Dismantling the perfectionist.
There is not one temperament of the perfectionist that fits us all.
It arises in many ways, looking different for different people, at different times in our lives, and in different scenarios. But, there is one commonality — it’s always tied to some sort of fear, and attempt to control in some way or another.
The perfectionist is a protective response and a defense mechanism. It’s often rooted in a lack of trust. The perfectionist fears that we won’t be taken care of, it fears failure, abandonment, and being seen in the raw reality of our messy, imperfect human process. It’s grasping to control things that are out of our control as an attempt to assure us of things that can’t be assured.
The fear is that we will not be perfect or that life will not be perfect, but the truth is that neither is and that is okay.
The perfectionist, at least in some regards, is a response mechanism to the fire of our passion, of our erotic creativity and drive, and to the uninhibited desire of our life force that we all hush to some degree. The fear is that we can’t trust it — but whether we trust or not, doesn’t grant us any guarantees, it only changes our day-to-day lived experience whether that means we live in hypervigilance and angst, or in awe and wonder.
The perfectionist shows up in obvious and illusive ways. It’s the part of us that is constantly refining whatever we are doing. It’s the part of us constantly striving to be better. It’s the part of us that is always overthinking, and overcomplicating things that don’t need to be. It’s the part of us that lives ten steps ahead of the moment and is constantly thinking of our destination or consequences to be.
The perfectionist is the part of us seeking satiation from outside of ourselves — in our identity, roles, achievements, and havings. It’s the part of us that thinks my life will really begin when… I will feel safe and secure when… I will able to relax and let go when… I will be free when…. I will be worthy and accomplished when…I will be happy when… I will be at peace when… It’s the part of us that doesn’t feel that we or our life is complete as is.
The perfectionist is the part of us that is impeccable with our words to a fault so we never allow ourselves to just say what we think or feel in the moment because we are so afraid of the reaction or how it will be received. It’s the part that never allows ourselves to get angry, wild, or messy. It’s the part of us filtering our opinions, our words, our thoughts, our feelings, our silliness, humor, anger, sexuality, and sadness. It’s that part of us that is constantly shapeshifting in an attempt to control everything that is outside of us. It’s the part of us that is constantly renegotiating our boundaries to accommodate or please everybody else. It’s the part of us that is afraid to be seen for who we really are because we fear judgment and rejection.
The perfectionist is the one who is trying to control everything.
She is terrified. She doesn't trust, and she doesn't feel it's safe to simply be who she is.
The perfectionist is the part of us that can’t forgive or trust or let anybody in, and it’s also the part of us that clings to others and swallows our truth because we don’t want to be alone or abandoned. It’s the part of us that shoves down our messy emotions because we think we need to be bigger than that, more evolved, mature, or wise. It’s the part of us that bypasses the messiness and instead righteously “rises above.” It’s the part of us that is constantly trying to grow, heal, and become. It’s the part of us constantly trying to reach a place of greater worth.
The perfectionist is the fearful, contracted, wounded part of the wild, uninhibited, innocently lustful, visionary, and passionate woman within us who does not feel safe to be wild. It's the part of us that is afraid to let go because somewhere inside we think that if we let it all splay out we’d lose everything, or never have or get what we want and need.
The thing is that the perfectionist, in its highest state, has a divine attention to detail, a knack for beauty and implementation, a reverence for pleasure, and a tap root that is grounded so deep that we won't lose our footing or our fire when the creatrix, or our passion, or the wild woman consumes us.
What we often don’t understand, is that the perfectionist is an ally, and its shadow is ultimately a trauma response.
The perfectionist is often overactive or hypervigilant because there is unprocessed grief, fear, and anger that need to be felt or allowed the space to move through us. The perfectionist needs to be needs to be witnessed in their validity and worth.
The perfectionist is the one who holds our grief and heartache for things lost, for things that did not work out, for hearts broken, for trauma done, and for collective pain and injustice. The perfectionist is actually the one who sees all that has, all that does, and all that could go wrong. The perfectionist is the one who understands the harsh realities of life. The perfectionist though irrational at times, is also our grounding cord that keeps our passion rooted in our best interest. The perfectionist in its highest state teaches us discernment, boundaries, and self-protection, and is sobering as needed. The perfectionist teaches us the sacrednesses of the unknown, and the sacredness of creative life force energy that is not ours to contrive or control. The perfectionist is quite wise at its core, but there is often so much wounding that its habitual ways become debilitating.
