Ghosts of Perfection
Offering compassion to the haunting lies
Haunt (verb)
“to visit often” or “to have a disquieting or harmful effect on”
Perfect never existed in my life, but it haunts me nonetheless. It follows me as I make (a haphazard) dinner. As I (fail to) wash the dishes and (forget to) reply to texts.
Like white noise, it hums in the background of my day. Muffling. Obscuring.
It gets in my head.
It fogs goodness and amplifies flaws.
It stares as I write, peering over my shoulder, trying to pick apart my creativity.
Some days, perfectionism lingers nearer than my shadow.
“It means something died, but it’s not leaving,” my son said, and my chest tightened. He didn’t mean my desperate misunderstanding of perfection, but it struck my heart nonetheless.
Our streets are filling with Halloween decorations, and I’m sure yours are too. I’m happy to see a sweet jack-o-lantern or a cute bat, but the gruesome decor fascinates my oldest boys. We talk about the dripping blood and intense monsters. We marvel at the two-story pumpkin-head skeletons peppering the streets around school.
We talk about what the word haunted means. “Spooky,” says Stella quickly. “Creepy.”
But Neil1 pauses to consider it more deeply. His definition turns my thoughts sharply inward: It means something died, but it’s not leaving. I glimpse my perfectionism — the ghost that has ruled so much of my life. I wonder what died in me. What spark flickered out, leaving behind a cold demand for perfection?
Through mercies of the last decade, perfectionism is quieter than it used to be, but I suspect some hint of it will always linger. The temptation to return to what used to feel safe.
I’m learning to trust my work. Trust the good-enough and enjoy the process. I’m learning words and actions of kindness to myself, which spill into loving my husband and kids.
“I see you.” That’s what I’m learning to say to the scared, perfectionistic Rachael. As I grow more self-aware, I keep finding more wholeness and so much more freedom than perfect.
“I know you mean well,” I can say to my inward self, kindly, “but you don’t have to live like this.”
Do you have a heavy expectation hanging on your heart? Ever struggled with perfectionism? Are you fighting for the beauty of the imperfect? I’d love to hear.
Warmly,
Rachael
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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “Haunted.”
Not their real names.
This is so beautifully written <3. I'm also haunted by the drain of the perfectionist voice inside, and am strugglingn to fight through year over year into a deeper, warmer space of self forgiveness and more generosity towards myself and others. I'm not a mom but I just sent this to a writing friend who is!
“Died but not leaving”. So good.