Perfectionist Rehab

If you have ever felt that by simply doing enough, or being good enough, you could finally quiet the chaos and keep the unpredictable at bay, then you already know that perfectionism isn’t just about high standards (or even work ethic) – it’s a quiet, weary attempt to feel safe in an uncertain world.

Whether we realize it or not, perfectionists attempt to control their environment to develop a sense of security.

Let’s explore a couple of ways perfectionism controlled my life.

1. Shielding against criticism

Perfectionism is a defensive strategy to protect from the pain of rejection. The underlying belief that being perfect makes one “unassailable” and therefore, ensures social safety. This requires significant effort to maintain – resulting in increased internal pressure, chronic tension, burnout, and fear. If the ‘mask’ slips, it will reveal our “true” nature and therefore, prove insufficiency.

Perfectionists often believe that if they can do everything ‘right’, they can eliminate any grounds for others to criticize them.

“If I am perfect, I am safe from being hurt or abandoned.”

My perfectionism grafted upon my parenting. When my children were babies, I would obsessively monitor their diapers so that the instant the line became blue, I would change them within seconds. The tremendous pressure I put upon myself to keep my children constantly clean became a prison.

When my youngest was about four weeks old, I had a full-blown panic attack over this. My husband was out of the house, dropping off our eldest at daycare and picking up some take-out breakfast. My youngest would eliminate small amounts of urine at a time, and it would result in multiple diaper changes in a row. That morning was no different – he peed six times.

Pee. Diaper change. Pee. Diaper change. Pee. Diaper change. Pee. Diaper change. Pee. Diaper Change. Pee. Diaper change.

A reasonable person might say:

“He clearly wasn’t finished urinating – why didn’t you just wait until he was done before you changed him?”

Because I couldn’t.

I was crippled with fear that if I didn’t change him that instant – when I saw the blue line on his diaper – I was neglecting him. Abusing him. I would have my maternal rights stripped away from me and I would never see him again. I had to focus on him and his needs – my stress over this was my problem.

The narrative was as repetitive as my little’s elimination: a good mother would never be brought to tears by successive diapering.

After the sixth diaper change in five minutes, I picked up my son, and I collapsed on the floor. I was hyperventilating and sobbing.

I felt I was failing because I was overwhelmed by diapering. I worried that my baby would think I was upset because I had to change him.

My greatest fear was that a police officer would show up in the middle of the night to take my baby away – unless I was perfect.

I had to be faultless to be ‘worthy’ of being a mother.

The most painful part of this experience for me is that – even when I broke my neck striving for perfection – I inevitably missed things.

When my eldest was a baby, he had an extra fold of skin under his left armpit. I discovered a yeast growth in between his skin folds at his 2-week doctor’s appointment. I criticized myself because of my negligence, and I reiterated to the doctor several times that it was a mistake and that it would never happen again.

I was convinced he was going to call Child Protective Services.

His pediatrician consoled me and gave me a prescription for a topical antifungal cream.

“You’re doing a great job. You’re a wonderful mother. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about this, these things happen. You can’t shield your children from every negative experience in life.”

I couldn’t believe him. My son had a yeast infection and it was my fault.

I didn’t do my job – I didn’t try hard enough.

This is the true impact of perfectionism – believing that every mistake is proof of deficiency and absence of worth.

2. Controlling outcomes through over-preparation

Perfectionists use excessive planning, repeated checking, and over-researching to reduce uncertainty and eliminate the possibility of unexpected failures.

When I decided that I was ready to become pregnant, I believed it would happen instantaneously. High school health classes had me wholly convinced that one attempt would result in a baby. While this may be true for some people, it was not true for me.

My husband and I tried and failed to conceive for nine months.

“We don’t perform any fertility tests unless patients have not conceived after a year of trying.”

We were thrilled when I received that first positive pregnancy test. However, for reasons I still cannot explain, I was convinced that the pregnancy would not go to term.

I was hysterical. I was crazed. I retook pregnancy tests every day. I called my doctor’s office several times, asking for advice. I researched every symptom, catastrophized every minute change in my body, and read too many anecdotes from women who lost their babies.

I was constantly researching ways to prevent miscarriage, and I made sure I was doing everything “right”:

• Read parenting books
• Downloaded a pregnancy app on my phone
• Purchased baby items and maternity clothes
• Designed a nursery
• Made lists of baby names
• Made a birth plan
• Focused on my diet, eliminated any foods that were deemed unsafe
• Avoided harmful substances
• Attended therapy
• Instituted a daily meditation practice and journaled
• Learned stress management techniques
• Took pregnancy-supporting supplements
• Only participated in “safe” physical activities

I was never satisfied with my efforts. I was miserable. After a few agonizing weeks, I begged my doctor for a viability scan – I needed proof that my baby was real. I needed to know if they were still alive.

“We don’t typically offer ultrasounds until 20-weeks’ gestation.”

My husband advocated for me and helped me get an appointment. My first ultrasound appointment was scheduled for when I was 8-weeks along.

I did not feel better afterwards because even the scan above was not a guarantee. I decided then and there that I was going to do everything in my power to go full-term.

My pregnancy did not progress past 12 weeks.

‘Mind blank, lump in my throat, gasping for air.

“I’m so sorry, the heartbeat isn’t there.”

The wailing, the screams,

Is that coming from me?

I couldn’t believe I would never know,

The little person who ceased to grow.’

excerpt from the Lady in Blue: and other lies I told myself by Michelle Gosselin (page 66)

I realized that my pursuit for flawlessness was only causing me pain. It didn’t improve my life to worry, obsess, and hysterically analyze every aspect of my pregnancy. All I did was rob myself of my own happiness.

My perfectionism certainly didn’t save my baby.