To Exit the Bramble Patch
A New Question Arises
“Hi. I’m Kate. And I am a perfectionist.”
And the inevitable, droning response: “Hi Kate…”
This popped into my head the other day, and I laughed at the image it conjured: me standing as part of a circle of long-suffering, recovering perfectionists, declaring my addiction. Perfectionists Anonymous.
But then I thought- this image could actually hold a lot of wisdom if I lean into it. I imagine it could be very healing to sit in a group of people who are honestly and vulnerably declaring a lifelong debilitating, psychological condition. To be among people who are naming it clearly and unambiguously. Perhaps we could share how, where, and in what ways our perfectionism led us into the destruction of self and health.
I know I am not the first person to have thought of this “Perfectionist Anonymous” idea, but it was certainly the first time I imagined myself in such a scenario.
When I think about perfectionism, a few different images come to mind. One is of the greyhound races, where a mechanical rabbit speeds ahead of the pack. Sometimes, when my perfectionism is really triggered, I feel like the greyhound, and sometimes I feel like the rabbit. When I am the greyhound, I am relentlessly chasing some moving target that remains eternally out of reach (even more poignant is the fact that, if I ever did catch the prize, I would find it had been false all along). Sometimes I feel like the rabbit, driven to stay one step ahead from a howling, pounding pack that certainly does not have my health in mind.
Perfectionism feels like: rigidity, fear, anxiety, hyper-vigilance, sharp judgment.
None of these look very appealing, and yet there it is. It runs and runs in me.
The other image that comes to mind when I think of perfectionism is even stranger. I think of a computer chip or a flashdrive being plugged into my mind. The operating system of the flashdrive overlays and overrides the natural operating system of my being, taking over how I think and the way I am. The insidious part of this computer chip, though, is that it doesn’t entirely replace the natural operating system. Instead, it weaves with the original system of my soul. However, it alters the messages just enough that, instead of my thoughts and impulses feeling nourishing, natural, and self-expressive, they somehow turn in on each other, creating a sharp, deeply-uncomfortable inner landscape. This “computer chip” as I see it is the sum total of our psychological conditioning- implicit and explicit messages from society, community, and family. I don’t necessarily believe that this conditioning points to an intentional conspiracy. It is simply the world of the mind that we inherited, and which many of us are learning now to recognize and heal from.
Recently in meditation, I felt as though I was waking up in a thicket of sharp brambles. I understood that for a long time in my life, the brambles had grown very close around me so that when I moved, even the slightest bit, I would be pierced. Over time, I understood I have been painstakingly clearing space from within the thicket, creating a larger and larger space in which to move without pain. The brambles, I understood, represented all of the ways I had turned against myself over the years- self-judgment, self-blame, even self-hatred. I had, I realized, begun crafting this thicket from a very young age- younger than I even realize.
Once I understood where I was, the question changed from “how can I create more room for myself and my expression?” to “how can I exit this thicket entirely?”
