As a warning, the following post was written in complete desperation.
I
have recently learned some very sobering truths from people that I love
dearly. These truths have set in motion a quest within me to do whatever
I can to make a change. Today is not geared at funny. Today is geared
at something greater. Read it to the very end. I promise you will be
affected in a way you have always needed to be. I spent more than twelve
hours writing this post because its message is that important to me.
I wonder. Am I the only one aware that there is an infectious mental
disease laying siege on us right now? There is a serious pandemic of
“Perfection” spreading, and it needs to stop. Hear me out because this
is something for which I am passionately and constantly hurting. It’s a
sickness that I’ve been trying to put into words for years without much
success. It’s a sickness that I have personally struggled with. It’s a
sickness that at times has left me hiding in dark corners and hating
myself.
And chances are it’s hit you too.
What is the
disease called ”Perfection”? Perhaps a list of its real-life symptoms
will help you better understand it. We live in communities where people
feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always appear perfectly happy,
perfectly functional, and perfectly figured. “Perfection” is much
different than perfectionism. The following examples of “Perfection” are
all real examples that I have collected from experiences in my own
life, from confidential sources, or from my circle of loved ones and
friends. If you actually stop to think about some of these, you will cry
as I did while writing it. If you don’t, maybe you’re infected with way
too much of this ”Perfection” infection.
“Perfection” is a
wife who feels trapped in a marriage to a lazy, angry, small man, but at
soccer practice tells the other wives how wonderful her husband always
is. “Perfection” keeps people from telling the truth, even to
themselves. My husband is adorable. He called me a whore this week
because I smiled at a stranger. When I started crying, he said he had a
game to go watch. I love him so much.
“Perfection” is a husband
who is belittled, unappreciated, and abused by his wife, yet works
endlessly to make his marriage appear incredible to those around him.
”Perfection” really does keep people from being real about the truth.
You would have laughed, guys. She said that I suck at my job and will
never go anywhere in life. Then she insinuated that I was a fat, rotting
pile of crap. Isn’t she the best?
“Perfection” is a daughter
with an eating disorder that keeps it hidden for years because she
doesn’t want to be the first among her family and friends to be
imperfect. She would give anything to confront it, but she can’t because
then the “Perfect” people would hate her as much as she hates herself
for it.
“Perfection” is when a son has a forbidden addiction,
and despises himself for it. “Perfection” makes us believe that nobody
else could understand what it is like to be weak and fall prey to the
pressures of the world.
“Perfection” is a man who loathes himself for feeling unwanted attraction toward other men.
“Perfection” is a couple drowning in debt, but who still agree to that
cruise with their friends because the words “we don’t have the money”
are impossible ones to push across their lips.
“Perfection” is a
mom hating herself because she only sees that every other mom around
her is the perfect mother, the perfect wife, and the perfect neighbor.
I’d give anything to be Mrs. Jones. Today she ran 34 miles, cooked six
complete meals, participated in a two-hour activity with each of her
seven children, hosted a marriage class with her husband, and still had
time to show up for Bunco. What this mom doesn’t know is that Mrs. Jones
is also at home crying right now because the pressure to be “Perfect”
never lets up.
“Perfection” is a dad hating himself because he
can’t give the same thing to his kids that other dads do, and then hates
himself further because he takes his self-loathing out on his kids
behind closed doors. You know what would have been nice? If you were
never born. Do you realize how much money I’d have right now? Now come
give Daddy a hug because I can force you to give me validation.
“Perfection” is a child hating herself because the boys at school call
her fat, and when she goes home she tells her mom that school was fine.
Her mom never stops to question why her daughter doesn’t have any
friends, because her mom doesn’t want to think that anything might be
less than “Perfect”.
“Perfection” is a man feeling like a smaller man because his neighbor just pulled in with a new boat.
“Perfection” is a woman who is so overwhelmed that she thinks about
killing herself daily. “Perfection” makes it so that she never will
because of the things people will think if she does. How could I make my
suicide look like an accident? If I kill myself, I don’t want anybody
knowing that I ever had any problems. She never stops to look at why she
wants to do it, because healing means admitting imperfection.
“Perfection” is a man who everybody heralds as perfect, and inside he is
screaming to be seen as the faulty human being that he always has been.
Because to no longer be “the perfect one”, that would be freeing.
“Perfection” is a woman having an affair because she’s too afraid to confront the imperfection in her marriage.
“Perfection” is a twelve-year-old boy killing himself because he is ashamed that he can’t stop masturbating.
Stop, and read that one again.
There is a twelve-year-old boy buried 20 miles from where I sit because
the “Perfection” that has infected the people around him infected him
to the point that he deemed his own life worthless. “Perfection” pushed
him to take his own life over something most of us would consider
negligible in the life of any teenage boy.
“Perfection” is my
friend’s cousin swallowing hundreds of pills because she just got the
news that she was pregnant, out of wedlock, and the shame was too much
to bear. She was only attempting to cause a miscarriage. 24 hours later,
she closed her eyes and never opened them again. She is dead because of
the “Perfection” infecting those around her. We’d rather you die than
shame this family. Thanks for taking care of that, honey. By the way,
we’ll do the right thing and make ourselves out to be the victims now.
