Perfect < Perfected

Estimated reading time: 8 minutes

Today I’m writing this blog mostly to myself, not from myself. It’s a lesson I’m still knee-deep in learning.

Perfectionism. I know it’s bad. I shouldn’t be striving for it. I do anyway. I don’t know how to stop. It feels like more than a habit, more than a pattern – it’s a lifestyle. But what are the roots? And will I ever be able to view life from a different lens?

What is “Perfect”?

Being perfect is easy to define. It’s being flawless, making no mistakes. It’s being Jesus.

And I know I can’t be Jesus. I can’t even come close.

But somewhere along the way, I separated “perfect” into two concepts: the capital P “Perfect” Jesus is (which I will never amount to), and the duller “perfection” that’s been expected from me. A level of performance I’ve felt required to hit in order to survive. In my relationships, at work, in my hobbies.

For the sake of this blog, when I say “perfect” I mean that duller “perfect.” It’s the human perfect we’re all chasing after. None of us really believes we can be like Jesus. But we all have the poisonous belief that we could all be human “perfect” if we tried hard enough. And anything short of that is a failure. More than that, it means we’re the failure.

Once upon a time…

I’m the eldest of 6 kids, and I love my family. Being the big sis is so fun. But it also demanded a lot of responsibility. There was a lot of pressure to lead a good example. Pretty soon a little voice took root in my small brain, laying that pressure on thicker every year, like nutella on white bread.

The pressure mounted when I discovered my knack for writing. When I got recognized for it in high school, eventually leading to my first publication, the voice got louder. “You don’t have the bandwidth for mistakes,” it whispered. “You can’t afford them.”

Later on, I got married. And that same voice had grown from a whisper to a choir. Anytime I faced a conflict, I could feel the weight press on my shoulders. “Don’t mess up,” they’d chant. “Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t do the wrong thing. Be the perfect wife.”

Then, when I inevitably crashed and burned, saying something stupid or phrasing things hurtfully or letting my emotions rule my words – that choir would be ready to pounce like a starved hyena. Ready to beat me to death, punishing me for saying the wrong thing. Punishing me for not being perfect.

Perfectionism is Pride

I’ve often asked myself, why does all this pressure have such a hold on me?

The moment I take a few steps back and look at the big picture, I see it clearly. I can’t be perfect. Not even “human” perfect. It’s silly to demand that from myself. So why do I?

Thinking about it tonight, I feel convicted. Perfectionism is pride wearing a pretty costume. Because to strive like that is to believe, deep down, that you can be perfect, if only you try hard enough. And that belief itself is pretty arrogant.

It’s not fun to hear. I don’t like admitting it.

Perfectionism is Protection

In my marriage, I’ve also realized perfectionism is protection from facing the music when I screw up.

It goes like this. I do something dumb. Nathan does something dumb. We talk through it. Nathan apologizes for the dumb thing he did. And when it’s my turn to apologize, I don’t admit my mistake and ask for forgiveness when Nathan points out how I could have handled a situation better. No – that would be mature;) I respond with “I can’t be perfect. What you’re asking of me is to be perfect!”

See how I flipped it? 99% of the time I’m waltzing around, believing I can be perfect if I try hard enough. But the moment I slip up and show I’m not perfect, I turn it on Nathan and accuse him of expecting me to be perfect. The reality is – that expectation was from me. From the choir. And I’m mad at it, because I slipped up, and I don’t want to be beat to death again for a mistake. Not again. Not again.

Perfectionism is Performative

Have you ever sat down and thought about what “the choir” actually cares about? Your perfectionism, I mean.

Mine cares about only very specific things. Numbers, specifically. Things it can quantify. How many words I wrote, how many hours I logged at work, how many friends I visited, how much time I spent with family, how many days I worked out in a row, how many pounds I can lift.

It’s not concerned about the things you can’t quantify. The quality of the time I spent with my family, the soul behind the words I’m writing, the depth of the conversation I had with Jesus, the intention behind my work.

Here’s a question for my choir (and maybe for yours, too): Are you living for the numbers? Do you want to live for the numbers?

Numbers look good on a resume and a spotify wrapped. But God didn’t say he “knows a man’s timesheet, bank account, and PR’s.” He said he knows a man’s heart.

1 Thessalonians 2:4b: “We are not trying to please people but God, who tests our hearts.”

Perfectionism is Pedantic

[Side note, I just realized I’ve been using “P” words up until this point, so I have to continue the theme. You understand. Sorry for throwing in a word you’ll probably have to look up. If it makes you feel better, I had to look it up myself.]

I’ve always thought the opposite of perfectionism was laziness.

Roman’s 6:1-2 says “What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?”

God’s grace is endless, but it’s not right to take advantage of it. Justifying every poor decision with “God will forgive me.” Leaning on God’s grace so much you forget how to stand on your own two feet.

To be honest, I (and most others), need to hear the opposite message: if God gives you grace, you should extend some to yourself.

But for some reason, I’ve always had a fear of taking advantage of God’s grace. What if I cross the line? What if I go so far into selfishness I forget what it cost Him?

So my solution is to swing so far on the other side, I don’t lean on God’s grace at all. Terrified of becoming one of those “Christians” who justify their entire life, never change, and never appreciate the grace they bathe in, I steel myself to become someone who “doesn’t need grace”.

And when you believe you don’t need grace, it really ticks you off when you realize you do.

Perfect Perfected

You’re probably reading this and thinking, “dang this girl is a piece of work.” To that I would say, you are correct. Yep, I’m a mess. Ha!

To be honest, abandoning a life of perfectionism is more complicated than an effort of the will. It feels like a complete rewire to my brain. In my opinion, if you’re like me, therapy is a huge help with such a large mindset shift. If you’re curious about therapy, I wrote about it here last year.

BUT – even though I can’t give you what therapy can, I can give you one more weapon in your arsenal to defend against your “choir.”

That is: Perfect Perfected

Hebrews 10:14 says “For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy.”

It was never up to you to begin with, you see? There’s an ache in our heart for perfection, but it wasn’t ever ours to command. And no matter how pretty your life looks on paper, you’ll be just as rotten as the rest of us until you let God do the perfecting.

Being PERFECT says it’s on your shoulders. Sink or swim (but you’d better swim, because you don’t have any floaties).

Being PERFECTED says it’s on His shoulders. Sink or swim (but you won’t sink, because he can freakin walk on water).

Being PERFECT says you can lose your job or your marriage or your friends or your family if you screw up just a bit too much.

Being PERFECTED says even if you lose everything, you won’t lose Him.

Being PERFECT says it’s up to you to win.

Being PERFECTED says you’ve already won.

Pause for a sec. Image that “perfect” version of you. The person “you’ll be tomorrow.” Who are they? What do they look like? How do they speak? What do they do each day? How ridiculous is their morning routine?

That person you imagine is shadow compared to the person God sees when he looks at you. Not perfect. Perfected.

Ecclesiastes 1:14 says “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”

Not to be a downer, but we’re all chasing wind anyway. And no one looks less a fool if they chase after wind with perfect form.

I have a feeling I’ll be learning this lesson for many years to come. Maybe it’s the thorn in my side. But I hope this next week you don’t listen to the choir anymore. And I hope you listen to His whisper instead.

XOXO,
Annabelle