I can almost see it- the poorly lit room, maybe a church basement, the smell of burnt coffee wafting through the room as people mill around folded chairs set up in a semi circle while sipping coffee and eating half stale cookies waiting for it to start. As the group comes together reciting the serenity prayer and turning to the first share for the night I can hear the words come out of my own mouth, “Hey everyone, my name is Jessie, and I’m a recovering perfectionist.” As they all murmur an accent I would launch into my life story the highs and lows but more importantly the way the idea of perfection has crippled me and left me broken as only any drug or addiction can.

We all long for perfection to some extent, others however like myself found that perfection wasn’t a nice idea but a need. From a young age I sought for everything to be in order. No coloring outside the lines. No spontaneous adventures but rather order, tidiness, and everything in the proper, perfect, place. As I’ve gotten older this need for control, this illogical need for perfection has cost sleep, anxiety, and ultimately peace of mind. You can’t find peace when you chase after something that can never exist. You are constantly setting yourself up for failure because you can’t sustain that level of exertion, that level of stress indefinitely. So while you struggle and fight you end up finding yourself one day at your own personal “rock bottom”. 

At “rock bottom” in my pit of anxiety perfection brought the rat race of trying to be perfect started losing its shiny veneer. I started questioning what perfect looked like. I started to question what I wanted my life to look like. Did I want people to think I was a mess- no, but I also didn’t want to feel like a mess even if everything around me looked “right.” So in my quest to figure out what I wanted my life to be like I turned to my mentors and dug in to what I really wanted. That’s when my mentor presented me with homework to read the book “Present over Perfect.” A story about a woman with a much different life than mine but a similar struggle. A struggle to keep up in a world longing for perfection and missing out on actually living.

She offered a different way of life- to live present rather than trying to live perfect. To live in awe of what’s around me rather than anxious to create something unsustainable. My house might need vacuuming and there might be a load of laundry that still needs to be put away but tonight I’m going to grab a book, a cup of tea, and sit on the deck and just wonder. Does that mean that I’m cured of the inclination to push, to strive, to long for what fits the imaginary guidelines of perfect in my life? No- some days I struggle. Some days I find it harder to push past wanting perfect and allowing present. For giving myself the grace to create a life rather than create a standard. I don’t think that desire will ever be gone- it’s too far ingrained in who I am but each day I work to conquer it for the day. To fight for the moments of my life for myself and the people around me. I’m working on it- I’m getting there and I’ll probably never get it right all the time but I’m going to let that be okay.

I’ve noticed as I’ve started this journey that this isn’t a problem that only I deal with. We’ve all grown up with the ideas of fairy tales and Martha Stewart and while those aren’t bad things they can be dangerous when the world’s ideals become your personal standards. More people each and everyday struggle with anxiety and depression. Desperately trying to find peace while the world keeps throwing more and more at them to add in to their life for it to be “fulfilling.” No one talks about it, rarely do people admit what they feel or how they struggle except maybe in mere whispers, and that is why the lie of perfection and anxiety is winning. Because we think we are alone.

I think back to that room, filled with familiar faces nodding as they sip their coffee and murmur their agreements as I talk about my inner battle to remind myself to keep out of the rat race, that it’s not worth it. That I don’t need everything or for everything to be “just right” by anyone’s standards but my own. As I sit down I know I’m not alone but in good company as the next person would stand and begin their story, maybe much different than mine but a story I could relate to. About how one day they decided to put down the idol of perfection and fight for the protection of their inner peace. There might be more than 12 steps, there may never be a “cure” for this disease, but I know that I’m not alone and I know the fight is worth it. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute I search for presence and hope that in my search of peace I look back one day at my life and while I won’t see perfection I find joy, love, compassion, and friendship and that I realize those things are far greater than perfect could ever be.