Just as the cute pink graphic states…..I do consider myself to be in the process of recovering from perfectionism, a characteristic that I could write about in many different directions and expand my thoughts that would fill more than several pages. If i were to do so, I could choose to go the direction of blaming my past or a parent for this shortcoming, but I won’t. Instead, I’m choosing to write from a heart that really does struggle with being perfect and the sheer surprise discovering this trait although I never would describe myself as a “perfectionist”—raw reality is that I am…..I was…and probably will continue to be as I age.

When did I have this great revelation? The answer was given to me in August. I was attending a ministry training event which includes a session of personal ministry and God revealed to my team that “perfectionism” was an area of my life that had become a struggle in the negative sense of the word. While I don’t need or feel an obligation to divulge the entirety of the session, I do want to share my thoughts on how I arrived to realizing there is a struggle to be perfect waging within me…..at times.

I remember being in 7th grade homemaking class where I was learning to sew. Our first project was to construct a potholder. I was so excited when I purchased my fabric which was assured by the sales clerk to be ‘perfect’ for my project. I can still see it–it was white with pink polka dots. I eagerly watched our instructor as she taught us how to create our pieces and in each class demonstrate putting the pieces together. I always made sure I had a front row position to see her work so that when I sat down at my machine I could duplicate her work. Much to my dismay my efforts did not produce a beautiful piece of work. I remember using my little seam ripper over and over to remove badly stitched seams……eventually I became so frustrated over that little potholder that ‘fear’ came knocking at my door to take a seat next to ‘my project must be perfect’. Fear gained such a good seat, that I also recall trying to daydream or wish the clock to stop in my class before home economics. With each glance of the clock, the ticking of minutes giving way to the dismissal bell and the walk to home economics brought a sick feeling in my stomach. That little potholder was supposed to be a short, simple project but it turned into a giant mess threatening with my emotional well being. Each time I resewed my little potholder and presented it to the teacher for approval, I prayed that it “would be good enough” for her srcutinizing eyes. Following numerous tear outs and twisting of fabric I was finally finished, done–no more. I will always remember my grade–a C+.

7th grade was a long time ago, but in the years that have passed perfectionism has had many opportunities to show its ugly face. It has come through but not limited to: defining myself as a person, parenting skills, cooking talent, relationships, work, ministry, my home–I think you get the picture. My ministry team lovingly pointed out to me that for too long I’ve been striving to be perfect, worried that I will fall short, concerned with the opinions of others rather than looking for my affirmation and worth solely with God.

If struggling to be perfect isn’t enough, I also realized that another cohort likes to tag along and that’s “procrastination”. I’m real good at that one too. Connect the dots and the solution I found was that by procrastinating I didn’t have to worry about being perfect. Put off a hard or time consuming project long enough and you can’t fail, right? Wrong. An assignment, project, or task with a deadline will always win the battle for completion. I’ve put off making phone calls when I know the conversation won’t be an easy one. I’ve exchanged doing necessary reading for a leisurely few hours on the computer. The stress that results then from scrambling as the “deadline” approaches is mine and only mine as long as I don’t drag others into this part of my life.

It’s October now, only a couple of months since the head-to-head meeting regarding my perfectionism. I’d like to say that I’ve made some really good advances in winning the battle but I would be a liar. What I have won is a new and retained perspective that God doesn’t expect me to be perfect. It’s okay if I make mistakes. It’s okay too to allow my loved ones and friends to be themselves without interference from me. Gaining this insight and using it as a tool to navigate through each day has empowered me and helped to set me free. For awhile many of my expectations to do everything right was an agenda that was only readable to me; it was a hard copy in my mind completely hidden from others, yet I reasoned that others would take notice of a backslide and hold me accountable i.e. when I left my job in May I mentally made a commitment to write my blog on Tuesday. That mental promise to myself was upheld for quite some time until I began to receive invitations and offers for other things to fill my time. There have been several weeks when my blog wasn’t written until Wednesday. Well, today is Thursday and here is my blog and I can honestly say not ONE of my friends has contacted me to say “Where is your blog? What are you doing? Aren’t you going to stick to your promise? As absurd as it is, no one had to contact me because I was able to entertain those very questions all by myself until I got the key that unlocked the door named “Guilty Perfectionist”, opened it, and stepped on the welcome mat to the door called “Freedom Living”.

I’m thankful for the memory of a C+ potholder. I’m glad that experience is behind me yet the memory serves as a teaching tool for myself or to use for others struggling to be perfect. As that fearful, little 7th grade girl everything about the agony and frustrations of a poor sewing project consumed me to the point of wanting time to stop and caused me to lose focus of a bigger picture. Fast forward to gaining more skills and confidence as a seamstress and I’m pleased to report that I went on to constructing many garments for myself, my home, and my children. Most precious to me are the weeks that my mother-in-law and I spent together sewing my wedding gown. She was an advanced seamstress compared to my abilities, but I learned and I succeeded. In my mind I got an A for the dress and an A+ for precious time with a wonderful woman–so I kind of think those moments in time victoriously cancels out the C+ a little 7th grade girl received a long time ago and lends to my success of exchanging perfectionism for freedom.