I was born a perfectionist and it has plagued me all my life. But recently I was shown that maybe, kinda, sorta, I have come a long way out of perfection into reality. Something in life has come full circle.
When I was in 8th grade I wanted to make a quilt for my Mom. At that time in the 70's rust and navy blue were popular colors so off to the fabric store, Beverly Fabrics, I went. I remember pouring over a million fabrics to get just the right ones my mother would love and that would compliment each other.
I spent a lot of time with a paper grid arranging and rearranging the pattern. I spent a lot of time measuring, cutting and piecing her quilt together. When it was done it had hundreds of pieces; squares and even some triangles (not the way to start a first quilt!).
This quilt was sewn by hand....all of it. I was 13 years old.
When I finished it and then put it together my Mom loved it. I did not. She showed it to anyone who walked in the door. I pointed out all the mistakes. They were all I saw when I looked at it. No matter how lovely anyone thought it was, I made sure they knew it was not good enough.
Not good enough. The scourge of perfectionist.
One day when I had pointed out the imperfect parts of her quilt, My Mom took me aside and was angry. Well, as angry as she ever got which wasn't much. She told me it was wrong to point out all the imperfections of her quilt. She said it was beautiful and specially made for her and that there were no perfect quilts. I never pointed out those imperfections again to anyone but I thought it every time she brought it out.
Recently my son's girlfriend Lilly made an amazing, beautiful, gorgeous, king size quilt for my son Joe for his birthday. It truly is beautiful and her first attempt!! It had to have taken so much thought and time and love.
When he opened it we were all oohing and aahing and she began to point out where all the imperfections were!!! Okay God....I finally get it.....35 years later! I get it. That quilt I made for my Mother and Lilly made for Joe is nothing but love. Love for a person and work for that person and thought about that person and perhaps prayer for that person. No imperfection can change that. None. Ever.
What is with this perfection thing? It's horrible. My best friend is a serial perfectionist too so we have tried hard to encourage each other OUT of perfection. Because we are in our 40's we can laugh now at how ridiculous it is to be a perfectionist because of course you cannot attain the unattainable. We commiserate about all the times we were like hamsters on a wheel trying to attain perfection in every part of our lives. It's a drive, a compulsion, an inborn trait. It stinks. We've spent hours talking and laughing and shaking our heads at ourselves then sharing how far we've come.
There is also a positive side to this. Being a perfectionist also drives a person to want the best for others and to do the best for them. I have been afflicted my whole life but I have never demanded perfection from others....Thank You God...really. That would be a nightmare for my family. What's really funny is I am uber understanding of the imperfections in my children. It's always been important to me to make sure they felt loved just as they are. That their imperfections are marks of a human, a lovely unique human. Why I cannot apply that to myself is beyond me.
I can tolerate imperfections much better now. I can make a quilt, a dress, some curtains and although things are pretty regulated as far as measurements etc. I am much more relaxed. Yay me!! When things are stressful however, I can revert back to being a crazy person but I try really hard to control it.
I have several children who are perfectionists. I now know it's not my fault because these children were born that way and so was I. No matter what I say or how much I compliment them they have a standard to which they cannot measure. All I can do is share my own struggles and how much nicer it is to accept things that are not just so.
I can even rejoice in the imperfect now. It has character, uniqueness, it's special. Perfect is not special.
~Blessings~
Lisa
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