As I wrote my last post about the fears associated with fat, I realize that I wrote flawed and imperfect as one of my fears regarding recovery. I can't let that statement slide without addressing it.
All my life, I have pursued the Holy Grail of unattainable treasures--perfection. Growing up, I was told repeatedly about how perfect I was by doting and well-intentioned family members. My beauty was perfect, my shape was perfect, my smile, my eyes, my grace--all were perfect. I could do no wrong. And while that may seem nice that my family regarded me so highly, it left me paralyzed with fear; being so flawless meant that I could never fail, and fearing failure, I was terrified of being anything less than perfection. Happiness, joy, and peace were contingent upon my attainment of perfection, which obviously meant those real treasures lay outside my grasp.
The prospect of recovery meant letting go of this ideal of perfection. That was terrifying. I had grown so accustomed to pleasing others, giving no less that one-hundred-ten-percent, that I did not know how to cope in a world without acknowledgement and praise from others. I craved the validation that I was tops in everything that I did, and when I perceived others as better than myself, I was left devastated, berating myself. Perfection had infiltrated my core, and was I beginning to make me crack. I couldn't be in relationships, do my job, clean my house, undertake a new hobby, etc... because I feared failure. I allowed others grace and accepted their imperfections and flaws but refused to grant those same permissions to myself.
Recovery meant embracing my fear of flaws. One of my therapists once said to me, "You act like you're the only person who's ever made a fucking mistake." She was right; I was acting as if the whole world was immune to error. I am human. Humans make mistakes. Making a mistake doesn't mean that I am a mistake. It doesn't mean that I am a terrible person. It means my choice wrong, and that's it. Though the prospect of this tightens my chest and sucks away my breath, I must surrender and accept that I will err; I cannot control that aspect of humanity. That same therapist also told me that if I always looked so perfect and acted so put together, I was probably turning people off to me, that I didn't seem real or genuine to others. And that meant that I was losing out on true connections with others. Again, she was correct. I am so much more likable as a human being than as a martyr.
Slowly, I have learned to embrace my flaws and imperfections. Doing so has humanized me. I have had to accept that I make mistakes at work, that I say the wrong things to people sometimes, that I forget obligations or important dates, that people won't always like me, etc... I once believed that the only path to perfection was to excel at my eating disorder; now, I realize that I can only strive to be me.
Let's face it: we all make mistakes. I have to learn to forgive myself for those errors, learn from them, and move on. I cannot torture myself by replaying the mistake ad infinitum, for if I do that, I am doomed. Not only will I feel like shit, but I won't learn a thing from the error. Allowing myself the grace to err is refreshing and calming--and has made me a whole lot happier and fun to be around. Being perfect is chore, a huge responsibility that has been lifted from my shoulders. Though it takes of lot of self-talk out of this bad habit, I find that I love the new flawed, imperfect me. I'm sure others do as well.
Cheers!
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