The funny thing about separating my self-worth from my inner-critic is that, now (more than ever ) I’ve found a place for that judgy little do-gooder. What a genuine surprise! Now that I’m not afraid of crumbling in shame every time perfectionism points a finger, melting like the Wicked Witch in the face of pure water, I’ve become much more open to getting to know my inner-critic better.
In the process, I’ve come to understand the natural place that my perfectionism is coming from; it just wants me to survive. My inner-critic looks at life as do-or-die. It summons all the stories of all the times that anyone’s imperfections have ever landed them in a coffin, and then does it’s very best to protect me with criticism. Surprisingly, the inner-critic is coming from a very practical place of love; it really just wants me to be well.
Knowing that, I’ve opened myself up to greater levels of refinement. For much of my life I’ve been terrified of my inner-critic, running away from any kind of discerning development. Everything I did was improvisational, raw, and -as I proudly taunted- it was authentic (as if anything that was more refined was less real).
But befriending my inner-critic (the part of me that wants everything to be perfect), has allowed me to take a little more heed from this voice that wants me to succeed. As it turns out, perfectionism’s got pretty good taste. My confidence has been much more grounded since I’ve given more time to the part of me that’s more refined. Inspired by Alex Dobrienko’s story of the “failure bow”, I’m getting better at pridefully throwing my hands up in the air every time that I fumble. As Alex points out, failure becomes much less terrifying when moments of miss no longer equate to being a failure as an absolute fate.
I learn. I grow. It’s great.
Still, there is a line to be drawn with the inner-critic (though that line seems to be fickle and moving). How far do I let my inner-critic nit-pick? As one who’s had head lice (as an adult), I know far too well that sometimes missing one is missing everything- there’s no wiggle room for those scalp-squatting blood-suckers. Anything short of gettin’ ‘um all is an absolute failure.
But does that kind of detail orientation serve me as a default way of being?
As one who’s lived too many years with debilitating anxiety, I’d veer on the side of no: allowing a do-or-die kind of perfectionism to run my whole life has not actually made me more successful; in fact, it’s been quite hindering. No, I will not die from a little smudge in my lipstick or an overdramatic moment. I am, after all, human.
So, everyday I walk the line between messy and perfect shine. The dynamic challenge of this tight rope is especially pronounced in my process of creating, where looking to (our) nature is affirming: yep, there are certain lines that nature draws that are unforgiving. Without basic necessities, there is no surviving; there’s a certain amount of food, water, air, and shelter that are actually necessary. Miss the mark on those foundations, and the game’s over.
And yet, even those basic rules can be fudged. Evolution is a rebel. Drought? Famine? Ha! No amount of failure, loss or lack can hold evolution back. When evolution doesn’t get what it needs, it finds a way to need something new. As a result, the progression of the life, as a whole, is infinitely merciful. While individuals (or even whole species) may fumble or fail in the face of life’s storms and trials, value is ultimately found in everything: the blemished, the blundered, the breaking. From the view of the dirt, it’s all worthy of loving. From the view of the moon, it’s all a gorgeous unfolding.
Here, between the do-or-die perfectionism that tries to keep me alive, and the infinite mercy of a much larger life, I find refuge in giving thanks for this wild and wonderful ride. Thank you for seeing me with such loving eyes.
Listen to the Songs and Stories of Becoming Butterflies
cuz even hungry caterpillars got what it takes to love and be loved by This Wonderful World
Join Me in Using Reflective Arts as a Balancing Pole for the Tightrope Walk of Loving (our) Nature
cuz it’s so stinking hard sometimes. geesh.
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