Did you have a Barbie Dream House?

Hi friends,

Picture this: It’s Thursday, and I’ve gotten back from my work trip. I am feeling super polished, professional, and proud of myself. In fact, later that night I will read my book, put on my sleeping mask, and go to bed feeling super grateful and actually smiling to myself. I mean, does that ever happen?? Actually smiling to yourself? I’m reveling in how happy I am to be home, with my boys, and feeling so accomplished and generally ‘good’! I’ll even later share with Amanda and my therapist that this was such a special feeling for me that I wanted to hold on to and cherish.

Why, then, did I wake up on Saturday morning—the supposed best day of the week—and feel so very OFF? So different? I even wrapped up the book I had been reading (“Thud!”, Discworld #34, the Watch storyline) and it had a great ending. I just woke up on the side of the bed where, you know, every piece of clothing fits just a little weird, the textures of your t-shirt drive you insane, your hair just doesn’t look right no matter how many times you try, the grocery store is packed, even the sound of your favorite podcast is like nails on a chalkboard, and you remember that your lips are SOCHAPPED, and go to put on Carmex, but end up squeezing half the tube on your hand and staining your pants. One of those special days.

I mean, can anyone relate to this?

It’s a few Friday mornings ago. I sit down in my therapist’s office, unsure of what to talk about. I don’t have any big issues to discuss (or so I think) and things feel tentatively… okay? It has been eight or so sessions and we’ve been making good progress on my general anxiousness.

We often talk about my self-concept, my perfectionism tendencies, and why I always seem to be waiting for the next shoe to drop. Why, she asks me to consider, do I think that being perfect is the only way to be ‘good enough’, to protect me from criticism, from being rejected? And what exactly does perfect mean to me? How could I get there? Is it attainable? As someone who loves to avoid uncomfortable feelings at literally any cost, I hate that I’m paying her to make me interrogate this train of thought I’ve gotten myself stuck on. I mean, of course, being perfect is best. Right??? Well…

Something she has instilled in me is the concept of “holding things with open hands.” See, if you have a plan, or idea, that you’re holding onto super tightly, you can only see the outcome where that plan happens. And if the plan changes, you might be completely lost and frustrated and upset. But, if you hold something with open hands, you see the possibility of change and know that whatever happens, you will be okay, because it’s the trust in yourself to handle the situation, not your trust that the plan is the only right outcome, that builds a strong foundation.

Reader, if you’re like me, originally this seemed a little cliche. But trust me when I tell you that open hands are the way to go. Is it scary though, at first? Oh heck yes. And so, this idea of being ‘perfect’ is the concept I have been holding onto so tightly for so very long. What would it be like, she prompts me gently, to open my hands on this concept? To accept that, perhaps… (not to frighten me) widening my idea of being the perfect friend/daughter/coworker/etc. might allow me to actually interrogate what I want. I mean, a novel idea!

I recall to her that, as a child, I loved playing with the dollhouse my dad built me. It was way better than the traditional Barbie dream house because a) he made it and b) it was sturdy and practical and I got to pick out the paint colors out-no Barbie pink for me. We had tan, purple, and teal. I loved that Barbie house and I loved moving the furniture around to make the house look oh so perfect. (In fact, one of the first times I ever spray painted was spray painting my Barbie chairs and dining table tan instead of their original pink because they needed to be more ‘practical’. I mean… what kind of kid was I?) Who needs to actually play with the dolls when you can just set them up, dress them up, and imagine the perfect life they have, where nothing ever goes wrong and they are always beautiful? And this is what they call foreshadowing.

This idea of wanting a ‘perfect’ anything has really struck with me. And how being perfect ties back to the self-concept I talk about in therapy so often. The story I tell myself is: If I have the perfect clothes, people will think more highly of me, theoretically. But… isn’t that a trap, because what are perfect clothes? If I am the perfect friend, I will never hurt anyone or lose a friendship. If I am the perfect daughter/sister/partner, no one will ever be disappointed in me and will love me forever. Right? RIGHT? Well, wrong. Because none of those people actually want me to be perfect. And heck, do they even know what perfect is? Reader, when I tell you that coming to the conclusion that being ‘perfect’ could not protect me from pain, rejection, fear, or loss of love, I shattered my own d*mn glass ceiling.

Realizing that this fake idea of perfection wouldn’t save me, and in fact, was corroding me from the inside hurt.

In fact, trying so hard to be my idea of perfect to protect myself was actually stopping me from being myself.

Yeah, let that sink in. Holding onto an idea of perfection that I could never reach and wasn’t even attainable was stopping me from being my authentic self. And that, reader, is where it starts to get interesting.

Somehow, this all ties back to the original thought of my self-concept. When my self-concept is held tightly, with negative and rigid guideposts, it leaves no room for mistakes, no room for exploration. BUT—a self-concept held with open hands allows for growth. GROWTH! Imagine that. Open space for consideration, tapping into real feelings, allowing space for failure both failure and success.

So, reader, thank you for buckling in and reading this with me. When I woke up on the itchy, uncomfortable, everything is AWFUL side of the bed, at first I was upset that my day wasn’t as, ahem, perfect as the day before. But then I remembered my therapist’s sage advice: open hands…. and I took a deep breath. Yes, perhaps I couldn’t ‘fix’ everything that felt wrong about the day. But I could try my best! Did I want to sit and curl up on the couch and pout? Also yes, and it would have felt great in the worst way. Instead, I’m sitting on the largest green couch known to man, with the sweetest cat on earth curled up around me, with a caring friend chatting with me. And yes, reader, my shirt STILL feels uncomfortable, my hair still doesn’t look great. But, now get this, it’s crazy. I decided to show up anyway and to try to make the most of it. To allow myself to function outside of my self enforced guidelines of perfectionism. No day is perfect, no person is perfect. And the sooner we can realize that, and hold ourselves and our ideas with more open hands, the happier we will all be.

And as I sip this huckleberry vodka lemonade, I have to say. This growth feels pristine.

Thanks for following along! If this resonated with you, please let me know I’m not alone, and consider sharing with a friend who might benefit from the ramblings of a recovering perfectionist lunatic!

XO,

Grace