Confessions of a Perfectionist

Here is a fun fact about me that will be surprising to some and obvious to others. I struggle deeply with perfectionism. I know at first glance it does not sound so bad. It is a great answer when asked in a job interview what your biggest weakness is, because isn't perfectionism a strength? 

Who can relate? 

Discussing anything I do not know about is uncomfortable. It makes me feel stupid, and inadequate. If I want to know a thing I will research it until I have exhausted myself and will decide emphatically what is right, what is wrong, and that there is no in between. This goes for everything I elevate -- parenting, cooking, planning, relationships, health, politics, etc. I want to know the most; I want to do it the best. I want to be the point person. I want to win the debate without missing a beat, a detail, a fallacy. When I make a plan I want to cover all bases and my method is micromanaged down to the very last second. When I put my plans into practice, success is expected. Failure is the absolute end of the world. Going with a Plan B is admitting defeat. I do not appreciate excelling in one thing and totally sucking at another. Kind and healthy criticism of anything I do can spur on crippling self loathing. Why didn't I think of that? How did I miss that? Does this mean that I can't do anything right?

What could possibly be irritating about someone like me?

My friends and family could quickly fill you in on some examples.

I have thought a lot about this lately as I and so many others these past two years watched our best laid plans evaporate before we knew what was even happening. Truth and data is fluid, malleable. Life as we knew it changed so quickly within a couple of weeks, and we were left with the knowledge that so many of the things we thought we had control over we surely did not. 

Control. A perfectionist's weapon of choice, but also our greatest debility. Who else is guilty of idolizing the power of control. I thrive on knowing what is coming so that I can prepare and protect. Uncertainty and working with chaotic elements (ie. the weather, tiny humans with minds of their own, a pandemic, civil and social unrest, important pieces breaking, last minute cancellations) can be psychological and emotional hell for a perfectionist.

I have spoken about this on numerous posts before but just checking in to remind anyone who reads that your progress, even when slow, is progress. My character flaws do not just go away because I want them to. I need to remind myself every single day to let go. You are not the one who is supposed to have it all figured out. You are not meant to have total control. And, let's be real. If you did, you would royally screw everything up. We as perfectionists need that healthy reality check that those thoughts, the ones that run all day long and usually well into the night about how if you had done something a certain way you could have saved the world, are total and complete horse crap. Failure will inevitably happen sometimes, but though it can be painful, our greatest failures are oftentimes our most valuable lessons.

I started writing this last New Years as I was approaching what I knew would be a challenging year for me. And boy, was it. For the majority of my adult life I have made resolutions each year to be more of everything. Over and over again: "This year I will become that perfect image of myself that I have not lived up to yet. This is the year it is all going to come together for me."

And then the year begins, I get about 2 weeks in and I realize that my god complex has set me up for certain failure. News FLASH. Just because you create the ideal schedule, organize every part of your living space, balance your budget, meal prep so that you can weigh and track every piece of food that enters your body, map out your life with the world's most detailed checklist, YOU STILL CANNOT CONTROL ANYONE OR ANYTHING. And that, my friend, is an absolute truth.

Something that is becoming ever clearer as I get older, and, in hindsight, what this particular past year has taught me more than ever is that amongst all of my inward perfectionism and pie in the sky disappointment in my lack of control, I take for granted the gifts I have been given. Gifts that keep me tethered to solid ground and remind me to be humble and grateful, and that I alone do not make my life meaningful or valuable. Blessed redemptions without which I would be nothing. 

• A husband who chooses me in spite of my flaws and opinionated insanity. 
• Two perfectly healthy and quirky and hilariously unpredictable children. 
• Family, and extended family, and church family who have supported and nurtured me through rough and beautiful times alike. 
• Opportunity. 
• The trust and confidence of friends who bless me beyond words. 
• And above all else, a God who knows me inside and out and has given me all of these gifts because He loves me.

I wish I did not need a complete shakeup of life as I know it to remind me that who I am and what I have is just fine. With all of life's challenges, setbacks, heartbreaks, and disappointments, there is nothing I would truly change about this life I have been given, and in that sense it is breathtakingly perfect. 

This year, and all of my years to come, my resolutions will look a little different. I resolve to let go more. To pray through my best laid plans. To embrace peace by trusting God's process. To let him rule my life, seeking paths He, not I alone, has laid. To quiet my inner turmoil by observing and participating in the joy that surrounds me whether I have it together or not. To grow where I am planted, and see imperfection not as a weakness but as a building block of strength. Who's with me?

 

"What is REAL?"

