Shame of being imperfect creates pain and destroys possibilities

By David McElroy · August 2, 2013

I made a mistake Wednesday afternoon. I have a friend who’s gotten married and moved to the other side of Birmingham, so I’m keeping an eye on her nearby house while it’s on the market. When she gets word that a real estate agent is coming to show the place, I go over and make sure everything is clean and ready for showing. If it’s hot inside and there’s enough time, I turn on the air conditioning.

Wednesday afternoon, she called to tell me someone was coming in about an hour. I dropped by the house to check things out. The place didn’t seem especially hot and there were also a couple of ceiling fans running. Since the people would be there within about an hour, I left the air set on 79. It didn’t seem warm enough inside to warrant turning on the air for a 10-minute walkthrough, especially with ceiling fans running. I thought about it, but it didn’t seem like a big deal.

When my friend got feedback from the showing agent Thursday morning, the only specific complaint was that the house was hot and stuffy since the air was set on 79. Most normal people would have simply seen the complaint as unreasonable for the context. At worst, a normal person would have thought, “Oh, I guess I should have turned the air on. I’ll do that next time.”

For me, it was enough to set off horrible feelings of failure and shame. Seriously. It was enough to make me feel as though I’d messed up and would cause my friend to lose the sale. This wasn’t a cognitive process. It was all about deep feelings of being a bad person — of feeling shame.

I’m a perfectionist. I’ve only admitted that in the past four or five years. People had accused me all of my adult life of being a perfectionist, but I’d denied it. And I was certain I wasn’t. If I were a perfectionist, everything I did would be perfect. Right? Instead, I could look at various parts of my life and see how I let some things be anything but perfect.

There are some things in my life that I don’t bother doing right. The maddening thing is that they’re often simple things. For instance, my house has more frequently resembled a federal disaster area after a tornado than a place where human beings are allowed to live. (I sometimes tell people that a flamethrower is the ideal tool with which to clean my place.)

It’s not that I don’t want a clean place. In fact, I love living in order and cleanliness. When there’s someone else to set the tone, I can do it. But when it’s completely up to me, my place becomes a pig sty — and it triggers terrible feelings of shame at not having been good enough to keep it clean.

What I’ve slowly figured out is that I’m so terrified of failure when it comes to certain things that I run in the opposite direction. I pretend that I don’t care or that I’m making a conscious decision to produce the result. Why? It frees me from feeling like a failure if I can say that I’m failing on purpose — because I can say that I don’t care.

I only do this with things that are very important to me. My father was obsessive about keeping the house clean when I was growing up. My sisters and I could get into trouble for failing to do things that he hadn’t even told us to do — just things that he thought we should know he would want. We were punished for not being mind-readers. So I grew up attaching tremendous importance to keep things clean. It had to be perfect — or I was a complete failure and he shamed and punished me.

I’ve mentioned to you before that I almost married a woman five years ago who I was very much in love with. (Saturday marks the fifth anniversary of the day we should have married.) I backed out because I was scared. There were certainly some things about her that scared me, but those aren’t relevant here.

I was terrified about being “good enough” to be the right husband for someone who I considered wonderful. She was everything I’d ever wanted in a woman, and I became afraid that I couldn’t live up to her expectations. Could I make enough money to make her feel secure? Would she hate me as she realized how imperfect I was? Would I ever be able to live up to the place on a pedestal where she had put me? I was terrified.

Instead of dealing with my fears, I ran away. I justified my running with reasonable-sounding explanations, but I couldn’t be completely honest at the time with myself or her. I didn’t feel good enough for her. I didn’t feel as though I could be the perfect husband she needed. I felt like a failure. I felt shame. So I ran. I’ve spent most of five years regretting that.

As I look back at lots of things in my life when I’ve quit instead of staying with something, I can see the fear of not being perfect as the cause. I didn’t want to admit that fear to myself or to others, but I can see how how much fear I’ve felt about not being perfect — and how much it’s triggered feelings of shame that mirror the way my father made me feel as a child.

I’m not perfect and I’m not going to be perfect. I’m slowly coming to grips with the notion that I don’t have to be perfect to be good enough. I’m dealing with the legacy of unconscious perfectionism and I’m slowly trying to climb out of some holes I’ve dug for myself. (For instance, my house is too terrible to fix all at once, but I have one room that I’ve recently made almost livable by other people’s standards. I’ll work on another room later instead of beating myself up and doing nothing.)

When I think of the mistake I made with the air conditioning at my friend’s house, it’s been long enough now that I can see it realistically. But for several hours, I beat myself up about it and felt like a failure. I felt serious shame about it.

But seeing shame for what it is and calling it by name has the power to help overcome it. I might never completely get over my perfectionism. I might always feel tremendous embarrassment and shame when I make mistakes that other people can see. But recognizing it for what it is can allow me to take actions that are different from what I’ve done in the past. I can fight the feelings by reminding myself of what’s going on. (It’s kind of like John Nash in the movie, “A Beautiful Mind.” By the end of the movie, he was still seeing people who weren’t there, but he had learned to ignore them.)

