The Grip of Perfectionism

As a recovering perfectionist, I can recall many times when I chose endless revisions over sanity.

Photo by Eran Menashri on Unsplash

As a recovering perfectionist, I can recall many times when I chose endless revisions to an email or school paper over sanity. Through the illusion of polished prose, safeguarding my respectability drove me towards a critique-proof performance. A+++ Even today, ‘Tell me I’m good,’ and ‘Please don’t tell me I’m bad,’ still whisper. I labored with the awareness that assessment by others filled or emptied my cup. I considered framing the paper embossed with a long and thoughtful comment from an admired professor. Ephemeral proof of my existence in the world. A jab of shame interred an alternate, B+ paper, to a box in the basement, vacating any possible constructive criticism to my hopeless irredeemableness. My intelligence was fake.