Holy WOW this is a time in our home right now. With the onslaught of the craziest wedding season Stephen and I have experienced to date, friends having babies, homeschool in full throttle, business growing by leaps and bounds, and the beginning of the 2021 growing season, I am so excited to rekindle "Creative Thursdays." A rededication to a goal Stephen and I set to feed our souls using our favorite outlets, a pocket of time set apart in the midst of the good but heavy load to breathe through and capture. Tonight I sit down to revel in the goodness of God in a whirlwind season of life, and gratitude for mercy in each lesson I have learned this past year. 

Speaking of, I welcome all of the exciting events that will keep my schedule booked from June through November. Things are happening. The promise of moving forward, new life, new chapters, new growth is overwhelmingly good, and feels like the Spring we lost sight of last year, though it came all the same. It's funny. Flashbacks from quarantine with my siblings Easter 2020, battling confusion, fear, uncertainty, I remember walking around outside with our little clan, missing our parents. Making the best of a day we always spent with them, and noticing the birds flitting by happily in the trees. They did not know a pandemic was going on. For them, it was life as usual. Creation beyond humanity kept doing its thing. Seeing that was healing in a way. A reminder to notice constance, and accessible beauty, and make the best of our situation. We did manage to make Easter exciting for our children, and reminded them that joy can be ours even in this. That mindset was an oasis every month I ached for them. Another month of their asking if we HAVE to wear this mask all day, if we can please have a playdate yet, if we can hug grandparents when we see them, if we can make friends with a little girl at the beach, if the playground was open yet, etc. Their experience, or lack of, weighed heavy, and at times the cabin fever and desperate need for interaction with other children, the stress of coming up with new adventures just the three or four of us kept me anxiously up at night. "Remember the birds. Joy can be ours, even in this." Children are so very adaptable, and the times when the answers are not simple or convenient are the true majesty of parenthood. 

I think back on the seasoned mothers who supported me through my first pregnancy and feel so grateful to have benefitted from their wisdom and encouragement, guiding me into an adventure they knew well but was foreign and unchartered for me, and therefore terrifying. Having been one of the first in my circle of peers to enter motherhood, it is a special blessing for me to dote on women beginning this beautiful chapter. This week I assembled a care package I make for all my friends becoming new mothers. I LOVE putting these together, and I like to throw in a book for baby and a book for Mom and Dad. Baby's book is always The Velveteen Rabbit. We possess many treasured children's stories in our household, but that one is my favorite. I loved it as a child, and it has personal sentimental value for me because of a beloved bunny, Rosie, whom Aria now cherishes. She is our resident Velveteen Rabbit.

I am deeply obsessed with the idea of living books. Anyone who has ever received a book from me knows I like to write in the front cover, often with a personal quip or a favorite quote. Something to remember the moment in which this particular book became yours and in a small way joined your family as part of your library. I relish, particularly with children's books, the future memories that will be made each time it is opened. Sometimes I get carried away. My favorite quote in the Velveteen Rabbit is long but I must transcribe it, and cutting it in any way is a tragedy, so the book is received with a loaded front cover. 

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle? 

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you." "When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. 

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." 

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" 

"It doesn't happen all at once." said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." 

"I suppose you are Real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled. 

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago, but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." 

I have written this passage a dozen times, and reflected on the manifestation I have seen come full circle in Aria's love of Rosie Bunny, and Leo's attachment to a few special friends that reside in his bed. Much like Pixar's Toy Story, The Velveteen Rabbit nostalgically reminds of the days when our imaginations were on fire, and our toys came alive. But this time, my heart skipped a beat as I got to the middle of the quote, and realized that the Skin Horse does not say "toys who break easily," but "people." It struck me how truly perfect this reads as a metaphor for new parents. I became emotional in my epiphany that parenthood in many ways has made me REAL, and given me a depth of identity I never dreamed would be so transcendent. From wondering what it would be like as I held my growing womb and being afraid like the Rabbit, to lovingly embracing its magic and power on the other side like the Skin Horse. Being needed and loved so deeply by a child, being their constant, and the wear and tear of motherhood that to many can appear ugly and unsavory, is the thing about me that I am most proud of, and it lasts for always. It is a lovely truth that cannot be understood until you have crossed through and experienced it, but something I will keep telling apprehensive parents-to-be is awaiting them on the other side.

So happy to be able to share something as we approach April, and I realize that I am two months shy of a full year since my last post. If Stephen and I can maintain our commitment to Thursdays, perhaps I can finally finish some of my other entries I've drafted and forgotten.

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSDnM5lAGmTfZE_UL46Klws6aWlsQayPeosGBqjoy_2MzugLSXjxp18IUxofgaM_ojPIxU&usqp=CAU