Imperfectionism

I once (okay... probably more than once), in response to someone's description of me as a perfectionist, went into a major rant about how she was mistaken and I was NOT, in fact, a perfectionist. I didn't even like the word. It certainly didn't apply to me, I explained, because I didn't expect anything to be perfect. I was striving for excellence. I didn't believe human beings were capable of perfection, so how could I possibly be a perfectionist???

The irony of being so perfectionistic about even the use of word, "perfectionist" was lost on me. Also lost on me, back then, was the strong connection between procrastination and perfectionism. I would readily have admitted to chronic procrastination, but would undoubtedly have cited it as further evidence that I couldn't possibly be a perfectionist.

I've learned a thing or two about perfectionism since those days, especially from the work of experts like Brene Brown and Christiane Northrup. Dr. Brown's excellent book, The Gifts of Imperfection, was full of aha moments for me. But I still have to make a conscious effort not to get caught up in perfectionism and to recognize enoughness.

On April 1st, I signed up for a blogging challenge. No, it wasn't an April Fool's joke. If you pay attention to blogs at all, you've probably seen these from time to time. In this case, you set a goal to blog daily for 30 days, and you receive encouraging reminders and helpful hints in your inbox each day. On an impulse, I signed up, since it was free and looked like it might be kinda neat.

I've actually been blogging daily for a while now, but not here. My mom is in cancer treatment, and dad had a heart attack in January (adding to several several serious existing health problems), so I post daily updates about them for friends and family on a CaringBridge website. But I'd been thinking of trying to do more of my own blogging again, and this opportunity seemed like a way to move back in that direction.

I don't have any particular desire to blog every day, but that's how the challenge was set up, so I thought I'd give it a try, without being perfectionistic about it. The first couple of days went fine. On day 3, I got a late start and struggled to finish my post before midnight. But I made it.

Thursday was day 4, and I completely forgot. I didn't even realize it until I sat down to blog on Friday. Well, damn. I wasn't sure I'd blog all 30 days, but I didn't expect to blow it after only 3. It wasn't one of those impossible days either--the ones I've spent with mom at the hospital for hours or when I've been completely consumed with putting out fires of various kinds. I could have written a blog post. I just didn't.

So now what? My first impulse was that I was now off the hook, having already broken my measly little three-day streak. No need to bother to blog anymore for a while.  [Yep, all or nothing thinking. Perfectionist? Me?? Nooooo...] Another voice within me said, what difference does it make? You didn't really want to blog daily anyway. But the loudest voice by far was my inner critic: She was irked and couldn't believe I didn't even make it to day 4.

Ultimately, I decided that the chance to practice imperfectionism is at least as valuable as the chance to work on my blogging. And I don't even have to choose between the two. I did go ahead and write a blog post on Friday, and I'm writing this one on Saturday.

It feels a little like that very first ding in the side of your brand new car. It's unsettling at first, but ultimately you can drive and park with a bit more ease, knowing the thing you've been dreading has already happened, and the world didn't come to an end.

I doubt I'll blog every single day for the rest of the month, but I do intend to blog frequently. I'll also be giving some thought to how often to blog beyond April, but my current thought is that once or twice a week is plenty. My best lesson from the blogging challenge so far, though, has been the reminder that perfectionism is toxic, and I'm determined to let go of it and become an imperfecionist.