At the BlogHer conference (when I could actually listen to the speakers instead of obsess about my numbers), I learned the importance of giving my readers a chance to speak because Beyond Blue is more of a community of support than it is my personal blog.
I’ve been pulling out comments that really intrigue me or that I think will spark interesting conversations on our message boards. Sometimes I have dedicated a post to the regulars to whom I’m indebted for making the message boards as interesting or more interesting than the posts themselves. So I published Larry Parker’s moving comments on suffering, and Margaret’s hilarious thoughts on platitudes.
You guys all know Babs, who has been a very articulate Beyond Blue reader from the beginning. At one point we were e-mailing each other about perfectionism, since both of us struggle with that. In planning out today’s posts, I thought I’d invite her to write some words on that topic because I’ve learned a lot from her. So here is Babs on perfectionsim!

Perfectionism is like chicken pox: you are most contagious before you know you have it. The most likely recipients of the “virus” are your kids. At least, that has been my experience. I was blithely aware of my perfectionism because I am the least perfect person I know. A sub-type of perfectionism: that’s me. My daughter, though, exemplifies classic perfectionism.
In fourth grade she brought home a math paper from school that appeared rather strange. In the place where my daughter’s name should have been, there were erasure markings and a different name, written in a familiar hand. The grade on the paper was a “D.” I could faintly make out my child’s name under the other student’s. Still, my daughter adamantly insisted that she had accidentally picked up the wrong paper. This child o’ mine was an “A” student. Getting anything less didn’t fit her idea of herself — at least that is what I told myself. Actually, it didn’t fit the idea she had, of the idea I had of her (did you follow that?). Each “A” was a stone in her backpack until she was lugging around quite a burden. Fast forward twenty years. The daughter bemoans the prison of perfection she longs to escape, and sees unmistakable signs in her own girl-child.
Being obsessed with perfection does not seem on the surface to characterize me. A musician who avoids practice until the last minute, a teacher who has far too often had to wing-it in a class: that is me. But I am the poster child for THE OTHER FACE OF PERFECTIONISM: PROCRASTINATION.
What drives perfectionism? In my search for an answer, this quotation jumped
off the page: “Remember that fear always lurks behind perfectionism. Confronting your fears and allowing yourself the right to be human can, paradoxically, make you a far happier and more productive person. Bingo! Dr. David M. Burns, clinical psychologist and author summed it up well. Fear of not being a good enough musician keeps me from practicing because I can plead a lack of preparation time if I mess up. Fear allows all the great ideas for my classes to wither while I put off the task of lesson planning.
Hanging on to the fear of being less than perfect, shrinks my world and inhibits my creativity. To be human, is to be flawed. Look at the face of an older person and you will see the flaws of aging: wrinkles, worn hands, and sagging jowls. We see character in such a face. Accepting myself as a flawed creature frees me to express without contrivance. It opens the door to seeing the beauty that is me. Relationship becomes possible when perfectionism does not erect a barricade. It allows Love to find a dwelling place.
Rejecting the lure of perfectionism is all about allowing me to be the person which God, in all God’s craziness, created me to be. The creation of which God said, “It was very good.”