Confessions of a Perfectionist
“Colleen is a very conscientious student…” That’s how every report card began. A teacher politely telling my parents something they already knew. Namely, that their daughter feared failure.
Call it pride. Call it perfectionism. The fact is, I’ve always cared about doing things well. And when I can’t, I’m devastated.
In Grade 2, it was a vase. A masterpiece, I’m sure, had it not slipped from my hands and crashed to the linoleum floor. In an instant, only shards of pickle jar and gooey tissue paper remained, I could barely hold back the tears as the custodian swept up the mess and carried it away. It was my first certified failure.
Others followed, of course. Forgotten notes during a piano recital, missed words in a spelling bee and more than a few failed math tests punctuated my childhood. But all the while, I knew I was capable of more and was determined to strive (read: beat myself) ‘til I got there. After all, mine was a family of achievers.
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Now maybe you’re wondering what the big deal is. I mean, trying to hard isn’t a sin. And yet, ultimately, that’s what it has become.
You see, deep down, I’m still the same anxious kid I always was. Though many years have passed, I still sweat the small things. I dread showing weakness or neediness. I compulsively pick off lint and refuse to play party games, lest I look like a fool.
It may sound silly, but what was once the admirable trait of conscientiousness, as mutilated into a crippling disease. One that doesn’t just affect my social life, but hinders me from truly knowing God.
Spirituality, after all, requires humility. You admit that you need God in your life and invite Him to work in you. The only catch is, you have to let Him do it. And that’s the hard part.
Funny, for all the time I’ve spend in church over the years, you’d think I’d have caught on before now. That I’d have realized that God uses broken things to reveal His greatness. That weakness can be strength; and foolishness, wisdom. But somehow I missed it.
Looking back, it seems so obvious. All those flannel-board stories from Sunday school weren’t about great people doing great things for God. They were about weak, ordinary people. Moses stuttered. David was the runt. And Noah, the neighborhood laughing stock. Yet, I never thought of them this way.
Only now am I realizing the truth of these Bible characters. In process, I’m realizing how contrary my perfectionism is to faith. Not trusting others, always wanting to make things happen my way and never leaping without looking – all the exact opposite of what God desires from me. He’s calling me to take risks, to step out. To give him some room to work.
And though I’ve fought Him on this point, I’ve finally given in and determined to let God be God. Because frankly, if trying hard were what it took to know God intimately, I would have been there years ago.
