Cultivating

feminism

The Journey - Failing at Perfection

This is an open journal about my journey exploring feminism.

9.16.23

Swimming without disturbing the water. That’s the most straightforward description. For much of my life, I have tried so hard not to create chaos around me. I followed the rules to make things easier and comfortable for those around me. Letting someone down would’ve destroyed me. My perceived love language was making others comfortable—my goal was to be as perfect as possible.

Now, I’m not naive enough to think I succeeded even sometimes. I’m sure more than once, I disappointed, angered, and even frustrated those around me. But if I felt that or heard that, I’d change. I’d morph like a chameleon restoring peace. Whatever I needed to do for others to validate my value to them.

Many times, I would end up exhausted, empty, and resentful. I would find restoration and renewal in solitude. Then, I would step back out to do it all over again. In that solitude, I would lose people either by them moving forward or, by me walking away, or just not rejoining them.

This cycle didn’t just happen with personal relationships, but jobs and partners too. I thought it was me. I thought I was failing, not enough for others. Failing to connect with others. Because in my darkest moments, no one was there to comfort me. A vicious cycle of trying to be necessary to others, draining myself, and retreating, only to find silence.

I convinced myself it was me. Convinced I was forgettable, not good enough, even broken. Things got dark. Really dark. And I wouldn’t ask for help; I guess couldn’t is a better word. I didn’t feel the value I could bring to others in those dark times. And if I couldn’t do that, what good was I?

I think one of the reasons I felt this way stemmed from around my 16th year on earth. Someone close to me had died suddenly. I started counseling to help deal with the grief. I told the counselor I had felt depressed before his death even contemplated suicide. And I felt guilty because I would have gladly died instead of him, who clearly loved life. And I continued to feel guilty carrying around suicidal thoughts.

I’m not sure what would’ve been an appropriate therapeutic response, but she told me, “You are being selfish. Suicide is one of the most selfish things you could do or even contemplate.” She went on to explain that if I couldn’t find a will to live, to do so for others to not cause them pain by dying.

So I did the only thing I knew to do: try harder not to be selfish. Try to bring others comfort and joy. Do whatever made those around me happy and comfortable. And when things felt dark, live for others. Just keep bringing joy.

Now, I will add depression and suicidal thoughts are not selfish. If this is how you feel, asking for help and support is the only thing you can do. These feelings are not something to can will away or easily change. Your mind is simply signaling you need outside help to see the light again.

So, the cycle of me trying to find something to live for, bring joy to others, and not disappoint amped up. I didn’t want to be selfish. Anytime the darkness of my depression would take hold, I’d try harder to find joy for others. I was twisting myself into any shape to ease their comfort. And with the darkness came the shame of my selfishness.

As I write this, I can see how messed up this sounds. Trust me. When I finally realized this unsustainable and unhealthy cycle, I was pissed. Mad at that therapist for handing me that burden, but more angry at myself for picking it up and carrying it. But how would I fix it? Change?

Now, my life as a whole has not been a dark swirling mess. Maybe a mess sometimes, but there has been joy, love, and friendship. But with the light and the pleasure would always come darkness and hurt, mostly in silence. The more I felt I was a burden or disappointment to others, the more I suppressed any feeling at all. I convinced myself if I felt too much joy, the darkness would get too dark for me to climb my way back out.

Three years ago, I read Untamed by Glennon Doyle. She talks about her struggle with living for worldly acceptance and her battle with anxiety and depression. One chapter is specifically about her on-again-off-again relationship with antidepressants. She’d feel the darkness, get medication, feel better, then stop taking it. It was a similar path to mine. She explained she finally committed to herself that no matter what, she’d continue taking her medication. She committed to the hurting woman inside her that she’d never stop, and she promised the joyful woman that they needed the medicine to help her stay in the joy.

At that point, I didn’t know what else to do except do the same. I went to my doctor and started medication. And I will continue to take it for the rest of my life, knowing that, for whatever reason, my body needs it. And I owed it to all versions of myself to continue.

A year later, I was still feeling dark, stressed, unfulfilled. I thought I loved my career. I loved my partner and kids. My life was good, but I still couldn’t feel immense joy. Things were heavy. I was going numb. So, I started looking inward. I started my spiritual journey.

I wanted to fix the brokenness in me. I wanted to be better for those around me. So, I started meditating and digging into my inner self. I was trying to find the darkness and brokenness. The deeper I dug, the more love and light I saw. I thought I was doing it wrong. I couldn’t find the dark, crusty places. The places where all the selfishness dwelled. I did this for more than a year.

Then I started finding hurt, disappointment, anger, and ideals I carried. Expectations I internalized. Grief. But still not the terrible, unloveable things I expected to find. I couldn’t find the source of the darkness that had clung to me like a wet sweater as I walked through life.

One day, I was talking with a practitioner helping me with my chronic muscle pain. They asked me why I thought I had such pain. Had I had trauma I needed to process? I told them I was afraid to find out; I was scared of digging deep because of what I’d find.

“What exactly do you think you’ll find?” they asked.

“Darkness, Evil, something scary,” I replied.

They looked at me and said, “We are all made of love. There is no darkness or evil in there. Those all come from the outside in. If you look deep down, you will only find love and kindness.”

Say no more. I took a deep dive. No safety net or flashlight needed. I wanted to see what was there. I plunged into Lake Tahoe, plunged into holotropic breathing, told myself I loved her, plunged into finding out the unseen.

I didn’t find brokenness or darkness. I found feelings I had buried. Needs, dreams, and creativity were all stored away. Everything about myself I felt was too much, buried deep. And there were lots of tears. I hated crying. I guess I saw it as an outward display of feelings. It signaled a need, so I only cried when it was socially appropriate. Any other time, I cried alone. But as I started digging, tears came. Pain released. I just stored all the feelings I thought I had succeeded in suppressing. My body Stored them as pain I had carried for years.

And deep down under all that was a scared little girl, all alone. One who had been hidden and forgotten. One who needed to be loved and had dreams for her life. And I took her hand and made her safe again. I brought her to the light, hugged her, and danced with her. We laughed and healed together. And I left her in peace and comfort. I left her in a vision I had, laughing and twirling by a fire in the woods with my spirit guides.

And I released perfection for her…for me. I wanted her to be messy, silly, sad, and scared. I wanted her to dream again. To try and fail, to try and succeed. And I wanted it for me too.

Now, I’m not all fixed. First of all, it’s a journey that will never be complete. I had mastered my strategies for at least 30 years, so it may take a while to work through it all. It took me two years to believe I could look at my whole self. And I’ve just realized I can be imperfect and loved. That I can swim and splash. I can make ripples, and love and acceptance will still be mine. I can be fully messy. I can bring nothing to the table and still deserve a seat.

Being a feminist means embracing and loving myself as I am. No expectations, even the flaws, my strengths, and beauty in the way that I am made. It’s also about embracing others in the same way. Supporting them to be their authentic selves. And moving forward together, against and through all that is put on us. Releasing all that we carry unknowingly.

I now fear my evolution will remove people from my life those who were only here for the perfection-seeking woman. But I’ve also realized that I only want love from people who will love the messy, big-dreaming, silly, scared, dirty, teary-eyed me. Only love from those who will love the most authentic version of me and the little girl twirling by the campfire in the woods.