I spent every moment of the first 50 years of my life thinking that perfection was my only safety.

I didn’t understand it ‘til later in life, but being perfect was my only hope of survival in childhood. That quest for perfection dominated my adult life. I never understood why.

Heck, I didn’t even realize my drive for perfection was bordering on insanity.

But I did nearly drive myself crazy - along with everyone else around me. In business - every single detail had to be perfect before I would launch a client product or reposition a business. The last 10% darned near killed us all. And no one cared but me.

I was brutal to myself. Nothing was ever good enough no matter how hard I ran. Every thought, every action was driven by my obsessive need to be perfect and to be loved for that perfection.

Some in-my-face examples….

I timed myself when I was putting on makeup. Checking every action to make sure I was using everything in the most efficient manner possible. Every time I stepped up to the mirror - every action was criticized. I even looked at my watch before I started. Heaven help me.
My home was always ready for the photo shoot. It had to be perfect - all the time. As if Architectural Digest was showing up at any minute to take their photo shoots. Kitchen counters were scrubbed at least 3 times a day - no hair could be found on the carpet (even with furryy dogs). I stayed up til wee hours of the night making sure everything was perfect for the next day.
I was Superwoman. I did it all. I worked 100 hour weeks for clients even though they only paid me for 40. I didn’t care, I defined myself by delivering more than anyone ever. In my personal life I was bigger than life - I did indeed save a few lives, literally and figuratively. I helped every needy cause or person I met along the way. I picked up every ball I could find for anyone and everyone, and then wondered how they could use and then abuse me. I kept doing the same things, like a gerbil on a wheel - head up, tail up, running as fast I could to who knows where.

The stress of perfection drove me until I nearly killed myself. In the end, even before I remembered the cause of my frazzled perfectionist self - I crashed with a burned out HPA axis and broken body that I’m still healing more than a decade after I learned the truth and changed my life.

I am the burnout poster gal you always hear about….thanks to my quest for perfection.

Reveling in Imperfection

These days I’m intentionally being imperfect, and I’m enjoying every minute! It was hard at first. Leaving dishes in the sink overnight caused me to hyperventilate. Running out to the grocery without perfect makeup and hair had me wanting to hide under a hoodie. Simply sitting and doing nothing took months.

Today - I’m having fun being a slob:) Well, maybe I’m not that bad, but I am cultivating imperfection in my life. Here are just a few examples.

I started drawing boundaries on how much of me I give to others. That one was hard and I still don’t do it as well as I could. Every time I draw a boundary for myself - my first thought is that I’m being selfish, unworthy, unhelpful. Even if that boundary is to protect myself. Now that I am drawing those boundaries - I find myself more sensitive to people stepping over them. I’m learning to stand up for myself - for the first time in my life. The more I draw those boundaries, the more “friends” fall away - I bid them fond farewell as I step into my own energy and my own life. No more caretaker, supporter, personal slave or live in nurse. I still give a lot to people in my world - but I don’t give all of myself just to get them to love me.

I’m stopping being my own worst critic. This one is still a work in progress. It may be a lifetime pursuit. I catch myself ragging on me all the time… Wow. For now, I’m focused on the awareness. I stop to notice, love myself for my imperfection and keep going. When I’m getting dressed I purposely focus on being sloppy in the bathroom. Although I have to admit I do still line up my makeup in the order I use it. One step at a time.

I honor my fears. I still get a twist in my gut before I face an audience, whether it’s to speak, join a podcast or record a video - even as I post this blog. I’m not good enough. They’ll think I’m silly, I’ll be outed as worthless. And then… That’s when I’ve learned to be extra good to myself. No pressure to be perfect in my worthiness. The fear is so slight now. A twinge or sinking of my gut. A few deep breaths and I move beyond it. That’s my focus; moving back into thriving, instead of crucifying myself for the twinge.

I am so enjoying learning more about the real me - the flawed and regular woman beneath the powerhouse of perfection and energy that almost killed me to maintain.

I’m enjoying the simplest of things. Like sitting down, taking a deep breath and doing nothing at all other than breathing. Knowing that it’s ok to simply sit and be.

I am perfect just the way I am. We are all perfect, just the way we are.