Imperfect

I used to believe that striving for perfection was an honourable pursuit, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not. It’s foolish, futile, and dangerous.

Perfectionism is an affliction I’ve struggled with my entire life; as soon as I became self-aware, I became a perfectionist. I set ridiculously high standards for myself, standards I couldn’t possibly reach, and berated myself for my self-perceived shortcomings. I compared myself to others and measured my worth against my perception of their worth. I was relentless and harsh in my self-judgement and critiques. I avoided trying new things for fear of failure and procrastinated myself into a perpetual state of stress and anxiety.

I wore my perfectionism like a badge of honour, though, like it was proof that I was trying harder than everyone else. I believed that if I pushed myself hard enough, eventually I would be “perfect.”

The effects of my perfectionistic tendencies spread into every aspect of my life and the people around me became casualties; I didn’t just hold unrealistic expectations for myself, I held them for others too. If there wasn’t space for me to be human and make mistakes, there wasn’t space for them to either. I became as critical of them as I was of myself; I projected my insecurities and lack of self-worth onto them. Every time someone didn’t meet my expectations of them - expectations they often didn’t even know I had - it was a reminder of my own inability to measure up. If I couldn’t count on myself, how could I count on anyone else? I lacked the ability to trust. I developed the belief that others would only let me down and became fiercely independent. The phrase “if you want something done right, do it yourself” became my motto, always taking it upon myself to shoulder life’s burdens alone. It was a flawed system; I was overwhelmed, my spirit was being crushed by the weight of it all, but I smiled and pretended it was all peachy. It was easier that way. Easier than asking for help, something that would in turn require me to trust and relinquish control.

I was desperate for approval and since I couldn’t earn my own, I sought external approval and validation. I became a people-pleaser. I was always trying to be the best [insert role here]. I bent and twisted and contorted myself to fit into the boxes I thought they wanted me in, but it didn’t seem to matter how hard I tried, I still never quite fit. I was never the best friend, or sister, or daughter, or partner. I always said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing. I was never good enough for them, never good enough for myself.

I thought perfectionism was a positive trait; I thought it came from a place of wanting to do my best, to be the best I could possibly be, but I know now that it comes from a place of lack - a place of crippling self-doubt and worthlessness. I didn’t believe I was good enough, so I was constantly trying to prove to the world, to prove to myself, that I was. I thought that if I could just be the perfect friend, sister, daughter, partner… I would finally earn the approval, acceptance, and love that I craved so deeply. I never measured up though, I was always falling short of my own unrealistic expectations, always letting myself and everyone else down.

Pretending to be someone else, someone I thought others wanted me to be, didn’t earn me the love I desired. They may have loved the person they thought I was, but they didn’t love me. They couldn’t have, they didn’t know me, I didn’t even know me.

I lost myself somewhere along the way, but I couldn’t admit that to myself, or anyone else for that matter. I couldn’t be honest about how much I hated my life and the way I hated who I’d become while I was trying to be perfect.

In my effort to please everyone else, I’d forgotten to please myself. I’d been so busy trying to fit into boxes that I never stopped to wonder if I even wanted to fit into them in the first place. I’d been so fixated on all the things I wasn’t, that I forgot to appreciate all the things that I was.

I’ve disappointed a lot of people in a lot of ways in my life so far, but worst of all, I’ve disappointed myself. All my life I’ve tried to be perfect, but in trying to be perfect I wasn’t being me. I abandoned myself on a quest for a mythical achievement.

“Perfect” doesn’t exist, it’s an illusion we concoct in our own minds. Perfectionism isn’t a healthy desire for personal growth, it’s self-sabotaging behaviour born of self-hate. In trying to be perfect, I’ve failed to love myself, but it’s through self-love that I’m overcoming my perfectionism.

I’m a recovering perfectionist. I don’t strive for perfection anymore, but I still try to do my best, and I still want to be the best version of myself. I’ve learned that my best may change from moment to moment, and my best might not be the same as someone else’s, but my best is good enough. I am good enough.

I’m human; sometimes I make mistakes, sometimes I miss the mark. I’m learning to give myself a little grace, and I’m learning to give other people a little grace too. As long as we’re all doing our best, learning from our mistakes and growing into the next best version of ourselves, we’re doing something right.

Perfectionism isn’t an easy thing to overcome. I still find myself people-pleasing at times, seeking approval and external validation, pretending it’s all peachy. I still doubt myself and find it difficult to let go of control, to trust myself and others, but I’m aware of the behaviours and I’m learning to be ok wit

**I’ve intentionally left this piece unfinished - imperfect.