During the decades I was a practicing perfectionist, I could always find one more thing that had to be made perfect before I could relax and feel safe. So I kept doing that “one more thing.” Unfortunately, it was never the “right” one more thing that I believed would give me peace.
Like most perfectionists, I was in it for the long haul. And like most perfectionists, I was convinced it was just a question of finding the right formula; if I could just find which details of my life I needed to control, then I could feel safe forever. It was a great deal of constant work, but it seemed like a small price to pay for the feelings of peace, safety and well-being.
Except that those feelings never materialized, no matter how hard I worked at it. When the weight of perfectionism finally came crashing down on me, as it does for all perfectionists at a certain point, it became crystal clear I needed a different way to live.
During my life as a practicing perfectionist, there must have been any number of opportunities for me to see that perfectionism wasn’t working for me.
I wasn’t getting any relief, I didn’t feel safe or OK; it was just constant work without any sort of payoff.
But like most perfectionists, I was blind to the repeated signals life was giving me. And like most perfectionists, I clung to the belief that my version of perfection was much better than the real life version.
What’s most obvious to me now is the sheer desperation that drove those perfectionistic tendencies. I was desperate to feel better, desperate to have a different experience of life, desperate to feel I had control over my life.
Desperation is a really lousy guide, and never had the power to lead me to a better place, but I missed that signal, too.
Perfectionism can only make your life seem smaller, your happiness beyond your reach, and your possibilities shrink.
That was impossible for me to see as long as I was held in thrall by perfectionism.
Now that I’m what I call a non-practicing perfectionist, I look back on that person who was trying so hard to feel safe and secure, and marvel at just how difficult I made things for myself. That’s the single thing perfectionism was good for: making my life and the lives of those around me much harder than they needed to be.
As a non-practicing perfectionist, is life really more beautiful? It might be helpful for me to describe the way my life feels now, and you can be the judge.
My mind is peaceful a majority of the time. I’m able to make better decisions. I get more done. I’m not irritable all the time, the way I was as a perfectionist. I’m no longer in the constant cycle of resisting whatever experience I’m having and seeking a different experience. I feel safe experiencing whatever I happen to be experiencing.
I have time now to notice and appreciate the perfection that already surrounds me.
Does that sound like a happy alternative to the description of my life as a perfectionist?
Now, instead of struggling to make my life perfect, all I have to do is notice the perfection that’s already there.
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