Whether we’re fourteen or fifty-four, our armor and our masks are as individualized and unique as the personal vulnerability, discomfort, and pain we’re trying to minimize.- Brene Brown

Mask Of Perfectionism

Perfectionism is a mask we wear to hide the parts of us we are ashamed of showing to the outside world, and sometimes, even to ourselves. Perfectionism is a veneer that we have it all figured out, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with anything about us or anyone related to us. It is a house of cards waiting to tumble.

Like Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky, the problem is that we forget what we looked like before we wore the mask, and typically before someone told us to wear it and never take it off. Many adult clients remember distinctly how they were told to “sit there and look pretty,” “toughen up, let it go, keep at it,” “don’t embarrass me with your outbursts, mediocre grades, losing the game, etc.,” “don’t be a baby about this and stop crying,” I could go on. Many kid clients sheepishly remark that messy rooms, no Honor Roll, or home runs mean trouble. We are exposed early, and the markers remain in our system for a lifetime and across generations. 

I am guilty of donning this mask.

Part of my struggles with Post Partum Depression with my second child was my shame in being a psychologist with a certification in lactation education and already a mom. How could I struggle with breastfeeding and my mental health? What was the point of all of that studying if I couldn’t figure out how to make myself better? What would people think of me if they knew I wasn’t perfect at this mom gig? Part of my struggles dealing with my divorce was wrapping my mind around the idea that the “good girl” who had it all planned out took part in breaking up a family.  

A few years ago, I couldn’t imagine I would be typing this out today. It’s been a process of deciding. Do I continue to read the rigid, fear-mongering Book of Life and live under the shadows of shame, guilt, abnegation of myself? Or, do I try to pick up a different Book of Life filled with ideas, openness, compassion, and expansion? I’ll tell you that I vacillate between the two books (and maybe there’s more out there). When I hear myself falling into limiting beliefs, overwhelm, sadness, and fear- that is my alarm to come back and figure out what did I forget that I lost my path?

Many of my behaviors are still the same.

My house is still organized with a color-coordinated closet. I still enjoy cooking elaborate meals for my guests. I still love my children, and sometimes I yell at them, especially when I run myself ragged. The difference is that I am not berating myself if I don’t fit everything in every day.

The difference is that when I make mistakes, I don’t hate myself for them. When there are memories that I replay or topics that won’t leave my head alone, I don’t pretend they don’t exist. When the self-loathing comes back because I can’t let something go, I switch gears and remind myself that this has to come up so it can go. It sounds simple, but it’s not. It’s a practice – and I’m not perfect at it. And it’s okay to let you know. Because maybe we can keep the masks for Halloween and try living life as we are the other 364 days of the year. 

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