I can’t go back to the past and fix all of the things that perfectionism and shame have done in my life. I can’t wave a magic wand and have a neat, clean house that I’m proud of. I can’t get into a time machine and get married on Aug. 3, 2008 to the woman of my dreams. There are a dozen (or more) things that I can’t change.

But I can change what happens from here. I can learn to change my behavior when I feel the shame. I can learn to let those I’m close to understand what’s going on and how the shame affects me. I can learn behavior that lessens the damage and lets me live a normal life.

The “cure” won’t be perfect, but I’m learning to accept that less-than-perfect is good enough if it’s the best I can do.

Share on Social Networks

We are ruled by the dumbest and most incompetent people among us — and we have a system which allows stupid and irresponsible people to force the costs of their idiocy onto smarter and wiser people. Can we get away with that? Yes, for quite some time. But we eventually reach a point at which the dumbest of the dumb — who are habitual liars and mentally ill fools — lead us to the disasters and destruction that some of us have seen coming for years. We are approaching that point. And yet most of the idiots around us still wave their rhetorical banners of support for the evil people who are leading us to ruin — and all of them point their fingers at someone else, never noticing that their own enthusiastic support of evil is to blame. When things finally fall apart, blame yourself for your blindness to the evil, not whoever happens to be in power when it happens.

I’ve been making some changes to the site lately and there are more changes coming in the days ahead, so don’t be surprised if you some small differences. This is not a wholesale redesign, but rather the addition of some features. Since they’re smarter than I am, I’ve put Oliver and Alex in charge of the technical work, which you can see in this action photo from the control room of our media complex. I recently added a series of landing pages for readers who randomly discover the site from an Internet search. I’ve also changed the YouTube link at the top of the page to go to the new YouTube channel for video essays that reflect things I’ve already published here. (Here’s a little bit about both of the YouTube channels I’m working on.) In addition, I’m trying to move away from using Instagram, so I’m experimenting with photo plug-ins that will eventually allow me to host the pictures — cats, dogs, sunsets, whatever — that I often take. So don’t be surprised to see more changes. Thanks for your patience. Let’s hope Alex and Oliver know what they’re doing.

I have no use for the theocratic and repressive government of Iran. The people who run the country are cruel at best and evil at worst. The Iranian people deserve freedom. But I have no personal quarrel with anybody in Iran. While I’m not thrilled about a future Iranian government having nuclear weapons, I’m just as concerned about nukes in the hands of politicians in Israel, Pakistan, India, China and Russia. I’m not even thrilled with the U.S., Britain and France having them, either, because I don’t trust any politicians to be responsible with such terrible weapons. All I can say with certainty is that American taxpayers have no business attacking Iran, especially since we’re being forced to pay for this attack in order to benefit the politicians of Israel — and nobody else. If Middle Eastern countries want to fight among themselves, that’s none of my business. It’s not the business of the U.S. government, either. I have no quarrel with anybody in Iran — and having the government which claims to represent me launch an unprovoked attack against a sovereign country will only make all Americans less safe in the near future. This attack is poorly conceived and morally unjustified. Remember that when the Iranians launch attacks that we will then condemn as “terrorism.” What the U.S. is doing right now looks like terrorism to me. And let’s not forget that the attack is the latest in a long line of unconstitutional wars by various U.S. presidents — who have no legal power to declare war on their own, according to the U.S. Constitution.

A child having a tantrum understands only one thing: Did I get my way or not? He doesn’t understand the issues involved. He doesn’t understand the reasons that went into a decision. He doesn’t understand any of the things that mature and reasonable adults have to understand in order to live healthy lives. By his reaction to the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling to strike down his disastrous tariff scheme, Donald Trump shows himself to be — once more — a screaming child having a tantrum. Outside the world of mob bosses who expect to get their way every time, normal adults don’t act this way, but Trump isn’t normal. He’s an angry and vengeful man who has narcissistic personality disorder. And we are in danger as a result. Trump doesn’t understand the legal issues involved in this ruling. He doesn’t understand economics. He doesn’t understand rule of law. He doesn’t understand that he can ever be wrong. All he understands is that he didn’t get his way. And he is now a narcissistic and raging little boy who also happens to hold life-and-death power over most humans on this planet. He’s dangerous — and the system which gives him that power is even more dangerous.

Is it an attempt to blur the gender line between men and women? Or is it some weird tribute to the traditional Scottish kilt? It’s hard to say, but fashion designers keep pushing for men to wear skirts in the last few years. Both men and women in modern fashion seem oddly androgynous, as though it would be offensive for a man to look manly or for a woman to look feminine. A CNN article about the latest fashions from Paris caught my attention Monday and left me wondering about the ugly clothes the designers are hawking. If a man wants to wear a skirt — or a kilt — that’s OK with me, but I’ll stick with a traditional dark suit with a white shirt and tie. (Well, when I’m not wearing t-shirts and sweats, of course.) I always wonder who actually buys the outlandish garb from fashion designers anyway. I would be humiliated to be seen in any of this stuff, but I obviously have no sense of high fashion.

Related Posts