Quit Trying So Hard

I am a perfectionist. 

I know that’s hard to believe. 

Actually, my friends and family know this. In fact, as I typed it, I could hear one of my former principals saying in playful, sarcastic banter, “Really, Hardin? I had no idea.” 

(This imaginative internal monologue makes me smile. After all, I am used to joking about it.) 

But jokes aside, Perfectionism…

I’m not sure when it started exactly. Some may think it’s due to my birth order. I’m the oldest in case you couldn’t guess.

Perhaps it’s some childhood experiences that lie deep within my subconscious? 

I sometimes wonder if it has to do with the death of my daughter, a tragedy that caused me to grasp for anything and everything I could control in my life. 

But even before that, I think I was a perfectionist. For countless years, I felt totally lost. From parenthood to my career, and everything in between, I got caught up in trying to be perfect for everyone and everything. 

I didn’t say “no” to anyone because I didn’t want to disappoint.

I overdid the housework on the weekends, wearing myself out, trying to get all the laundry and chores done because a tidy house (no matter how simple and old) is a perfect home (or so I thought.)

I even spent time and effort trying to fit into certain unhealthy social circles because I thought it was the perfect thing to do.

All these desperate efforts toward perfectionism caused painful sentiments of inadequacy and failure to filter through my head, and then make their home in the inner chambers of my heart. I reached high levels of anxiety and felt my mind was going to explode. I would spend every therapist visit in sobbing sadness about how much I hated my life.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t suicidal. Otherwise, she would have gotten me treatment for that. She’s an excellent therapist.

But I was constantly stressed. I would lash out in anger at my nine-year-old when he didn’t behave how I wanted. I said negative things to my husband that I can never take back. And worse of all, I lost my true self along the way. I no longer enjoyed being who I was created to be. I realized I was not perfect, and the more I strived to be perfect on the outside, the deeper I sank into despair on the inside. 

This past summer really helped change my viewpoint. I went on a mission trip to the impoverished country of Haiti. In the mountains of Haiti, things were less than perfect. I met people who had nothing, and still found a way to share. I held hands of kids who hadn’t eaten in days, but sang happy songs. 

In Haiti, I didn’t need to be perfect. My social circles were a mixture of choppy English and lots of hand motions, because you know, I can’t speak Creole. The people around me there didn’t care where I grew up, went to college, or who I rubbed elbows with on a daily basis. They didn’t care if I wore the same outfit for several days in a row without doing laundry. I didn’t have to keep a perfect house because I was thrilled to have a mosquito netted bunk bed to sleep on each night. It was beyond freeing. 

When I came back, my life started to change because my views of perfectionism changed. I’m definitely not saying that all my perfectionist tendencies have disappeared. After all, I am a person who thrives on organization and likes to plan things out. (I can’t change that God-given quality about myself.) But I can give myself permission to quit trying so hard.

Take today for example. 

Today was less than perfect.

I slept through much of the day, was out-of-sorts from pain medicine I had to take, and wasn’t able to drive my boys somewhere fun for Fall Break. (I was in a car accident this week. I’m okay, but sore.) Anyway, I let my nine-year-old take the reins with caring for the five-year-old while I was in Dreamland. They spent hours in front of the TV, played games on iPads, and ate absurd amounts of popcorn and snack foods. 

When my husband, Jason, got home, I was reflecting on the day, filling him in. It was then that I realized something…

I was fine that today hadn’t gone perfectly. 

But even in saying that, I had to give myself permission to be okay with this fact. 

For the past few years, I haven’t been gentle enough with myself. My boys were completely fine that their mom needed extra sleep. Jason could have cared less that there was a pile of dirty dishes unattended in the sink. But me...well, I had to keep saying to myself over and over, “Quit trying so hard. It’s ok that this day was what it was.”

Wow. How freeing that is! I give myself permission to break loose from perfectionism. Realistically, it’s not going to happen all at once. But, maybe a little at a time isn’t such a bad place to start.

So what now? 

Will I continue to struggle with perfectionism? 

Probably.

Will I continue to have anxiety when things don’t go as my organized self thinks they should?

Most Definitely.

But in those situations, I will think back to my moments in the mountains of Haiti as I tell myself, 

“Quit trying so hard.” 

After all, there is only so much I can control.