Not Perfect, Better
I’m sure most of us strive for perfection, especially today with so much input at the touch of a finger that, whether we know it or not, is affecting our sense of self. Let’s say we come across a former schoolmate on social media who is sharing their beautiful home in photos. If we feel a sense of envy or regret because we don’t live like that, that pesky perfection ideology comes to life and forces us to act it out. That could be as simple as cleaning up your home to where you feel it’s never good enough or expecting too much from others and getting angry or upset when they don’t do as you would like them to do.
I know that’s a lot to unpack in one paragraph. Sometimes, my head gets filled with so many ideas that I have to reign myself in. So, let me tell you why I’m writing this post today.
I grew up feeling bad about myself all the time. Anxiety plagued me constantly, worrying I would get in trouble for something or be tormented for no reason. When one speaks about “childhood trauma,” it’s assumed all the pain and issues happened as a kid. For me, it never stopped when dealing with my family.
A few weeks ago, one week after shoulder surgery to repair two torn tendons with six screws, my aunt called to ask how I was doing. I thought it was considerate and nice of her to do that. After I told her it was very painful, she replied (and I quote – it’s burned into my brain), “Oh Francesca, that should be gone by now.” I replied, “I just had surgery a week ago.” She answered, “Yes, I know.” I then spent my time and energy defending myself and why I had the right to feel pain one week after I had surgery. Thankfully, another call came through, and I got off the phone with her pronto.
When I hung up the other call, I broke down and cried. My aunt did it again to me! Three years ago, I was recovering from a significant ankle injury caused by a car accident. I progressed from a wheelchair to a cane within about three months.
I stopped at my aunt’s house using the cane (probably to help with her computer issue.) She said to me with a distasteful tone, “Are you going to have to use that for the rest of your life?” To say I felt judged and bad about myself is an understatement. I was appalled but also hurt. I told her no. Her words and implication made me feel bad about the need to use a device while I was healing an injury. Wow, pretty sad.
After a few months, when I was up to it, I let the cane go and never looked back. Knowing my aunt’s damaged mind, I’m sure she was very satisfied to see I was no longer “disabled,” which was an embarrassment to our family.
Most everything my aunt does or says drips with perfectionistic tendencies. Her brother has a lot of that, too. Sadly, their very critical and judgemental parents influenced their need to be perfect.
I experienced that with my grandparents, too. They lived a block away, and each time I walked down the alley to visit them (sometimes forced to go), I always felt a sense of impending doom and fear. Not once did I feel wanted or loved. I was quiet, obedient, and kind to avoid any hurtful comments or behavior. I tried to be the “perfect” girl.
That feeling transpired in the Roman Catholic church in our neighborhood, too. Getting ready for mass was always a stressful event. What to wear? Shit, it’s wrinkled. I need to iron it! I can’t wear these pants. What if I have panty lines? I had to make sure I looked perfect. I always felt eyes upon me.
No one from my family ever complimented how pretty I looked or that my outfit was nice. There seemed to be something I missed. “Why are you wearing those shoes?” [And that was just about going to mass.]
The following Sunday, I aimed to do better. And I did. Getting no negative feedback was a good day.
I put up with that routine until my adulthood, and after self-reflection, therapy, and books, I walked away from the church. I still pray and believe wholeheartedly in God, Jesus, and the like, and I believe the church is within all of us. Some who faithfully attend mass aren’t like Jesus, and I find that offensive and toxic.
Through all of the abuse and trauma, I learned that if I strive for perfection, I will leave little for someone to use to hurt me. But there is no such thing as “perfect.” Perfection is a perception we think will appease and appeal to other individuals to get approval, love, and positive attention. Perfectionism is used to mask insecurity, low self-worth, and low self-esteem.
We can never achieve a “perfect” life. We can only aspire to do better.
If we make a mistake, we learn from it and move on. The lesson is enough. We don’t need to haggle with ourselves about how we fudged up. Do better next time, given the learned lesson. It’s simple.
Let’s stop this incessant need for perfection. It’s okay to want to show up in life with nice things, like what we see in the mirror, and have ambitions for a greater purpose. The needle dives towards perfectionism when we cannot be happy if things don’t go exactly as we planned them. And also remember not to allow guilt or shame to feed a need to be perfect.
“Shame is a feeling deep within us of being exposed and unworthy. Some people fight against shame by striving for perfection. This is a way of compensating for an underlying sense of defectiveness.” Beverly Engel, author of Healing Your Emotional Self. Ms. Engel infers that “defectiveness” is a wrong belief developed as young children who were exposed to emotional abuse and neglect, emotional or physical.
Look, we’re all struggling to get through life unscathed, if possible. We’re all different and handle life in unique ways, and there is no one-size-fits-all way to live and be happy. All I’m doing is presenting ideas that might help someone dig out of a troubling life situation and lighten the load.
Thank you for reading and I’d love to read your comments on this topic of perfectionism.
To being imperfect,
Francesca
