Self-development
The Day I Stopped Being a Perfectionist
We’re All Born Imperfectly Perfect
In my mind I keep two remarkable memories from my early childhood — the pink three-tier cake with stars for my fifth birthday, and the first signs of perfectionism I showed.
As a child, I loved to draw and re-draw pictures. I especially loved to put a picture upside down and paint it the right way. I still can’t explain why I did it, but now knowing myself, I’m not surprised at my illogic. Of course, as a child, the drawings didn’t always have perfect proportions. It made me furious, and I clearly remember the rage with which I would crumple almost completely finished drawings into a ball, just because of a small inaccuracy.
The only paintings I didn’t crumple up and throw away were of the icons I loved to paint as a child. Since I grew up in a family of Eastern Orthodox Christians, having icons in our home was a must. I didn’t know exactly what it was about them that drew me to start painting them, but there was warmth and love in my heart as I did. And I didn’t feel any anger, even if they weren’t perfect.
Later, when I entered university, I scored top marks and all eyes were on me and full of expectation throughout the 4 years of my Bachelor’s degree. However, when you study what you love, it is not so hard to sacrifice your time and effort. I remember very well reading Dostoevsky’s “Idiot” at night with red eyes and endless interest and saying to myself that maybe I was the idiot because I couldn’t stop myself.
It was time for the final exams and one of the last exams was in English. I had learned everything to perfection and was relaxed on the day of the exam. Our professor had the reputation of being an extremely strict and rather unpleasant woman who had made more than one student cry. The exam began and I started writing without looking sideways.
At one point the teacher left and the sports teacher came in her place — a nice man who didn’t particularly follow the principles of his workplace. As soon as he walked in, he told everyone to take out their notes and copy. Everybody took them out except me. They all left shortly after the English teacher returned. I kept writing and was the last one out.
After a week the results came out. I was convinced that I would get a perfect score — the last perfect score on my diploma. Alas, I got a B+, as did many other colleagues who copied. And while they were more than pleased, I didn’t understand how it was possible for them to give me a B+. My only explanation was that she had assumed that I had also copied while she was out.
Regardless of the reason, this blow to my perfectionism completely killed it. I saw absolutely no logic in always doing my best. I had spent many exhausting sessions studying while my colleagues were having fun.
My choice, however, was to follow through on the promise I had made to myself at the beginning of my studies and graduate with flying colors.
The truth is that I have kept that promise. I became valedictorian of my graduating class, and while I gave my speech to everyone at the university, believe me, no one cared about that single B+ on my diploma. The people in the hall respected me because of my efforts throughout the past years, my participation in scientific conferences and discussions, the organization of a charity event, and the fact that I was always ready to help anyone who asked me.
Now, looking back, I am grateful for that single B+, which helped me get over the burden of my extreme perfectionism.
We perfectionists usually look adoringly at fields of perfectly arranged three-leaf clovers. The truth is, however, that we are like those four-leafed ones ourselves — we are rarely seen and it is a real blessing to know us.
That fourth leaf is actually not a flaw in our DNA, but a mixture of our idealism to live in a better, fairer, and more well-ordered world. When we realize that this desire cannot be achieved, we settle down and move forward — again with diligence, but also with love for our uniqueness.
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