I have been a perfectionist for as long as I can remember. I remember crying about a B in the first grade. Growing up, I stressed out about grades and friends and boys and looks and sports and…you name it I stressed out about it.
I was am a joiner. I have to volunteer, especially if no one else does. I was Junior Class president, in the drama club, on two varisty sport teams, and yearbook editor. And I spent a good part of middle and high school on Zantac and Reglan (prescription medications for stomach issues). I was basically giving myself an ulcer.
I’ve always wanted to be the best and have sought outside validation that I’m smart and competent and valued. I want to be perfect. Look, I know logically and rationally that no one is perfect. I know, I know…we all make mistakes. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But emotionally everyone else is allowed to make mistakes. I’m just supposed to be awesomely fantastic at everything I do or try to do or want to do. Where did this internalized pressure come from? I don’t really know. Nor do I have the time and finances to dive into the whys of my childhood.
What I need to do now, as I near (have I mentioned this before?) the big 4-0, is reduce the stress I carry around with me and that slows me down like 25 extra pounds. I was basically told today at work that I need to break the cycle if I’m going to be successful in the long-term. Apparently beating yourself up and taking things too hard is not an attractive trait. Huh.
And here’s the rub. I’m not rigid and tough on everyone else. I don’t expect other people to be perfect. I let everyone else off the hook. But I skewer myself and then marinate in my inadequacies until I’m just a self-punishing mess of anxiety. (I now have a mental picture of myself in a soy-ginger marinade grilling up nicely with some green peppers and red onions. I must be hungry. I don’t eat very much when I’m stressed out.)
So I’m trying to figure out what to do. And how to change.
I don’t want my kids to grow up tense perfectionists like me. I want them to be free to get messy and make mistakes and learn and grow and blossom. I want them to enjoy school–and life–and have fun every day. So, how do I model that for them when I have spent more than 30 years fretting over what other people think and if they are duly satisfied with me and my performance (on the field, at the office, at the cocktail party)?
When I quit smoking 12 years ago, I didn’t just start exercising; I trained for a marathon and went from smoker to marathoner in 10 months. And I wasn’t content just to finish 26.2 miles, I had to beat an arbitrary time in my head (4 hours, 20 minutes) because 10 minute miles felt like a respectable pace to me. I wasted time being disappointed that I came in 14 minutes behind my personal goal instead of psyched I’d just run a marathon.
So…how do I stop being hard on myself and treat myself with the same kindness and patience and understanding I show others?
I’m going to have to make it a pet project and do my best to succeed in reaching this goal. My happiness and, more importantly, my kids’ happiness depends on it.
You heard it hear first: my #1 goal for the next 9 months until my birthday is to learn to relax. I will turn 40 being a more balanced, calm and open individual.
And I’ll be damn good at it. Or else.
