Mm mm mm. The Perfectionist knocked me out again, y’all. She’s the robotic, performative, over-achiever that, much like The Planner, is steady doin’ too much. It has been over two weeks since my last post because I’m nursing a black eye and a cracked rib. I am still learning how to defend myself, even when my opponent is the internalized voice of whoever the hell comprises my inner critic.
Thankfully, today—like every day—is an opportunity to try something new. I’m experimenting with new game plan, utilizing time and compassionate surrender to get back into the ring. Ready to hear it? I set a timer for two hours. That’s all I get to write, and whatever is at the end of these two hours is all you get. I am giving myself space to be honest, right here. I’m giving myself permission to write badly. I’m giving myself freedom of self-expression without excessive editing.
The real problem is, I am obsessed with what y’all think about me. Yes, you. It’s what drives my addiction to performance. In the last two weeks, I can’t tell you how many times I started, deleted, and reworked multiple posts, only to arrive at a sticky place where I could no longer move forward. I’ve begun to recognize these moments in which I get “stuck” are just the moments I’ve moved too far into performance. I’ve forsaken the honest, good writing to impress you. To gain your approval. To know I’m good enough. As my girl, Braiden, puts it, “I’ve outsourced my validation.”
Pay attention to the moment you dismiss yourself and move into performance.
To want others’ approval is a basic human desire, but in my life, it has been much more destructive than I’d like to admit. My obsession with your thoughts and opinions has kept me from being able to fully engage in my own life. Your projected opinions have prevented me from freely expressing myself. The possibility of your criticism has conditioned me to suppress my creative gifts and talents. Your potential judgment has paralyzed me from doing things I really want to do.
It’s interesting how someone, me, who is obsessed with control, gives it away so easily. In exchange for giving your thoughts the power to influence my decisions, I’ve relinquished my power of free will.
And let me tell you, when your actions are being controlled by the real or imagined power of others, you carry this indescribable weight of exhaustion that smothers all sense of presence, satisfaction, and joy. For me, it is paired with an incessant, buzzing static of anxiety and a vicious inner critic that bombards me with to-do lists, shoulds, criticism, guilt, and doubt. Time feels as though it is involuntarily spent, packed full of rigid obligations, rules, standards, and expectations that you can never get still enough to examine or question. You’re much too busy performing all the responsibilities and roles required of you. Ah, the misery of self-inflicted oppression.
Perfectionism is a futile fight for control that ceases the moment I remember the truth of who I am. I don’t need your approval. I am whole, worthy, and enough as I am. Perfect in my imperfection.
I can fully extend self-love to the Chaz sitting here, glancing at her timer because she knows how her mind can work against her. I can have compassion on her for the strategies she’s employing to move closer to her true state, which is Love. I can be proud of her ability to see through the illusion and try something real. I love me, here. And your opinion of me is none of my business.
I hope reading this serves as a permission slip to release the grip of perfectionism, however it shows up in your life. When we take ourselves too seriously, we miss out on living fully. You have permission to: be yourself, take a break and rest, tell your story, make ugly art, leave the living room a mess, delegate the task “only you can get right,” put out something ordinary, take a nap, try something new, give yourself time to practice something without expecting immediate mastery, wear the two-piece bathing suit, embrace being a beginner, share your talents, take a picture without a filter, have that difficult conversation without rehearsing it to death, leave that pile of laundry unfolded, or own making a mistake.
Get Curious About Yourself:
Who comprises your inner critic? (i.e., an overly critical parent, cultural expectations, a boss, etc.)
The voice of your inner critic isn’t your true Self. If you can begin to identify whose voice it is, you can begin to separate your identification with the inner critic as You and engage with it from a place of curiosity and greater empowerment.
If you’re feeling brave, let me know in the comments. If you see me, I see you.
WHEW. I see you. You see me by seeing you. Whoa. This just really hit. The feels this past week, today. I just really appreciate you sharing AS ALWAYS. This truly came into my reality at the perfect time.. it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to be imperfectly me.