when perfection becomes pathological

Perfectionism. Often a symptom of some other mental illness (anxiety disorders, OCD, depression), sometimes a precursor to one.

Perfectionists tend to continually set unrealistically high standards for themselves, and perpetually feel like failures whenever they fall short on their expectations. It’s easy to lose sight of the big picture when you’re living life through a magnifying glass.

In a perfectionist’s mind, anything less than perfect is unacceptable—yet perfection is unattainable.

The TLDR version of this article is simple: I was trained to think like a perfectionist during my most formative years, learned to deeply fear and internalize failure as a result, and am still unlearning those thought patterns as an adult.

Allow me to paint a picture for you.

First, imagine you are a child (just 8 or 9 years old!) competing in the most intense event of your life thus far: a provincial-level gymnastics competition.

In this world, (the same world in which you reside for 20 hours per week), you begin with a perfect 10.

Your mistakes, or the lack thereof, are what define you.

What’s more, you are just a number attached to a score.

You are scrutinized down to the most minuscule detail by a panel of adult judges whose sole job is to not let an error go unnoticed.

You can feel your competitors’ eyes digging into your back, begging you to fail (I still feel this energy as an adult, but in a new way) as you approach the beam.

Your coach’s words ring loudly in your mind, battling your heartbeat re: which can be the most deafening.

Point your toes.

Suck in your stomach.

Chin up.

You look sloppy.

That was awful. Do it again. Do it better.

Work harder.

You’re not going to win the competition with posture like that.

You’re not going home until your routine is perfect.

Wobble after the full turn. Deduction.

Bent leg in the front walkover.

De

duc

tion.

You perform each of your skills as best you can with an arena full of people you don’t know staring at you, and a little stomach that is twisted up in knots.

Remember: You need to be perfect.

But that wasn’t perfect.

You are painfully aware of the silence that is only broken by the sound of your feet on the 4-inch wide high beam. You just want it to be over.

Finally, time for the dismount.

Usually, you’d just pray to stick the landing.

That day, however, for whatever reason, I was completely frozen.

I’m at the end of the beam ready to cartwheel backtuck my way back to safety, but I can’t move.

I’d had intrusive thoughts (hello undiagnosed OCD) about falling and hurting myself, and thus also a new fear of bailing mid-air. I was convinced if I performed my dismount, I would fall and hurt (and worse, embarrass) myself in front of everyone.

Little did I know that 8-or-9-year-old me was having the first of many panic attacks in our life—but very publicly.

After about a minute or two (or what seemed like it, at least), my coach got into position to spot me, and I was finally able to push past the freeze response that my body was experiencing due to severe stress.

You’d think that now the worst is surely over.

You’d think that you got through the most nerve-racking part.

As you stand on the cement floor waiting for your score, though, you realize you forgot how to breathe.

Because you weren’t perfect, you know that. And now that will be made evident in a tangible, numerical form, too.

All of the hours you spent training, all of your tears and injuries, all for nothing—officially. You, personally, weren’t good enough. Not just today or for that event, but in general.

Before you have any time to feel ashamed, though, you’re moving on to the next event. You still have 3 more to go.

Again, you begin with a perfect 10.

...

Gymnastics, competitions and sports in general are, of course, not the villain in this story. When you are given the impression (or are outright told, in some form) at a young age that success stems only from perfection, you are set up for a life of disappointment.

The more you let yourself down due to your impossible standards, the less confidence you have in yourself. You can very easily get to a point where you stop trying, you stop putting yourself out there, and you give up on yourself because of your fear of failure. It’s a vicious cycle, because avoidance causes anxiety (it tells our brain that, yes, *insert thing you are avoiding* is something to be afraid of) and vice versa.

The thing is, lack of perfection does not equal failure. It equals humanity.

We are not made to be perfect, and that’s a really good thing, because the world would be incredibly boring without the beauty that unique people and creatures bring.

I needed someone to tell me, so I’m telling you now.

Making mistakes is okay.

Not being the best at something is okay.

The only thing that truly matters is that you do what makes you happy. Success will follow.

For me, depression was unavoidable as I was growing up. Years and years of perpetually feeling inadequate really takes a toll on an adolescent mind.

I passed up a multitude of opportunities as I aged because I was afraid of what the outcome might be. I hated competitions of any kind, even board games, because the feeling of competition was triggering.

I felt that if what I was doing wasn’t perfect, I might as well not do it at all.

I wish I was told that not doing things perfectly is *expected*—that the fun and enjoyment can come from the act of doing and not just from the outcome.

Yet, as a teen I would rarely try new things and as a young adult I had deep-set self-esteem and confidence issues. I was endlessly stuck in "perfect 10" mentality, because that’s what I had learned for nearly a decade.

The perfect 10 is a myth, because all human experience is subjective. What’s perfect for me may not be perfect for you.

Perfect does not exist.

It wasn’t until I allowed myself to understand this that I also realized… the person putting those irrational fears and expectations on repeat was me all along. I always had the power to stop, and to change what I was telling myself.

After years of being my own worst critic, I finally allowed myself to live, and to live is to be flawed.

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