Dancing with Perfectionism

In which I revisit my struggle with perfectionism after a few more years of not being perfect...

Last week, this post about my lifelong struggle with perfection came up in my memories.

To recap: I'm a perfectionist. I have always been a perfectionist. I will likely always struggle with perfectionism.

I wrote that post six years ago, in 2019, which I've come to refer to as "The Before Times."

Before COVID.

Before our interstate move.

Before I became an empty-nester.

Before menopause.

It's obvious to me that when I wrote that post, I was really stuck in a perfectionism spiral. I was trying to get my freelance writing business off the ground again and struggling to fully launch, much like that fledgling crow who hung out in our yard a few weeks ago. I was stuck on Unquickened. I'm sure I was stuck on any number of other personal things, like my health and fitness journey, my constant struggle to maintain some level of basic sanitation in a house that had five humans and five pets in residence, and that persistent chorus of parenting demons in my head.

I would like to think that I have put all of those struggles in the past, but to tell you that I have discovered my inner Lebowski and relinquished my perfectionism to the dustbin of regret would be a lie.

And I try very hard not to lie, given the perfectionism and all that.

However.

What I have discovered is that over the years, my struggle with the perfection monster has become less a battle to the death and more a slightly aggressive merengue in which neither of us has the ultimate upper hand.

Six Years is a While

Here's a quick accounting of what I've accomplished since I wrote that post in 2019:

• I had my best freelance year ever, in large part because of COVID and an hourly contract agreement with one large client.

• I've figured out more precisely what kind of work I want to do and what I don't want to do--which, honestly, is about 60% of the battle in building a sustainable freelance business.

• I finally finished Unquickened, wrote a second Ian Mac Roy story, and have Soultainted about 75% finished.

• I acquired a couple of great new clients.

• I've settled into some sustainable blogging habits after years of intermittent posts.

And here's a quick accounting of things I haven't accomplished:

• Getting to my ultimate income goal from freelance client work OR making a full-time income from fiction.

• Finishing The Taurin Chronicles.

• Writing that third Ian Mac Roy story.

• Moving on to the whole dragon western trilogy I have planned.

• And a whole bunch of small, medium, and large things that would most likely help me accomplish some much bigger things.

That's all just business stuff. I'm sure I could write much longer lists for all the personal areas of my life.

But as I look at those lists and run through the personal lists in my head, I'm struck by one persistent thought.

This is all okay. In fact, this is fine.

I don't mean "fine" like the dog sitting at the table while the world burns down, though there are a lot of days I feel that way.

I mean genuinely fine.

As in, progress is progress, and I may move at a sloth's pace, but I am still moving.

Which brings me to the present...

Another Wall, but Maybe Not Brick This Time

My head has basically been a bag of cats lately. Between grief, worries over changes and potential changes, stress about client work and whether I should look for more of it, struggles with Soultainted, frustrations over my own lack of discipline and time management, and the general imbalance of being almost 56 and not entirely adjusted to this stupid phase of life, I found myself, once again, near a breaking point.

What was going to break? I am not entirely sure, but I know it wasn't going to be good.

Here's the thing. When I hit a breaking point, that often means I just check out. Instead of trying to corral my thoughts, challenges, or obligations, I just stop doing any of them and opt for podcasts, computer solitaire, and staring into the void.

I think this comes back to perfectionism. This article on LifeHack describes three types of perfectionism--self-oriented, other-oriented, and socially-prescribed. I am one hundred percent the first type. I am my own harshest critic. I expect myself to produce results of the highest quality, to set new standards for ideal, and when my results don't measure up to my image of "ideal," I give up and don't do anything.

But what's even worse is that sometimes, I just don't start at all.

If the chances of reaching that highest of ideals is low or non-existent, I will often just not do anything. And sometimes, the overwhelm of Too Many Things and Not Enough Me to Go Around makes the perfection monster start whispering about how I'm really not measuring up to expectations, and after all, what is the point of even trying to corral all these challenges, goals, and obligations if you can't do them all perfectly?

So last week, when I reread that post from 2019 in the midst of trying to hold that perfection monster away with one hand, something occurred to me.

The wall I was facing wasn't really that much different than the one I faced in 2019. Sure, some of the details are different, but that doesn't mean the wall is any more or less an obstacle than it was back then.

Back then, I managed to overcome my fears and market myself and find some great clients. I forced myself to face Unquickened and push it out of the nest. I faced the blank screen and finally wrote The Heart of the Goddess. I relaunched my website, set up a Substack, and started posting regularly.

Did I do any of those things perfectly?

No.

But did I make progress?

Absolutely.

The Merengue Continues

So here's where I am six years after finally acknowledging the perfection monster in my life, and I think I've realized that he and I have been dancing this slightly aggressive merengue for a while now.

I want to put out high-quality fiction. I want to produce good work for my clients. I want to adequately fulfill my obligations to family, friends, pets, and community. And I want to do those things while maintaining a foundational level of fitness and health with some semblance of sanity and a little space for reading, fiber arts, chocolate, and the occasional British TV series.

That's where the perfection monster has the lead in this dance. He drives me toward action--toward doing those things and doing them well.

But I also have a part in this dance. I can push back and say hey, Frank (because I'm pretty sure his name is Frank, and I'm also pretty sure he's Karen's twin brother), there's enough stuff here to keep four of me busy for the next many decades, and since I don't have access to Hermione's time turner, we're going to have to sometimes settle for "good enough."

• Client work that's good enough, but that I'm always willing to revise if clients ask for changes.

• Fiction, blog posts, and social media engagement that aims for "above average," but also reflects the real me, warts and all.

• A house where you probably won't acquire a major bacterial infection, but will definitely walk away with pet hair on your clothes.

• Family and friends who understand they can rely on me, but who may have to tolerate waiting a bit until I have a few minutes to get back to them.

The dance goes back and forth. If Frank gets a bit aggressive, I can shift in the other direction. If I start to slack off, he can take the lead again.

This is "good enough"-ism. This is an embrace of my perfectionist tendencies that drive me toward excellence, but a rejection of that extra step that paralyzes me.

This is sustainable.

And if this is where I finally end up functioning in my dotage, this is a dance with perfectionism that I can manage without wearing out my shoes or throwing out my back for good.

Maybe there's a tiny bit of The Dude in my psyche after all.