Battling Perfectionism

When I was a girl, I never thought about getting older, finding a husband, or having kids. I didn’t dream of a fancy wedding or a big house. I was too busy trying to survive a chaotic and sometimes scary childhood. I remember going to bed wondering if my older sister would ever come home or if my abusive stepfather would visit in the night.

These are things a child should not have to think about.

Worry and anxiety took root at the foundation of my being, finding fertile soil amongst the poverty, deprivation, and abuse. By the time I was a teenager, the incessant fear had led to a quest for perfection—hoping straight A’s, compliant behavior, and model-like proportions would gain me the love, attention, and acceptance I yearned for.

It has taken me until my 50’s to realize perfectionism is like a field of landmines. Every time I think I’ve identified and carefully excised the obstruction, I discover another buried in my path. 

Silencing, or at least reigning in, the self-critical voices in my head followed close on the heels of tackling low self-esteem. Fear of failure necessitated the need to set realistic standards and goals, which consequently helped curb my procrastination, each a step in trampling a trail to self-awareness.

The process of writing Lost Again has been therapeutic in ways I had not imagined. Today, I am struggling to curb my need to make every word selection perfect and in the process found yet another landmine buried in the road. So here I am, telling myself to aim for excellence, not perfection.

I am still a master at finding flaws within myself, but I am learning to see them for what they are: human.

Outside-the-box

It’s really hard to develop an intimate relationship with someone after they’re gone.  And as a birthmother, even one with a strong sense of self-esteem, I can’t help but question my “right” to want this relationship.  I have to pointedly talk myself through, again and again, the entire decision making process. 

I have to do this all the time, lately it's been almost daily.

And it’s tiring, by the way.


 

Since he turned 18, and we were first reunited, I’ve tried to glean a sense of who my son is.  Early on social media was the main source of information, and since his death I’ve been fortunate to have access to his family and friends too.

Here’s what I’ve come away with: 

the image of a young man with a tendency to think-outside-the-box; 

not just an ability to do so, 

but an inclination to do so. 

The ability to think outside the box is prized and encouraged, while those who prefer to live life outside it can be viewed in less favorable light.  I imagine, as a result, that some people were not so sure he had it all together or perhaps thought that he was a bit “out there.”  But I also believe he had to have some of the BEST friends a person could ever ask for.  Friends who embraced his individuality and who encouraged his imagination, and even friends who took up residence outside the box with him from time to time.

There’s power in owning ones’ uniqueness, and I think it takes most of us a long time to figure that out (yep, still working on it over here), but I think he “got it” early.  I think he figured out that there’s a lot more space to move and “be” outside the box than in it, and he made the conscious decision to go there. 

Is this who he was?  How his mind worked?  I don’t know.  I may be just making things up.  Again, it’s really hard develop a relationship with someone once they’re gone.  But this image I’m developing of him, in my head, is beautiful.  And in my head, I can embrace him and hold him, and if he did indeed live and think outside the box, then I can believe he would embrace me back, without hesitation and without judgments.

 

Surviving the Holidays… Again

For the past week or so, with the encouragement of my husband, I’ve been trying to come up with a plan for the holidays.  A plan is supposed to help me get through them without becoming a complete basket case.   But this whole process has been hard and painful and tedious.  I’ve been trying to look closely at myself and evaluate where I’m at, which has left me feeling disappointed, frustrated and angry.  

I’m disappointed that I’m such a selfish narcissistic person, irritated that I just seem to be standing still, and angry about, well, lots of things, but the biggest thing right now: that I didn’t try hard enough.  

When he was alive I just didn’t try hard enough to include him in my life.  I didn’t take every opportunity to involve him, to engage him.  I sat back and watched from a distance.  I didn’t call or write or text.  I just didn’t do enough.  And even though I know why I did it that way, and would likely approach it the same way today, I’m still feeling angry with myself.  And, as a result, yet again, I find myself feeling undeserving; that I have no right to grieve that which I did not truly appreciate.

Couple these feelings with what the literature says about how to get through holidays, things like  “keep their place at the table” or “put out your photo album to share and re-experience the good times” or “buy a gift he’d like, but give it to someone else,” and I feel paralyzed.  I can’t do any of those things.  I never had a place for him at the table.   I don’t have photos with memories attached.  I wouldn’t know what gift to get.  What it all really comes down to is this:

I didn’t let him know how important he is...

And, oh, how sad that makes me…

So, right now I’m feeling both angry and sad, but we do have a plan.   Tom & I will participate in community events, but we will keep Christmas Day to ourselves - a day reserved for a private celebration.

I will start every day with gratitude in my heart and on my lips, for what I have and for what I have been given.  I will spend time with those I love sharing laughter and creating memories to be cherished in the days ahead.  And I will let those in my life know how important they are to me, so I never have to go through this again.