work. And damn, this concept really messes with me… Daddy was supposed to be right about everything...
But. You can’t make someone love you. You can’t stay young/healthy forever. Some people can’t have babies. Or beat cancer. Or avoid unfathomable tragedies. Some people can’t overcome the hurt/guilt/addiction/pain holding them back in life. It’s not fair! Which brings me to my mom’s opposing advice: “Well, who in the hell ever told you life was going to be fair?”
Undeniably, we all walk through life haunted by the scars of our pasts. Some of us try WAAAYY too hard to overcome this. I fall into that category, but I still hear my dad’s voice: If I just work hard enough…
I can't.
I can still be 120 lbs again. I’ll start that Victoria Beckham purse shrimp diet! Tomorrow. ;)
I can still mend this estranged friendship! Neither one of us is dead yet! Where’s my phone? I’ve only had about four glasses of wine. Now is the perfect time!
I’m going to be a writer whose work is read all over the world. I just have to make a more concise schedule! Produce more! Do more!
I can save up for Botox! Is it bad for you? Maybe I should wait until after I have kids…
And as soon as I’m a prolific, world-renowned wrinkle-free 120lb. writer with perfect relationships with all my friends and family, I WILL BE SET!
Oof. I’ve said this before: if my happiness is contingent upon perfection, I’ll never be happy. I recognize this, yet I can’t stop letting my fears and self-doubt lead to my perfectionism, and letting my perfectionism rob me of my present happiness. It ain’t easy being a super-sensitive perfectionist workaholic! Especially if you’re a thinker, like me.
Will the perfect Slim Shady please stand up?
Fun fact: You’ve never seen your own face. You’ve only seen reflections and photos. What if your perception of your appearance isn’t actually how you actually look at all? What if the hair color I call black is actually blonde? And my perception is different than the rest of the worlds’? And I don’t actually understand the concept of color the way other humans do? You see me as a “blonde” and I see “blondes” as having black hair, and oh-my-gosh-guys-am-I-freaking-blonde-please-don’t-let-that-be-true! (See? I even exhaust myself?) Anyway. Perception.
Perfectionism is pointless, because despite my efforts, I cannot cultivate (with my words, achievements or appearance) the opinion you have of me. I’m one of those people that oh 85% of people like (in my own perception… what???) And the 15% who don’t like me HATE my guts. And it destroys me when people don’t like me, because I’m trying so hard to MAKE everyone like me! "And if I just work hard enough, I can have…"
I don’t know what you think of me. You don’t know what I think of you. So why try so hard? Because I’ve not yet accepted that it’s okay to fail. To have strengths and weaknesses. To not save the world. To be average. Even as I type this, I don’t believe it…
Oh my gah. Can you please be more dramatic?
Confession: I’ve been dying my hair black for the past 20 years, because I was convinced at 13 that brown hair was too average. I wanted to be “striking” and “exotic” and “special” and… I guess… I didn’t think I could be those things just as I was. Maybe you’re like me and you live for praise, reinforcement and the public acknowledgement that you’re enough. Or maybe you can go to Walgreens in sweatpants and no makeup and hand a box of tampons directly to a cute checkout guy. You’re my hero, FYI, but I’m not that girl. And I wonder how those who are can sleep at night. I know. I'm messed in the head for that one...
You know, I read that the suicide rate for self-proclaimed perfectionists is very high. We don’t ask for help or say no or admit when we’re overwhelmed… because what would you think of us? Apparently, perfectionism is an ugly trait that is often passed from parent to child, too. Yikes.
I guess I’m just a work in progress. Maybe you are, too. Maybe we should try embracing our flaws. Relinquish control over our images and egos. I’m not promising I can, but I know it’s the fastest way to be happier in the present. And it’s vital to remember that perfection shouldn’t be the goal. Happiness should be.
If you’re still reading, thank you. I like to keep my blogs funny and insightful, and I promise to go back to that next week…
Wait… Do you like how I just felt like I had to apologize and make promises so that you don’t think I’m boring or over-emotional or crazy and stop reading my blogs? Maybe this should be my first attempt at not apologizing so much… Okay, I’m going to try:
Guys, I hope you liked this one, but if not, I’m still not sorry I shared this part of myself because it was cathartic and kinda freeing in a delightfully selfish way, and maybe I’ll do it again some day.
*Deep breath* Hmm. That felt pretty darn good.
You can be a work-in-progress, too. :)