~Certain flaws are necessary for the whole. It would seem strange if old friends lacked certain quirks~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I was around 6 years old when I became perfectionist. My sister, who is about a year younger, and me were coloring one day and she gave my mother a picture and my mother accepted it. When I presented my picture, she looked at it briefly and gave it back to me saying that I could do a better job. I asked her why she took my sister's picture and she told me that I was old enough to color inside the lines. I think the first song that I ever liked and sang was Jesus Loves Me. I remember coloring a picture for Jesus and putting it under my pillow. Of course, it was there the next day, but based on what I learned in Sunday School, my childlike faith told me that He saw it and liked it. He accepted the imperfections of my drawing just as He accepts my imperfections today.
I kept trying to impress my mother and make her love me. I picked what I thought to be beautiful yellow flowers from the front yard. I went in the house and happily showed my mother what I had picked for her, but she wouldn't take them. She told me that they were weeds and when I objected and told her they were flowers, she told me that dandelions were weeds. It was Christmastime and my mother was driving me home from school, I was all excited to tell her about Santa Claus' visit to our classroom. I believe there was a big colorful drawing of a fireplace and chimney and I told my mother how he came down the chimney and left gifts. She told me that Santa Claus wasn't real and I burst into tears as I tried defending my case for his existence, but I couldn't ever convince her. There was never anyway to change her mind.
My maternal grandma was my favorite. I adored and loved her and I knew she felt the same way. I was always happy to see my grandma because she was nurturing and she always had nice things to say to me, so of course, I reciprocated that love. My parents especially my mother thought that it was unfair to my 2 sisters and brother that I was grandma's favorite. They expressed this to me and felt that I had acted or said certain things to make my grandma love me more. My shoe fetish began at 6 years old when my grandma gave us girls the most stylish purple coats ever. My grandma was very fashionable and I loved that about her. After she gave us the coats, I told her that purple boots would look nice with these. Of course, as a kid, there's not really a filter and you just say what comes to mind. That's why I love hanging out with my nieces and nephews. I told her that purple boots would look good with my jacket. I had no idea that one of my grandma's jobs was to spoil us and anything that I said she would likely get for me. My grandma laughed after I said it and I liked that I had made her laugh, but my mother overheard me and she was very upset.
She was angry and told me that if my grandma bought us boots then I would have to pay for them. Of course, being 6, I didn't know how I was supposed to pay for them, so it made me feel very sad. It was probably a week or two later when I was riding home on the bus and I saw that my grandma's car was parked in our driveway. My heart sank because I knew that my grandma had probably bought us boots. When I walked in the house, I saw my grandma and favorite aunt with the most lovely purple boots. Three pairs stood all in a row for each of us girls. The purple matched perfectly with our jackets, but instead of being overjoyed, I reservedly smiled and said thank you. It was one of the nicest things that anyone had done for me, but I was more afraid of what my mom was going to say or do after they left.
I accompanied my dad to one of kindergarten conferences. At one point, the energy changed and my kindergarten teacher kept looking at me. I could tell she didn't want to say whatever it was in front of me, so she asked me to leave the room for a moment. I waited outside and knew that it couldn't be something good. When we got home, my dad relayed the information. I don't even remember what it was. I just remember feeling very sad and ashamed. I wondered why my beloved teacher didn't like me anymore. I'm sure it was helpful feedback, but with my parents, it was never a learning opportunity and a chance for them to help me improve. Rather, it was a negative reflection of me; a character flaw. As a result, I stopped being a kid and ended most of my creativity, imagination and dreams because those weren't working out for me. Perfectionism and codependency started as I stopped living for myself and I started living for other people. My goal was to please others and not make any mistakes, so people would like me. As a child, I learned mistakes were bad and equated to being a bad person.
Some people say that everyone has crappy childhoods, so they dismiss their feelings. I used to be the same way, but now I realize that there are a lot of hurt adults out there, too, who do a lot of things because of traumas experienced as children. My childhood was my foundation. My belief systems and learned behaviors were established in childhood, so it makes sense that I would react in certain ways as an adult. It's not like we turn 18 and all the issues of the past are suddenly solved and disappear. I felt stuck in my childhood while living in adulthood, but as I address each trauma, I start the healing process and can move on with my life.
We did an activity at inpatient treatment in which we were instructed to write 5 positive or negative messages that we received growing up on strips of paper. Each woman shared theirs and then we had the option to throw some of them away if we wanted. We were instructed to write five, but being the overachiever that I am, I wrote ten. Here are the messages that I received directly or through actions.
- I am ugly
- I am a bitch
- I am fat
- I am selfish
- I am an object for men
- I am stupid
- I am not loved and my interests are not important
- I am never right and always to blame
- I am not allowed to express my thoughts and feelings and challenge authority
- I am a poor role model for my sisters and brother
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