Perfection

Does it really exist?

All my life, I have strived for perfection. Chasing an unattainable goal set in place by my deep childhood wound - the need for validation from an authority figure.

I still remember being 5 years old in the first year of Primary School. I had been drawing a picture of a person and in my mind, it was anatomically correct and exactly to scale. But I could not possibly give the teacher my artwork because one of the hands just didn’t look right. It was the end of the day and all my classmates had packed up and headed home to play but I was still glued to my desk. I couldn’t possibly go home until my picture was “perfect”. My teacher was a kind and gentle lady who humoured me until Mum came looking for me. I pleaded with her to wait until I got the fingers looking how my 5 year old mind believed fingers should look. Frantically rubbing them out and re-drawing, rubbing out again and re-doing them over and over. Mum was hurrying me and I cracked under the pressure from myself and her impatience. I admitted defeat. Devastated I couldn’t get the hand looking perfect. I can still feel the tears welling up behind my eyes at the thought of my artwork being flawed. At the thought of my teacher believing I was a failure…

This mentality followed me through life…

If only I hadn’t reacted when my brother was teasing me.

If only I studied a little bit harder, I would have achieved an A.

If only I hadn’t made a fool of myself by saying what I was thinking.

If only, if only… doubting my very existence because I believed I hadn’t done things “perfectly”.

So where did this belief around perfection come from?

The simple answer is… my parents.

Before I continue, I’d like to make it very clear that this is not an attack on my parents. I have nothing but love for Mum and Dad (albeit tinged with mild annoyance at their increasingly childlike behaviour with every passing year!). I have made peace with the fact that they raised me to the best of their abilities through the lens of childhood trauma they themselves had experienced.

You see, I am of the opinion that no matter how shit we can sometimes be as parents, we are most likely doing a far better job than our own parents managed with us. And, in turn, they provided a far greater experience than they received from their own parents. It’s a cycle of ever-improving mental and emotional torment passed down through the generations!

I’m sure I must have a great, great, great, great grandfather down the bloodline who unconsciously kicked off the perfectionist gene. And so with every passing generation, it’s grown and manifested in each lucky family member who inherited it. Most likely affecting them in similar ways to my own behavioural and cognitive struggles.

Now that I understand this harsh reality about parenthood and generational trauma, where does that leave the perfectionism?

If I’m being completely honest, it’s still there. And will remain there for all time, rearing its ugly head whenever I’m trying to achieve anything in life from a good night’s sleep to a complete change of career! It’s a part of me that I have chosen to lovingly accept because I cannot defeat it. But I CAN manage it.

I’ve come to realise that it boils down to self-worth. Believing you are enough despite your flaws.

There is no quick fix. It takes time and patience and a whole lot of healing from your fear of what others think.

My 5 year old self was petrified of what Miss Robertson would think of that goofy looking imperfect hand on my artwork.

My 9 year old self was worried her parents thought less of her for reacting to her incessantly annoying little brother. That they didn’t like her anymore because they got angry at her.

My 20-something self wanting the ground to swallow her up because she got drunk the night before and may have made a fool of herself but can’t remember a thing past 9pm!

The common theme is caring too much about what others think.

I projected my perception of perfection onto others. Thinking I didn’t measure up to their expectations when in actual fact, their idea of perfection was worlds apart from mine.

Perfection is completely subjective. No two people believe in the same version of “perfection”. It is created by us from our own experiences, thoughts, beliefs and environment.

You might even say it’s a figment of our imagination!

And if that’s the case, there’s nothing else for it but to embrace my beautifully flawed self and shine my perfectly imperfect light proudly in the world.

I’m hoping you’ll join me!