Being a perfectionist can be a blessing—and a curse. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t intent on everything being “just so.” I was quiet because I didn’t want to say anything wrong, which made people think I was aloof and uncaring. I was particular about the way things were done, which made people think I was controlling and too serious. I sacrificed sleep to make sure a project met every single requirement, that I had studied every possible topic for a test, that I had used the perfect combination of words for a paper—I was willing to do whatever I needed to do to be “perfect.” If that meant not sleeping for four days, I’d do it. If that meant not going out to dinner with friends, I’d not go. If that meant not stopping to eat, I wouldn’t stop.
I don’t know where the perfectionism comes from. My parents never put any undue pressure on me, and my siblings always encouraged me to be the best I could be instead of feeling like I had to be like them—but I still wanted to measure up to what I realize now was an impossible standard, and I if I didn’t reach it, I was a failure. I felt like I had no value outside of the grades I made and the accomplishments I had. Even when I succeeded, it wasn’t enough. If I got a 98, I could have gotten a 100, and “why on earth didn’t I try harder so that I did??” It was irrational and self-destructive.
It wasn’t long before that mentality carried over into my relationships as well—and destroyed some of them. I hit almost rock bottom before I realized that somewhere along the way, perfectionism had stopped being something that drove me to be better and had turned into something that controlled my life, that robbed me of joy, and that kept me in aperpetual state of anxiety.
I had just realized that my hunger for perfection was causing my life to crumble when I began Montgomery Leadership Program. As soon as I began that first semester, I began volunteering with an after-school program, as I mentioned in my previous insight. I had no idea walking into that building the first day that those twelve children would completely radicalize my life and my perspective.
Two weeks into the program, I began to see that I had something to offer the world that had nothing to do with my academic achievements or extracurricular successes. The kids didn’t care what my GPA was. They cared that I listened to them, helped them, supported them, and believed in them. Slowly, but surely, I stopped fixating on my failures. Spending time outside of the four walls of my department’s building that caused me so much anxiety altered the way I viewed the world, and I realized that I had been selfishly focused on things that have little to no weight on life.
My last two semesters of college have been stressful, there was no getting around that. However, because of my service learning experience and being purposeful about helping others, I can say that perfectionism no longer controls my actions or my thoughts. It’s taken a lot of self-reflection and mindful responses to triggers, but I made it. Now I use that drive for perfection to fuel me to help more, do more, impact more—it’s a tool in my arsenal that is no different from my ability to write or draw.
What I would love for anyone to take away from this insight is simply this:
The pressure to be perfect can come from any direction—even from yourself. It can be overwhelming, all-consuming, and, if allowed, can destroy your life. However, the best way to combat anything like it (anxiety, depression, etc.) is to pour yourself into others. Consider how you can use your abilities to change the world, or at least change the world for one person. Through consistent service paired with self-reflection, your perspective cannot help but be forever altered.
Then the perfectionism will be something you can use, instead of something that uses you.
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