Last night I rented Black Swan. I fell in love with this movie from the very first time I saw it. There are so many parallels to Nina's journey and my own, but I'm going to try to focus on just one: the pursuit of perfection.
Is there anything so dangerous as the pursuit of the perfect? Even when we logically know that perfection is impossible, many of us keep pushing toward it (to our own detriment).
My desire to be perfect stems back from as early as I can remember. My most vivid recollection is coming home from school, excited to show my dad that I made a 99 on an exam. I ran up the stairs, a broad smile across my face, and showed him the paper. His response?
"Where's the other point?"
I was crestfallen. I was at a loss for words. I didn't even know how to answer that question. I don't even remember what the exam was about or what it had proven that I had learned in school. But the life lesson I learned that evening stuck with me:
If you aren't perfect, you are nothing.
If you aren't perfect, you are worthless.
If you aren't perfect, you don't deserve my attention.
If you aren't perfect, you don't earn my love and affection.
Ever since, it's been an uphill battle. I'm like a donkey pulling a cart, chasing a carrot that remains just out of reach.
When I played in the school orchestra, I was usually first chair in my section. I barely even had to practice; it seemed I had a natural ability. But I never enjoyed it. I performed in constant fear of making a mistake. One night, after a performance, my dad told me, "You have to stop making all those faces when you make a mistake. If you didn't make those faces, no one would even know that you messed up!"
I assume these were supposed to be words of encouragement. Instead all I heard was:
Everyone knows you are screwing up.
You can't even hide it.
It's written all over your face.
Everyone can see that you are a failure.
As a kid, I don't remember much as far as real encouragement, praise, or compliments from my parents. I do remember being criticized for how I walked. I remember being criticized for how I sniffled. For how I had trouble grasping the concept of "decimals." How I couldn't seem to learn to drive stick shift instantly with my dad in the passenger seat next to me, yelling. How I never finished anything I started. How I was lazy. How I "faked" every headache or ailment that I ever had, so much so that my mom threatened to change my name to "Mona" because I moaned about my aches and pains all the time.
Yet through all of this, I was excelling at nearly everything I attempted. But none of it ever meant anything to me, because deep down it was already ingrained in my head that I should be able to do better.
It makes no logical sense for a child to believe that they should be good, no-- perfect, at everything. Yet that's what I tried to do. And it was exhausting. Physical and emotionally. And even spiritually (in that I didn't have much of a spirit left).
This perfectionism, I believe, played a huge role in the manifestation of my bipolar disorder. Yes, of course, I know there's a genetic component (does having shitty parents count?), but I truly believe that had it not been for certain circumstances in my life, the disorder could have remained dormant.
But when I look back at it (and listen to my husband's recollection of the events, which are much clearer than my own), I began to unwind with one simple phone call. One day in early summer of 2004, I received a call from the dean of the law school where I was planning to attend that fall. We're talking one of the best law schools in the south. He called me personally to offer me a full ride for my J.D.-- a scholarship extended to only three people in every 1L class. It was a scholarship that you couldn't even apply for and that I didn't even know existed.
Needless to say, I was ecstatic. And it was all downhill from there.
It wasn't more than a few weeks from the day of that phone call to the day that I was admitted ("voluntarily") to a psychiatric ward, suffering from mania with psychosis.
I had worked so hard for so long. Being a lawyer was my dream. It meant everything to me. Even after that awful summer, weeks in inpatient psychiatric care, more in outpatient, living with my parents (that sure didn't help)...I still forced myself to go to law school. I moved to the city where the school was located, even though my parents were still nervous about me even being able to drive a car. I showed up at orientation and on the first day, even though my psychiatrist thought I wasn't ready. I studied my ass off...for two and a half weeks.
I turned my first assignment in late. I read every line of my reading at least ten times and never seemed to comprehend a thing. I fell asleep in the library. I was scared to death that the professors all had rosters that had the names of the three people who were on scholarship marked with little asterisks that meant: 'This person needs to prove themselves. We're giving them a free ride.' All without realizing that I already had proven myself.
So I quit. Or, in my head, I failed. Miserably.
Yes, I have plenty of excuses. Obviously the trauma I had been through, not to mention the fact that I was on LOADS of medications...it was a miracle I could even function at the level that I was, let alone attempt something as difficult as law school.
To this day, I still feel like a failure when it comes to law school, to my dream. And you know the funniest thing about it? One day in class (it was Property, I remember), I was called on (Socratic method and all that; you never knew when it was going to be your turn). I had the floor for at least half the class as the professor drilled me with questions. I was too scared to be scared, if that makes any sense.
Yet, when class ended and we all filed out, no less than five different people came up to congratulate me for doing such a great job! Even with my official diagnosis, the summer I had gone through, the drugs I was being "forced" to take-- I still managed to impress!
So why did I still feel like I failure?
* * *
I recently read a great blog article on leadership that you should check out: 3 reasons to kiss being perfect goodbye
No comments:
Post a Comment