I've been a perfectionist for as long as I can remember. I have vivid memories of losing sleep and having an upset stomach over my perceived failures in a house we moved out of after I finished the second grade. In third grade I regularly missed school, my stomach was so upset over the criticism I received from a stern math teacher. Since childhood, the slightest embarassment or criticism makes my chest and neck (sometime my arms and face too) turn hot and red.
Most people hear that you're a perfectionist and assume its a good thing. That the drive for perfection means that you have the cleanest house, the most perfect life, and the healthiest relationships. For me, it goes beyond that and loops back to make my life a literal mess. Long ago, I adopted a pretty destructive defense mechanism. Essentially, if I can't guarantee that its going to be perfect? I won't do it. If something goes wrong? I quit. If I'm forced to hear criticism, no matter how kindly its delivered or how constructively its intended, I ruminate indefinitely about my failure.
As a result, I'm a quitter. I'm hyper-critical of everyone I meet. My house is a wreck. I have a laundry list of dreams that I've left behind without even trying to realize. Inspiration dies on the vine because of my fear. I'm terrorized by my perfectionism and its shaped every aspect of my life.
Something has to be done. Not just because life is passing me by, though it is. At this point, my life and house are such a mess that its negatively affecting the people I love the most. I've made a fresh start recently in so many other parts of my life. I should make a fresh start here, too.
What path this is going to take, I don't know. I'm scared of what I'm going to have to face about myself, but it can't get much worse than this.
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