This is difficult for me; more difficult than I understood it may be when writing about my life. I want to and I need to, but I find myself constantly stepping back to assess my feelings about what I wrote. When I step back to process, I seem to find a million little things to do instead of writing. It’s more than just procrastination, although I think most of us have procrastination in us waiting to rear its ugly head when things seem too tough to deal with.
Like now, for instance. I waited five days after writing this post about my mom, with no desire to write anything further. I have nothing to complain about during this time of my life, so what holds me back from writing about it? I feel like I am an action-oriented person, by nature. I don’t feel right about relaxing and taking it easy until I have everything (or enough) of my work done. What “enough” is depends on the day, but it must feel like enough before I can stop. It doesn’t seem to matter what would be enough for others, or if someone asks something of me and I accomplish it.
My mom was a perfectionist. She was also depressed and volatile at times. I’ve been called a perfectionist before; many times. The thing that has always confused me about other people seeing this in me, is that I am so imperfect. How can others see me as a perfectionist when I see myself as so wholly imperfect?
I will admit I am a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to my home. I’ve never cared about having a big home, or an expensive home, but I do like everything in my home to be organized and relatively clean. I like having things around me that bring me happiness. Clutter makes me anxious though, so I don’t have a lot of stuff lying around and out of place. If it’s out of place, I feel the need to put it back into its place. If that makes me a perfectionist in that aspect, I’ll own it. I grew up in a clean, uncluttered home and that’s what I am comfortable with, for my own home.
I am not a perfectionist when it comes to my appearance. Although my weight has been a consistent struggle throughout my life, I’ve never wanted or felt the need to be super-thin. In my adult life, I’ve been close to 300 lbs. I’ve also been 170 lbs. When my depression and anxiety is at its worst, my weight is higher; when my mental illness is not taking over, I can lose large amounts of weight and get to a 195 lb-range. I’m realizing that losing weight has never been the issue for me, it’s keeping it off.
I’ve never been one who relished in looking "photo ready" when I leave the house; at least not since my 30’s! I don’t wear a lot of make-up, and you couldn’t get me into a pair of heels if you paid me. I like clothes, and still have too many, but I don’t place the emphasis on name brands or being a slave to fashion. The older I get, the more I value quality and comfort over being the height of fashion. I had my hair done three months ago, and it will probably be another month or so before I worry about it. I’ve had three manicures in my life.
I guess I was thinking about that when I think about my mom. I think she was disappointed that she didn’t have a girl that always valued what she looked like, because my mom never left the house without make-up and her hair done. I’m not saying I don’t care at all, but I really don’t care to expend the time it takes. I’ve met the kindest, most interesting people in the world that some wouldn’t take a second look at.
We are much more than the way we look on the outside, or the way we appear to others. At least I hope so. Maybe I need to look more into what constitutes a perfectionist.
What does it mean to you to be a "perfectionist"? Can you "cure" perfectionism? Is perfectionism hereditary, or a learned behavior?
Please leave a comment below; I'd love to know your thoughts!
Add comment
Comments