Every night, I write in a journal to better understand how my days go. My therapist and I realized it was the best way to keep track of my thoughts and feelings in between our sessions. Now it’s turned into one of those things that I look forward to at the end of the day. I’m able to put all my thoughts onto paper, and figure out what’s been the best and worst parts of my day.
I realized as I kept writing in this journal that one thing kept coming up.
Perfectionism.
It looms over my head and makes me wonder if I’ll be able to do something well. Going to Kenyon College makes me feel like I have accomplished something, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes, I hold myself to high standards because I got into my dream college. I always wonder if they made the right decision allowing me into this college when I struggle with my classes. I tend to forget that struggling is a big part of life, especially in college. We are coming to terms with who we are and what we want to do with our lives.
I keep asking myself to be perfect, but perfect is not possible. I have to keep reminding myself of that. I can work my hardest consistently, and get good grades, and still have a great desire to do better than my greatest mark.
Perfectionism appears to be the way that we were conditioned in the past ten years. Or at least, how I was conditioned. Now, my parents never told me I had to strive for A’s or even perfection; they would just tell me to do my best. However, my best started to get confused with not studying at all and giving up. I realized that wasn’t the right thing to be doing for myself and my mental health. My continuous poor grades in my last year of middle school made me wonder if I was going to be ready for what high school had to offer me.
News flash, I just needed to change my perspective.
The pandemic was a significant time for me. I started writing more and more fiction, posting it on different platforms and hoping for success. There was no success when it came to my poorly written stories, as I was only young teen. I still craved to be the best. To earn the most views. To be someone’s favorite author. It felt like a big dream to take on at age thirteen. But it’s the dream I took on. I’d cry when I’d see my favorite authors talk about their books, and I would wonder when it was my turn to write the next best thing.
My writing did get better, and my writing group would come to be my biggest supporters. In a way, I guess you could say, I did become someone’s favorite author. Writing taught me that your first draft is never going to be perfect. You’re going to stumble and you’re going to make mistakes you wish you didn’t make. You’ll spell things wrong and your sentence structure will be off and you’ll wonder why you even bother.
You bother because it’s something that you enjoy doing.
My perfectionism showed me that I care about my academics. But, that begs the question, when do you stop caring? Do you stop caring when you finally get the top mark? Or when you’re finally at a spot where you feel like you have grown in all your studies?
To me, I have this great hope that one day I’ll be pleased with myself when I finally reach my goals as an academic and writer. It may include getting good marks, but I just want to be proud of myself. Proud of where I started and how I finished.
It’s a long journey.
Hopefully, it will be doable.
If there’s one thing I can leave you with, it’s that perfectionism is good in little doses. It’s something that my therapist attempted to explain to me. It’s okay that sometimes you want your room to look perfect, that’s within your control. You’re able to make your bed, and clear your desk. Wash your dishes, and wipe the surfaces off. You can control that part of your life. Study, try your hardest, and ask for help. Things like that are within your control.
Control the things you can.
Leave the things you can’t behind.
Tonight, when I write in my journal, I can’t wait to express this newfound realization I had. In the end, it’s okay to fall off and struggle. It’s okay to want to control the things you can’t. But in the end, some things are out of your jurisdiction. Let life flow. Make your bed. Write in your journal. And remember, you don’t have to be perfect.
