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On Perfectionism and Being Unperfect

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Editor’s note: This is a guest post by Aubrie M. of The New Montgomery.

Hold on to your hats and iPhones, because I’m about to blow your cranium apart:

I’m not perfect.

But of course I’m not. And neither are you.

I sure as heck put myself up against some pretty nasty standards, though. I think being a perfectionist will do that to you. Perfectionism is that little voice that begs you to rewrite that article one more time. Or nags at you to run for 5 more minutes or 2 more miles even though your body is signaling you to stop. It keeps you up at night, tasking your brain through a day long to-do list. The inventory of things that you “should have” done and now all you can do is stew under your covers and wonder why you can’t just shut your mind off.

Mildly obsessive and certainly annoying, being a perfectionist can wear down your edges until you’re drawn and weary. All the extra time, cutting down minutes, building up hours of mulling over what could have been done better, better, ever better.

And it is in these fixated minutes and hours that you find the shame. The self-propelled disgrace that tells you that you are not good enough. Not smart enough. Not fast enough. Not witty enough. Not. Enough.

This wears at you. Doesn’t it?

And when you’re worn, do you know that it shows? That you are not hiding it well? That the stress of your own checklist is written on your face and your tightened shoulders and furrowed brow? It squeaks out of the edges of your voice when you’re waiting in line at the grocery store, or stuck in traffic. It bubbles and boils just below the surface, threatening to bear its grin and gnash its teeth at what (or whom) ever tests your patience.

And that, friends, is hard to hear. Even harder to admit.

“You’re being really negative lately,” were the words I heard on the other end of the phone line. Like a cold hand to the face, I was stunned. Those five words ran through my veins like lava… hitting my chest first, then my limbs and finally, warming my cheeks and stinging my eyes with tears. I was angry, embarrassed and simultaneously defeated. My brain clunked into gears faster than I could recognize, but before I knew it, reality showed up in the form of bare truth. I was being negative lately. It was the truth.

So how do you handle that information? Do you accept it when it’s thrown at you from a trusted source? Maybe a loved one placed a proverbial mirror in front of you and demanded that you accept its distorted reflection. Or maybe words aren’t being spoken, but the lack of conversation and relationship is suggesting that maybe you’ve changed. The bitterness of that realization can be paralyzing. And embarrassing.

But. It’s what you do with that knowledge that matters. Moving forward is what counts. Without embarrassment, shame, anger or defensiveness.

How?

It’s simple: own your stuff.

In other, fancier terms: be self aware.

Self awareness may not eradicate the bad feelings associated with being an overall turd-of-life. But it certainly softens the blow when someone calls you on it. It lowers defenses. It morphs embarrassment.

There is beauty and honor in admitting you’re wrong. There is divinity in saying ‘I’m sorry, you’re right.’ There is something so beautifully humanistic, so charmingly disarming about someone who can raise their own white flag. Because then comes the understanding. You are no longer a turd-of-life… but rather, a bumbling Peter Pan, tripping through life’s many stresses. There is camaraderie there. A sacred transaction of ‘oh, I’m an idiot too, it’s okay.’

Have you taken your own inventory lately? Are you giving energy, or taking energy? Be proactive in self-awareness. Get to know who you are. The good, the bad, the perfectionist, the turd… all of you. Every dark corner. This relationship is the one you should know inside and out.

And when you do, self correction won’t be so stark and frightening. It will be challenging, rewarding and hell, maybe even a little fun.

a.montgomeryAbout the author: Aubrie is lucky enough to married to the coolest dude she’s ever known. She’s a kick-ass auntie, a proud sister of two brothers, and great friend. She loves 90’s R&B music, dogs, punctuation, drinking wine out of mugs, using slang in everyday conversation, and her ballin’-ass 2 year old nephew.

By day, she works in Finance. She is a writer by hobby and ballerina by years of painful training. Get more from Aubrie at her awesome-tastic blog, The New Montgomery

[Image by Daniela Vladimirova]


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