Perfectionism

I have been called perfect my whole life.

I don’t say this because I want you to think I am perfect. I say this because those words are ones that I have come to dislike very much, because I am not perfect.

I grew up as the second oldest of nine children, and as one of the oldest siblings, I had a lot of responsibilities. In many ways, there was a pressure to be perfect. I had to be the perfect example, the perfect role model, the perfect helper, the perfect daughter, the perfect older sister. I am willing to bet that my older sister felt the same way as me. We were forced to grow up pretty quickly, we helped raise our siblings more than we grew up with them. From the time we were 11 we would babysit rather frequently, and there was a time in high school where I babysat almost every night.

Having to live up to this perfect version of myself who did not exist was extremely damaging to me. I did not allow myself to be justified in the ways I was hurt, I learned to rely on myself before relying on anyone else. Eventually, the pressure became too much, I failed classes and I spent any free moment I could in my room either on twitter or sleeping (every Sunday after Mass I would sleep for the entire afternoon). I remember I was failing a class and I thought, “God, it would just be so much easier if you ended it right now. I can’t be who everyone needs me to be, it would be easier not to live anymore.”

All of this because I felt utterly alone and burnt out at the age of 17. I didn’t know how to be perfect but I thought I had to be, and that pressure broke me and opened the door for me to cope in sinful ways.

Now I still hear the words, “you’re perfect,” and those words always give me an anxious feeling. I hear those words for different reasons than I did before. I hear them because I am a young person working in the Church. I hear them because I graduated from college and have a good job. I hear them because by the world’s standards, I am successful. And I hate those words now because I know how damaging the pressure to be perfect was when I was young.

I still feel that pressure to be perfect. Maybe not at the same capacity, but I feel it all the time. I have to be the perfect catholic because of my job, I have to have the perfect prayer life, I have to be the perfect example of what it is to be a young christian woman.

And so whenever I hear someone say, “you’re perfect,” all I want to do is scream that I am not. While it is important to have high standards for ourselves we have to be careful that we are not also wounding ourselves by putting too much pressure on our shoulders.

Jesus calls us to, “be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect,” (Matt 5:48) but he does not call us to do it on our own strength. It is not possible for us to be perfect by our own strength and it is prideful to think we can. And the mindset that we can and should be perfect on our own strength without the help of God, actually leads us into deeper sin than we could ever expect. And when we inevitably fall, it hurts ten times more and it becomes easier to lay there in our despair than to try and get up again. I know this from experience.

I tried to be perfect on my own strength. I tried to climb the steep mountain and walk the narrow path without guidance, and when I fell it was further than I ever imagined I would fall. And it hurt. And I felt the most alone that I ever had before. And all I wanted to do was lay there and let the hurt seep in and give up on trying.

It was the Lord who picked me up and carried me out of that time of my life. It was the Lord who took my hand and guided me to where I am. He is the one who comes to search for me when I wander off the path and get tangled in branches covered in thorns. I am not the one who is perfect, but He is.

So I do not want to be known for being perfect. If I am ever known for anything, I want to be known for radical trust in the Lord. I want people to see that I was not perfect, but that the Lord loved me anyway. I want to be known because the Lord chose me even though I was imperfect and unworthy, not because I somehow made myself worthy.

Sainthood is not earned. Heaven is not earned. Grace is not earned. It is a free gift from the Lord who loves us not only despite our weakness, but in our weakness. And he carries us out and brings us home.

So let Him carry you.