Confessions of a Reformed Perfectionist

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Updated: Dec. 19, 2016

Originally Published: Jan. 9, 2012

Let me share a little secret: I’m a former perfectionist. It’s not that I consider myself flawless; rather, I’ve always felt this overwhelming urge to excel in everything I do. I’m a people-pleaser at heart, and I often find myself overly concerned with how others perceive me. My goal has always been to excel in any job I take on.

In the beginning, it seemed easy. I achieved top grades, attended a prestigious college, and fell in love with a wonderful man who later became my husband. I snagged a fantastic teaching position right out of college, earned a good salary, and maintained a pristine apartment while preparing elaborate meals for my charming husband. We enjoyed gym memberships together and dined out frequently. Life was idyllic.

And then, we had children.

Now, let me clarify: this isn’t their fault. Each of my kids has provided some of the most incredible moments of my life. However, here lies the dilemma: striving for perfection becomes nearly impossible when you’re sharing your life with little ones.

I really made an effort. I tried to nurture friendships, be the ideal spouse, and keep every piece of laundry spotless. I aimed for immaculate floors, a tidy sink, prompt return of library books, and signed school notes. Yet, the harder I pushed for perfection, the more I found myself resenting the chaos that came from the people I lived with—the ones who left crumbs everywhere, spilled drinks constantly, and tossed clean laundry back into the basket instead of putting it away. I was exhausted and irritable.

It’s not just about the mess at home; it’s also the expectations I held for my children’s academic achievements. Poor reports during parent-teacher conferences hit me hard. While some of my kids took their studies seriously, others were indifferent. I wasn’t competing with other mothers; I was battling my own internal critic. Am I doing enough? Am I a good mother? Does my husband respect my efforts? Is my home clean enough? Are my kids happy and well-adjusted? Do others look at me, a mom of six, and think I’m overwhelmed?

Fortunately, I began to recognize that my perfectionism was my own issue before it negatively impacted my children (well, in this regard, at least). I’ve long equated my self-worth with my performance. As a teacher, validation came easily through evaluations and concrete proofs of success. But as a mother? There’s no grading system to measure how well you’re doing. There’s no report card to affirm your efforts, especially on those tough days when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

You know those days: when you’re scrambling to find a shoe or lunch money for school, or when you crunch through cat food on the floor because the broom is nowhere to be found. The days when you discover marker drawings on a freshly painted wall, or when dinner is simply hot dogs again because you just can’t muster the energy for anything else. Those are the moments that can leave you feeling like a total failure.

But you know what? Life is messy, and it gets even messier with kids. It took me a while—perhaps too long—to realize that chasing after perfection is a fruitless endeavor, especially when it comes to parenting. As Phyllis Diller wisely said, it’s like “shoveling snow while it’s still snowing.”

I might be slow to grasp these lessons, but I’m starting to get it. I sweep less and embrace more family moments. I clean less and make more room for laughter. I’ve even enlisted my kids to help with chores, which has been a game-changer. I’m more concerned about how my children feel about me than how other mothers perceive my parenting. I strive to guide and encourage them, allowing each child to grow into their unique selves rather than fitting them into my expectations. Ultimately, my kids won’t remember how spotless our floors were; they will remember the love and warmth I provided.

Lesson learned.

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