Fighting The "Perfection" Disease

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Perhaps you’ve heard about the disease called “perfection”? Dan Pearce wrote about it here on his blog, Single Dad Laughing. The post has gone viral, and with good reason: it contains a much-needed message. If you haven’t read it yet, please do.

The idea is that way too many people, maybe most of us, maybe even all of us, are so busy being perfect-on-the-outside plastic shell people, we’re afraid to face the realities of our lives, let alone admit them to others. Your spouse mistreats you, you’re over your head in debt, you drink too much, you’re depressed, you hate your body… but you can’t let anyone guess anything is wrong because they might not like you or respect you. That’s the disease called “perfection.” It isolates people. It makes them feel wrong and bad and alone. Sometimes, it makes them give up altogether.

The fact is, nobody is perfect, everybody suffers, and we all have messes in our lives. I know this only too well, and I’m going to share my story, even though it’s personal, in hopes that everyone who reads this will be encouraged to face their own truths. That’s the only way to fix any of this.

For most of my life, I was convinced that the way to be safe was never to show anyone the “ugly” side of me. Even with my closest friends and family, I always spun the self and life I presented, to make sure it made me look good. I never cried in front of people if I could possibly help it—even alone, I fought so hard against crying, I always ended up with a huge headache, whether I actually cried or not. And all the while I was making sure nobody saw the real me, I was resentful that nobody understood me.

Here’s the thing: if you never let people see the real you, you can never have a deep relationship with anyone. This idea scared the living hell out of me, and I fought it pretty hard, but reality is persistent. Eventually, it makes itself known.

I realized that I was miserable. You can never relax when you’re pretending, and I was very busy pretending (and trying with all my might) to have a perfect life and be a perfect person. I hated my job and couldn’t concentrate or think. I was miserable in my marriage: my husband belittled me but cleverly used church teachings to shame me if I had any complaints or wanted to do anything other than what he wanted me to do. I could never measure up to the standards of a saint, and those are the standards to which I was holding myself. I felt incompetent and weak, and I was afraid people would find out how lacking I was in all respects and laugh at me or hate me. And it seemed all the worse for the fact that my life was so good on the surface. I had a big, pretty house; a prestigious and well-paying job at a university; and a husband who called me “sweetheart” and was always doing things for me. How could I possibly justify complaining when I was so lucky?

The fact remained, though, I was miserable. I freaked out at the drop of a hat, and the tiniest thing was enough to send me into a fit of rage, anxiety, or desolation. I was losing all ability to cope.

Oddly, what snapped me out of it was drugs. It was a prescription, not the illegal kind, but I still don’t recommend this approach! I had a bad allergic reaction and was put on steroids, and they kept me from sleeping more than three hours a night. Either the drugs or the lack of sleep, or both, shut down the denial and bullshit factories in my head, and I was no longer able to delude myself about anything. Whoa! My marriage was not meeting my needs, and even though I had taken vows in the church, I wanted out. I was doing a terrible job at work and should find another career before I got fired. I was trying to start a business but felt like a huge fraud and failure-waiting-to-happen at that, too. And I so hated for my mother-in-law to turn out to have been right when she predicted I’d dump her son, I was actually considering waiting until she died to do it.

Well, I waited until I was off the steroids to make sure it wasn’t all a hallucination, but I knew it wasn’t. Then I started doing something about it. I think this is the number one reason we delude ourselves and stick with things that obviously aren’t right for us: if we admit it’s not working, we’ll have to do something about it, and that’s hard.

It is hard, and it can be miserable, but compared to the misery of the faux life, it’s very refreshing. And you know what? I was sure everyone at church would hate me for initiating a divorce, especially when they all liked my husband and he was very devoted and seemingly ideal on the surface. But they didn’t. I shocked myself by bursting into tears and sobbing loudly in public when one of my friends asked how I was doing—I think that’s the first time I cried in public since second grade on the school bus when all the other kids made fun of me for crying and called me a baby. My friends were nothing but supportive and loving. It turns out nobody judged me nearly as harshly as I was judging myself.

Meanwhile, I had lived the “perfection” lie so long, there were many times I didn’t know what I really liked, thought, felt, or wanted. I had pretended so long, I was out of practice with reality. But if you wait and listen, the truth will come to you, especially if it’s a truth about yourself. You have to be patient and really want to know, which may require an act of will at first.

As I practiced being real with myself, I was also experimentally showing the unflattering side of myself to my best friend and my sister. With each tiny revelation, I cringed and waited for the axe to drop. This was extremely scary for me—I was risking my entire support system on an idea that was a total reversal from how I thought life worked. But the axe never did drop; in fact, my relationships deepened. Looking back, I’d say there are two reasons for this: I wasn’t fooling anyone nearly as much as I thought with my act, and the people who liked me liked the real me even more.

I had two old friends who had each been among the top five most important people to me ever but then quit speaking to me, and each suddenly resumed contact. Could I show them my real self, too, when they’d dropped me so hard before? Well, by this time, I was convinced that being real was the way to go, and I decided I wouldn’t go back to the act for them or anybody. They’re both still speaking to me, and one became closer than we’d ever been.

In short, being real with myself and everyone around me was extremely scary at first, maybe the scariest thing I’ve ever done, but it has also been the most important thing I’ve ever done. I don’t think it’s possible to be truly happy without doing this. I’ve been at it roughly two years now, and I can say for certain, it has given me two of the greatest gifts in the world: closer relationships with my friends and family, and peace. I’m no longer at war with myself trying to pretend or make myself into something I’m not–I can just be me.

I’d like to end this post here, but it seems like cheating that my only revelations are stuff from the past, as if I were perfect now. I have worked really hard at being real, but I still have some things I don’t like admitting. Here goes.

• I’m insecure. I need approval from others waaaay too much.
• I like autocross, but I’m not a good driver.
• I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life.
• I’m probably falling for some kind of get-rich-quick trick on the internet.
• I have no idea what unique thing only I can offer the universe.
• I’m horrible at drawing, and I’m not very creative.
• I’m a sloppy housekeeper.
• I hate being asked a lot of questions, but I also hate when people don’t do things my way.
• I’m scared a lot.
• I don’t know what to believe about God or any of the religion stuff I used to be so sure of.
• I don’t know how to fix computers or how to network them, I don’t program for fun, and I’m behind the times on basically every computer-related technology. In short, I lack all computer geek cred. (Why is this a problem? I have a PhD in computer science. I should know everything!)
• I hate puzzles and thinking problems because I’m afraid I’ll get the answer wrong, and that will prove that I’m stupid.
• I think mean thoughts about people I don’t know because of their looks or clothes.
• Unless I force myself, I tend to avoid doing things I’m not already good at because I still hate not being perfect or letting other people see I don’t know everything.

I hope you’ll make your own list, even if you’re not yet ready to share it. For inspiration, be sure to read the original post on the “perfection” disease and this one on the cure. Being real is scary but so worth it.