The perfectionist within us needs tenderness and the assurance that it’s okay to be messy. It needs assurance that our imperfections are natural, holy, and lovable. It needs assurance that it’s okay to make mistakes. To be out of control. To be imperfect. It needs to know it's okay to make regrets and say things we don’t mean. The perfectionist within us needs to know that it’s okay to not know how things are going to work out, and that no matter what happens, even if it’s our biggest fear, it will be okay. Time does not stop. Life does not stop. And we are resilient, adaptable creatures. The perfectionist needs to be assured that we can trust in ourselves to survive and thrive, and this does not happen overnight. There is no endgame. This is a lifelong practice of building trust with ourselves that has no final destination or completion.
Even though the perfectionist is terrified to let go — the truth is, no matter how much we try and control, there’s no greater guarantee than if were to completely let go and trust either. There are no guarantees, and until the perfectionist, until we, can regulate this into our nervous system, and into our reality, the perfectionist will haunt us.
What we want, may or may not happen. What we fear may or may not happen. What we desire, may or may not manifest in our lifetime. We have no control over the cards we’ve been dealt. Life doesn’t owe us anything, it’s not obligated to treat us fairly. We aren’t immune to heartbreak or tragedy. There is a deep part of us that needs to face this reality and breathe into it. It’s valid to be scared. It’s valid to fear. We should not deny ourselves this. It’s more about nurturing our courage and capacity to face this. Until we give these truths our breath they will be debilitating, and our fear and angst will continue to deplete us.
We cannot control anything, and this is what our passion and desires are aching for us to accept. This is what the wild woman within is aching for us to accept.
We can’t make anybody love us, we can’t assure our visions a reality, and we can’t grant ourselves immunity from anything. Trusting does not mean trusting that what we wish will come and that what we fear won’t — trusting means, trusting ourselves to be capable of meeting whatever shows itself.
The confusing part in all of this is that our passion and lustful nature can have the same drive as this wounded perfectionist, or controlling part — but the motive is different. Passion's drive is for pleasure, it’s motive is to simply be alive.
Our passionate erotic life force energy does inspire us to be better, to do more, to strive, to be insatiably curious, and to infinitely dream. It pushes us to stretch our capacity and it pushes us outside of our comfort zone — but it’s not to become whole as if we weren’t already, and it’s not to get anywhere as though where we are is not enough. It’s rooted in the pleasure of the moment. It’s rooted in excitement. It’s rooted in innocence and in the high and fluidity of following our pulse. Our passion, lust, and desire in their purity are rooted in communing with the life all around us, and the life steeping within us. Our passion, lust, and desire in their purity are driven by an organic intelligence within our beings, it’s not defensive or contractive — it’s magnetic.
Our passion can be rash, but it can also be the thing that enables us to follow and receive the greatest gifts life has to offer. Those leaps of faith into new beginnings, new love, and new opportunities are what make magic in our lives, and those leaps of faith will also at times lead to failure, loss, and heartbreak. There is a balance between the discipline to protect ourselves and not blocking ourselves from the magnitude of life available, and there is no magic algorithm it’s just a messy dance of trial and error.
When this passion or striving is feeling elusive, when you sense a shadow or wound grasping at you with its claws start to track your motive or your fear in relationship to what you desire, and also have forgiveness for when you act on what later you maybe wish you wouldn't have.
The perfectionist is not to be eradicated, it’s to be befriended and seen for its worth.
The innocence of our passion, our desires for more, and our dreams are what gives life to our spirit. This is what moves us, this is what brings us pleasure and joy. The motive of the perfectionist is to support this.
In the perfectionist's highest state — it is the grounding cord for our wildfire. They are a force when harmonized. The perfectionist seeks beauty and sets a standard. It pushes us to be our best selves. It pushes us through those last contractions before birth and new life. But if these parts aren’t in conversation, if they don’t understand one another, if they aren’t conscious of the shadows and wounds of one another, and if they aren’t listening to one another, we can find ourselves drowning in a whirlpool.
The invitation I leave you with today is to listen.
Every part of ourselves has a story and a valid reason for its ways. Every part of ourselves has a shadow and a gift. So if you find yourself grasping, driven, or swallowed by lust or vision — just take a moment to close your eyes and hold space for yourself to feel into these inner parts, and listen.
With Marigold love,
Abby
