I am not a superhero. I am not a witch, although those who have experienced my wicked fury may beg to differ. But I have no magical powers. I am not gifted with any sort of extrasensory perception or superhuman strength. However, it was pointed out recently by a very insightful friend that when I cry out in despair that I just want the people around me to realize that I can’t do it all and that I’m only human, this is news to no one but me.
If you’ve lived your life as a perfectionist, you know exactly what I’m talking about. We were the kids who turned in nothing but our “best work”, we anguished over a missed point on a test or quiz, we did all the extra credit. We had a hard time trying something if we didn’t think we could be great at it right out of the gate, and we never answered a question in class unless we were certain we were right. Other people could get low grades; that was acceptable for “them”. But we were better than that. We always got everything perfect, or died trying.
As women we believe we can do it all. Not only do we hold down our full time jobs, we excel at them. We also raise a couple of kids with the expectation that they will be cut from our same, pristine mold. We keep our homes clean, pay the bills, grocery shop, cook, do the laundry, lead the Girl Scout troop, and somehow manage to keep a husband happy in the process. Well, some of us do, anyway.
You get my point. We have a hard time saying no, and a harder time asking for help. When one of the facets of our lives goes awry, what we find hardest of all is accepting that we really can’t do it all. And maintain our standards of perfection, that is.
The perfectionist simply cannot accept her flaws.
It’s not that we are against imperfection, like I said its fine for the mere mortals on the planet. But we hold ourselves to a higher standard. While we can completely comfort and empathize with our friends and colleagues when they find themselves foiled by their humanity, we cannot sympathize with them; we consider ourselves exempt. Case in point: My recent revelation that I am not immune or above inequity in the workplace. For years I’ve believed that if I just do an exceptional job and advocate for myself I will break the glass ceiling. I will not be one of those women who remains underpaid. Surprise! I’m no different.
In a way, this is a relief. The upkeep around perfection is exhausting. I can barely keep mascara on my eyelashes; I don’t know how I’ve maintained my own ridiculous standards for so long. And maybe I haven’t. Maybe others have known this, chuckling at the sidelines while they watch me spin around like a mad woman trying to keep everything in tow. My frazzled demeanor makes it pretty evident I’m not snapping my fingers like Samantha Stephens with her smooth hair.
But I get it now. I’ve finally picked up a pair of glasses that allow me to see clearly how damaging this façade has been for me. I need to put my cape in the closet. The graphic that comes to mind is a cartoon from some 1960’s animation studio (maybe a Hanna-Barbera guest character on The Flintstone’s?) who is a superhero by day, but when he gets home at night, he literally lets the air out of his puffed chest, his deep and booming voice deflating along with it to a feeble squeak, much to the chagrin of his disappointed and viraginous wife. (If any of you remember this character, post a comment. I’ve searched endlessly for him on the internet.)
So how do we get our heads out of the clouds and descend to a lower altitude; the one inhabited by the mortals that we truly are? How do we get closer to being fine with our flawed selves? Start by asking how bad it would really be if you weren’t great at everything you set out to do. What would be the worst thing that would happen if you admitted a shortcoming or that you needed help? How would it feel if you allowed yourself the same compassion you do others?
“You’re Probably Not Very Good at Most Things” was the HBR blog headline that caught my eye recently: http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2012/10/youre_probably_not_very_good_a.html . It’s another take on identifying your strengths and matching them to the right job, but what I really focused on was a whole different direction the author could have taken this. The idea that when we consider everything we could possibly do in a lifetime there is only a handful of skills that we are exceptional at, and none (sadly for us perfectionists) that we are perfect at.
It really is impossible to be perfect. There is an absolute expectation that everything you touch does not turn to gold. The people who look like they have perfection nailed are the ones who have honed in so acutely on their strengths that the rest of us see little else. They’re also the ones who have the confidence to delegate what they’re not so great at.
And they realize that their humanity makes them beautiful and highly desirable in work, in life and in love. Who wants to live with the perfect person?
Do I sometimes wish I could conjure up an incantation to get everything right all the time? Or that I could wiggle my nose or wave my magic wand and the man of my dreams would appear in front of me? Sure, who doesn’t? But the real magic is in knowing that we are extremely powerful in our vulnerability. That when we let others see that we need their strengths to compliment ours together we can be a force to be reckoned with.
We become that much closer to perfect, I mean that much closer to fine. Yeah, that’s what I mean. Fine.
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