I used to pride myself on being a perfectionist and high achiever, and I held onto those identities tightly. Today, my diplomas are stored in a box at the bottom of a closet. I recycled the majority of my race medals, and reviewing my CV contributes to pain. I have created space from these visual reminders of how hard my past self worked to feel some sense of worthiness in this world—”Please tell me I’m OK … that I am loved … that I belong.”
The more I chased achievements and external validation, the emptier I felt, and the unworthiness fueled an eating disorder that led me to believe I needed to earn my food and punish myself for any misstep. Often, anorexia nervosa is depicted as a condition fueled by aesthetics—a flawed and superficial perspective. What contributes to anorexia nervosa development is multifactorial and unique for each person. For me, shame and the drive for perfection strongly correlated. I wasn’t striving for my body to “look” a certain way; rather, I wanted to be invisible from judgment and numb to the pain of shame. Eating disorder rules were influenced by a drive to be “perfect.” “If I could just be perfect, I would be safe and loved,” I thought.
Perfectionism contributed to performance anxiety, isolation, and premature quitting of activities that I enjoyed due to fear that I would never be the best. “If I do not have the potential to be the best, why continue trying?” my mind offered.
In Atlas of the Heart, Brené Brown describes perfectionism as being driven by the question “What will people think?” in contrast to healthy striving, which she characterizes as the internal drive to improve and grow. My desire to be perfect was rooted in wanting people to accept me. To see me. To love me. To tell me that I’m OK.
And though I’m spotlighting perfectionism here, I didn’t open Atlas of the Heart to learn about perfectionism. I opened the book while trying to understand a different emotion, which Brené Brown places in the same section—shame.
Brené Brown states that “shame is the birthplace of perfectionism.”
Ooph.
That resonated deeply with me as the context to my own shame research came after difficulty sharing with my therapist the contents of my mind. I felt like I had two hands cupped over my mouth any time I’d get close to certain topics and ended up talking to him mostly about my career (the “lighter” stuff).
Finally, this week, I said, “I am struggling.” Immediately, I felt nauseous. Am I really going to share this news with him?
Shame hates when you make a threat to break your silence, and my brain and body felt like they were hijacked. I learned after the appointment that my physiological response when opening up to explore topics tied to shame is common. Though I was able to squeak out some contents of my struggle, the shame spiral shadowed my capacity to stay in the moment, reminding me of all the other times I felt ashamed. I found myself shutting down, overwhelmed by those “kind” shame thoughts: “You aren’t worthy. You aren’t enough. You aren’t lovable. No one cares … why even bring this up? Why are you wasting his time with your problems?”
Ah, yes … a reminder of why I chose not to cuddle with those thoughts—not even with a therapist that I trust.
My attempts to calm these shame spirals throughout my life have looked like throwing myself into work and self-sacrifice and fixating on doing everything I could as perfectly as possible. An “A” would bring relief—never pride. My worthiness and sense of “belonging” were tied to my performance outcomes and external validation. Yet, as I got close to accomplishing a tremendous career goal of becoming an Air Force oral surgeon, I felt empty, worthless, and exhausted by the chase for “enoughness,” which seemed like it was never going to end.
The further along I got on my journey, the more I was surrounded by other high achievers striving for perfection. Thus, comparing myself to others left me feeling more and more inadequate. Reflecting back, I often focused on others’ strengths in comparison to my perceived flaws—being really fair to myself. Are you doing that right now, too?
My quest for perfection only fueled the shame, which was created by the gap between where we think we “should” be and where we perceive that we are.
Brené Brown states that “perfectionism is a self-destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfectly, work perfectly, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame” (p. 145).
Hum … said like that, I don’t think “perfectionist” warrants a place on our chest, worn like a badge of honor. It no longer sounds like a trait to strive for or praise but rather an indication that the individual may need support processing through the painful thoughts and emotions that are fueling this need to appear “perfect.”
Now, when the inner perfectionist within me comes out, I will see her and honor that she has been here to serve a purpose. However, her intentions have been misguided and will only fuel the core problems. I will seek healing from what’s underneath, no longer holding tightly to the perfectionist identity that once defined me at a high cost.
As for shame, I’m leaning in to explore the layers of shame that have shadowed my life and contributed to my low self-perception with the support of an amazing therapist and friends who offer the true antidote to shame—empathy. I move forward trusting in my newly developed skills in self-compassion and with acceptance that shame will only continue to grow the more I refuse to speak its name.
I’ll continue to utilize Atlas of the Heart as an encyclopedia for understanding my own emotions after years of suppressing them. While my reflections and takeaways may not feel warm and fuzzy, they will be real and vulnerable. I hope in sharing my lessons from life and healing, you may feel supported in your self-exploration and healing, as well.
I am grateful for Brené Brown as her work found me when perfectionism and unprocessed shame nearly led me to an early death—both literally and figuratively. Letting go of my tightly held beliefs around who I “should be” and what I “should do” in life has opened up another chance to do life differently. I am committed to remaining grounded in my integrity and no longer willing to sacrifice myself in the name of achievements that do not align with my sense of meaning and purpose in this world. I am eager to pay forward the lessons to all who may benefit.
Thank you, reader, for the gift of your time. I am so glad you’re here. You are loved. You are valuable. You are worthy of a fulfilling life that is true to you—and I don’t need your fricking CV to know that.
Jillian Rigert is an oral medicine specialist and radiation oncology research fellow.