We have to. We’re infected with “Perfection”.
I could go on.
This is all a small sampling of the disease called “Perfection”. You
have brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, extended family members,
neighbors, friends, and children who are ALL these things, yet none of
us will ever know. “Perfection” is a hideous monster with a really
beautiful face. And chances are you’re infected. The good news is, there
is a cure.
Be real.
Embrace that you have weakness.
Because everybody does. Embrace that your body is not perfect. Because
nobody’s is. Embrace that you have things you can’t control. We all have
a list of them.
Here’s your wake-up call:
You aren’t the only one who feels worthless sometimes.
You aren’t the only one who took your frustrations out on your children today.
You aren’t the only one who isn’t making enough money to support your lifestyle.
You aren’t the only one who has questions and doubts about your religion.
You aren’t the only one who sometimes says things that really hurt other people.
You aren’t the only one who feels trapped in your marriage.
You aren’t the only one who gets down and hates yourself and you can’t figure out why.
You aren’t the only one that questions your sexual orientation.
You aren’t the only one who hates your body.
You aren’t the only one that can’t control yourself around food.
Your husband is not the only husband who’s addiction sends him online for his sexual fulfillment instead of to you.
Your wife is not the only wife that is mean and vindictive and makes you hate yourself.
Why didn’t somebody, anybody, put their arm around that 12-year old boy
and let him know that they loved him and would always love him? What
was he being told and taught that he would end his own life over
something that almost no teenager can control? Maybe that beautiful and
wonderful boy would still be alive if even one person had broken down
the “Perfection” that completely controlled all those in his life from
whom he desperately craved validation.
Why didn’t somebody,
anybody, tell a beautiful pregnant girl that there was nothing so big in
life that it couldn’t be made right. Maybe that incredible young woman
would still be alive. Maybe her now one-year-old child would be learning
to walk or say “Mommy” right now. Maybe.
Maybe.
The cure is so simple.
Be real.
Be bold about your weaknesses and you will change people’s lives. Be
honest about who you actually are, and others will begin to be their
actual selves around you. Once you cure yourself of the disease, others
will come to you, asking if they can just “talk”. People are desperate
to talk. Some of the most “perfect” people around you will tell you of
some of the greatest struggles going on. Some of the most “perfect”
people around you will break down in tears as they tell you how
difficult life is for them. Turns out some of the most “perfect” people
around us are human beings after all, and are dying to talk to another
human being about it.
You’ll love them for it. And you’ll love yourself even more.
Let’s not forget this quote: “I went out to find a friend and could not
find one there. I went out to be a friend, and friends were
everywhere.” Somebody who is being a friend doesn’t spread “Perfection”.
Somebody who is being a friend spreads “Real”. Then, and only then, can
we all grow together.
I am not perfect, nor do I want anybody to think of me as such. Here’s my dose of real:
I once stole a box of money that was meant for a child with cancer.
There was more than $150 inside. That was 12 years ago, and I still hate
the person in me that did that.
I believe in God, but not
religion. It took me 30 years to find the courage to say that. It took
me 30 years to believe that I could be a good man and still believe
that.
I once got so angry at my wife that I hit the wall. The
dent is still there, haunting me every time I see it because I never
thought that was something I would do.
I once sat in my bedroom
crying uncontrollably because I felt like everybody thought I was fat
and ugly. I was a full grown man.
There are some people I avoid bumping into in public because I feel like I’m not as good as them.
I judge people harshly who share the same features that I hate about myself.
Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m not funny. Sometimes I just want to be
alone. Sometimes I stay at home on a weekend because I just don’t want
to see the “Perfection” going on around me. Sometimes I want to
drop-kick a perfect person’s head across the room.
“Perfection”
infects every corner of society. It infects our schools. It infects
neighborhoods. It infects our workplaces. This is not to say that there
aren’t a lot of genuinely, happy people. I am one of those people. Most
of the time. There is nothing more beautiful than a person finding true
happiness in who they are and what they believe. No, this is not me
trying to diminish the happiness in others. This is merely me
pathetically attempting to put a face on a problem that I see everywhere
but few people ever notice.
This is me, weeping as I write,
asking the good people of the world to find somebody to put their arm
around and be “real”. This is me, wishing that people would realize how
beautiful they are, even with all of their imperfections. This is me,
sad and desperate for the girls in this world to love themselves. This
is me, a very imperfect man, trying to help others feel a little more
perfect by asking you to act a little less perfect.
Will you
help me spread “Real”? Tell us below just how perfect you aren’t. You
never know who might be alive tomorrow because you were real today. You
never know who needs to feel like they aren’t alone in their inability
to be perfect. Even if you comment as an anonymous guest, please
comment. Tell us what you struggle with. Tell a sad or dark secret. Get
vulnerable. Get real. Let’s see if we can get 1,000 people showing the
world that we’re not defined by perfection.- Dan Pearce
