The perfectionist’s imperfection

The law of Conservation of energy says that “energy can be converted into other forms, but cannot be created or destroyed”. It’s a law that applies to atoms and stars, gravity and electricity, bacteria and humans. But the scientific view that physics offers on energy is different from the subjective experience of energy in our minds and bodies. Exercise, stress, thoughts and emotions all influence our energy levels in distinct ways.
In The perfectionist’s imperfection I share my experience of perfectionism and how it affects my perception of energy. It’s a story about climbing metaphorical cliffs, intuitive all-ins, washcloth creativity and interpersonal vulnerabilities.

I look up at the cliff face before me and run a hand over the craggy rocks. From where I’m standing I can barely see the top. There are plenty of handholds, but it will be a tough climb. The climbing gear hanging from my belt jingles. A comforting sound, knowing that I have all the tools I will need. I’ve studied the rocks’ cracks, bends and angles; I’ve visualised the climb in my mind’s eye; but most of all I’ve imagined standing at the top and looking out at the view, currently hidden by the trees behind me. I have imagined standing at the edge, gazing out at the mountains, the forests and the sparkling blue fjord in the valley below. All the details are sharp in my head and I know exactly what I want to see when I get up there. Imagining the result and growing that picture feels inspiring and sparks my enthusiasm.

But first there is the climb before me; a climb I honestly do not care much for. It is a hard truth to realise, but that’s how my mind works. I find little to no pleasure in the process of climbing, and I don’t get back any energy until I reach that peak and see a view matching the one I see so clearly before me when I close my eyes.

For some people the process of “climbing” is therapeutic and relaxing. But that’s a state of mind that I can’t seem to get into, even though that feeling of having a constant pay-off for the work done seems like a wonderful mode of being. One where there is no gamble to see if the energy that you put into a project will pay itself back; no gamble to see whether or not reality matches that beautiful fantasy landscape you imagined.

Just like every other person I sometimes don’t make it to the top before nightfall, or I get stuck and have to backtrack, or lose my grip and have to start all over again. In those cases the climb takes longer than I planned for and the resulting satisfaction is pushed forward into the future. All the work and energy invested after that point only feels like lost energy, even if the final pay-off stays exactly the same. After a while planning, or working on, a project becomes a gambler’s choice to bet or pass. It’s a chances game without counting cards, weighted dice or knowing the odds being played. It becomes pure instinct to go or stay. If my gut feeling says the pot is big enough, then I’m all-in. In that perfectionist’s mode of being there are no small bets, only all-ins; no matter how big of a gamble I’m taking by investing energy.

When everything in life becomes a game of all-ins, with either a huge pay-off after an investment (the ONLY way to return energy), or a net loss at every obstacle, then every wrong bet or imperfect result that doesn’t match expectations becomes a losing game. “The house always wins.” Unfortunately, I’m not the house.

Luckily there are some games based on skill and not just on odds, and those are the plays that pay off for me. Creativity has been my winning game in life and is a rare way of regaining energy from a brain ruled by perfectionism and high self-expectations. I’ve been a dreamer and a creator since I was a kid, and that’s still the same to this day. But every daily chore, every hobby, every plate of food, every piece of art I make and every action I take has a steep cliff face to climb, all in search of a big pay-off. A constant, lifelong search for any creative process that can either give me back small amounts of energy, or that has such a large pay-off that it makes it worth the time invested. The metaphorical climb with that heavenly view at its top that satisfies the imagined expectations.

Being a dreamer and perfectionist was something I didn’t associate with negative feelings for most of my life, but in the last few years the perfectionism has drained me of energy and strung me out like a wet washcloth. It has become a year-long search for identity, without taking the time to admire the things that I have achieved, and has caused me to feel restless, tired and stressed to the point of breaking down multiple times.

I know my perfectionism stems from insecurities, which is a scary subject for me to talk about. For years I was bullied, in both primary school and high school, by at least four different people that I can remember. I was pushed around, was physically hurt, had my things stolen and was called names almost every day. My defence was to turn inwards and become “the quiet kid”, hardly ever reaching out and sharing my emotions, thoughts and vulnerabilities with others. There had been too many occasions where I offered those as an invitation of friendship, or at the very least peace, and they were stomped on disrespectfully. I distinctly remember presenting that offering of peace to each of the bullies, sometimes even after two years of bullying, and being beaten even harder as a result.

In media the bullied kid often rises above their assaulters by becoming strong or brave enough to withstand the repeated torment. I wasn’t. I was just a child that was hurt too many times to count. It doesn’t take long to believe that maybe it’s not them, but you. Maybe you aren’t fun enough? Maybe you aren’t trying hard enough? Maybe you aren’t good enough? Maybe you are boring, uncool, or even naive? It must be you, right? Those ideas of doubt gnawed at me every day, and still do so many years later.

But just like every human being I long for personal and interpersonal acceptance, a place in the structure of society, freedom to speak my mind and to be a fair guardian of my own energy. I tell all this at the risk of being the subject of gossip, but as a friend of mine said recently: “The reaction of a person to sharing your vulnerabilities tells you more about that person than it does about you”.

Like so many thoughts rooted in trauma, perfectionism is not something I can change with a snap of the fingers. It has its claws dug deep in me. I try to handle the emotions and thoughts with self-care and immense patience, experimenting with both adjusting my expectations of what others expect of me and learning to enjoy the climb. My brain is strong at visualisation and intuition, but it is hard to rationalize my way out of perfectionism. The question I ask myself very often is: “If I try to be less of a perfectionist, does that mean I have to do things worse on purpose?” Which is of course the perfectionist thing to say, because I would try to try less the best way I could.

Ironically, I shelved this story 9 months ago because I felt like it wasn’t good enough, but let this be an exercise in managing my expectations of what others expect of me.

I tried to highlight what it feels like for me to be a perfectionist, and mainly what its imperfections and pitfalls are. I used the rock climbing and gambling metaphors because they might feel more familiar to the reader. The imbalanced state of expectation I described is probably not how most people view the world, but ever since I’ve become more attentive to the signals I have noticed that a lot of people struggle with this insecurity.

With this story, I hope to reach out to others who experience perfectionism the same way and struggle with those daily gambles in life to return the energy you invest. Maybe you find some courage and comfort that you are not the only one who faces the perfectionist’s imperfections, and know that you are good enough. I encourage you to share your discoveries, epiphanies and stories. To all others that may have learned something new about the perfectionist’s worldview: thank you for taking the time and acceptance to read to the end.

I think this is good enough. It sufficeth.