An Article On Perfectionism
Everybody has a vice, and perfectionism is mine. I can't stand leaving anything incomplete, which is why I'm an obsessive over-thinker, indiscriminate list maker, and vicious nitpicker. My room will stay cluttered until my dying day because cleaning it would be admitting defeat to the chaos. Being a perfectionist means that nothing's ever good enough: grades are never high enough and the house is never clean enough; it's never too early to start working on next semester's coursework or too late to do a third read-through of that paper for tomorrow. I torture myself with endless worry and hope that a mistake doesn't slip through my cluttered mental filters.
One of the struggles I had early on in my college career was perfectionism. From a young age, I've been conscious of trying to be the best at everything and yet to do this through stress, anxiety, and over-thinking and then go home to an under-performing family or closeted family members. In high school and middle school, it seems like everybody else's parents were out celebrating their kids' accomplishments at their upcoming proms or graduations but never mine. I can recall going to my friend's graduation with my parents and sibling, but I couldn't remember if it was the same brother or sister. I think it was me, but then again I could've been daydreaming.
Growing up like this meant that I met my first oppressor at twelve years old: perfectionism. In junior high and high school, you're expected to be well-rounded and perfect in all classwork, sports, extracurriculars, and that perfect smile on your face every day. This is by no means a bad thing; being a perfectionist really has its benefits too.