“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” – John Steinbeck
Picture a baby, fraught with Primal Wounding,; a replacement baby, for a baby that was an angel. Picture the child, knowing that that other baby was the angel she had to try to be, but never could. Picture the self-loathing every time she was not that perfect angel. Picture the “every-moment” exhaustion of hiding away her beautiful nique self because her “self” was not “good” enough and as she grew up, at some points, she gave up, and lived a life of that “never enough”. Picture the woman who allowed the “not good enough” to color everything she did until she wakened to the idea that she “was” good enough and that “Janine”, the name she gave that perfect angel sister, her invisible nemesis, never had to live life beyond her nine days of life. No one told her to be better. No one told her she was good enough. No one told her she had to be perfect. She had simply absorbed the idea from earliest memory. It did not help that the religion I grew up in told us we had to be perfect. It was insidious.
That replacement baby was me. I struggled with, and sometimes, even yet, struggle with perfectionism.
I know, now, that perfectionism is a toxic, negative, orientation in one’s life. It causes a soul to think everything about being loved and accepted hinged on being perfect. I know, now, that I judged every fibre of my being on the idea that I was “less than”. I had the loftiest of ideas about what Perfection was and it was always thought of as something I could never attain but had to try to be it.
There was always a time where, when I did not do things as well as I thought I should, or as well as what my loved ones thought I should be doing, and that sense of failure was huge. I began to procrastinate when I was close to what I thought was “good” because I could sense I was not going to make it, although, every moment there was some lofty goal to achieve. I could never accept compliments because I thought them, somehow, hollow. I never celebrated my successes, unless oemone else might suggest I had done well.
Until I broke free of it all, was when I left my marriage, took my babies, and entered University. It took me all through university to begin to understand what “being enough”: meant. I worked myself, literally, to the bone and by the time I graduated, I truly was skin and bone because of all the energy I had expended to get the best marks, to raise the best children that a single mother could, and get that best job. It was then, I felt validated in some way; that I validated myself. I WAS good enough to have done what I would have never believed I could do.
I recognize when I slip back into perfectionist thought and have learned to put it back on the shelf of yesterdays. I do, still, see myself, betimes, as damaged goods and see what I do as not quite what I should be doing, that I could do better. But sometimes that is a positive. I have a need to accomplish things, and it does help me get the energy to do what needs to be done. I have learned to accept my limitations. I do have high standards for myself and that is a good thing because it pacifies that wounded child within.
I have learned to loved the Process of what I do. I still have a list in my head, first thing in the mornings, of what I need to do, what I could do, and I set about trying to get that list completed. I tend to have set a daily time limit. I try to have my list completed, or nearly so, by ten in the mornings. I have learned not to beat myself up if I do not have it done and it might have to end up on tomorrow’s list. You can see that I am still striving, but I am not judging myself so harshly. I have come to see myself as a lifelong learner. It allows for things not to be done perfectly, or perfectly done, or even done at all. There is now a flexibility in what used to be rigid.
I have learned to hush that critical voice within. Sometimes, when there is drama or chaos around me, or including me, I learned to shut down too much. I am aware that, in my childhood, things happened and I learned to disassociate. I work hard to make sure that I do not become totally numb. I will always be learning to turn down the volume of that critical, judgemental, voice.
As I age, and physical body has its own limitations, I am learning to rest, to allow for quiet time, to give myself a break, and try to have that guilt-free. I do feel my body is working against me, but I, also, know self-care and that, if I drive it too hard, it will pay me back. There is more a sense of being Present as I release the ideas, yet, that I have to work hard and accomplish big things every day. My ten o’clock curfew has become less and less rigid as well.
I still have high standards for myself, but I have learned to be human. If something does not work out, if some catastrophe (flooding in the house, for instance) happens, I shut down the judgements and simply take care of business until it is fixed aright as best I can.
“As best I can” was a new concept to me. I have learned that, if something does not work out (an art piece), it provides the opportunity to try it another way. I am STILL learning and I try to keep that in mind when things get hard. I look back at the coping skills I have had in my lifetime and I see growth. Seeing growth means I have learned along the way to accept that everything can never be perfect… they can simply be “as best I can”.
Perfection does not exist. I hope we can all learn to fail better. Yes, failure is a positive betimes. It allows us to check ourselves. It allows us to celebrate our successes… our personal successes, those not weighed on the scale of judgment of others. We are not loved for our accomplishments. We have to learn to separate body, mind, heart, and soul and know what is most important. What is important is that we embrace our development through the years, celebrate our growth, celebrate our own unique way of being a gift to the world.
I wish you celebrate being simply YOU, that embraces all of our imperfections.
©Carol Desjarlais 8.13.22
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