Perfectionism – The Lowest Standard You Can Set for Yourself

Perfectionism is the lowest standard that you can set for yourself. I heard this for the first time a few weeks ago and have been sitting on it since. I didn’t understand it at first. Being a perfectionist my whole life, I’ve always believed that it’s the highest standard I can hold myself to – aim for perfectionism and you will outshine everyone else who aims for mediocracy or even greatness. So why is perfectionism the lowest standard if you’re aiming to be the best? It’s simple. Perfection doesn’t exist. When you expect perfection you are setting yourself up for failure. You’re setting a standard for yourself that you can never reach, that you can never be happy with. You have an expectation for yourself and a vision of perfection that you can never reach. You will always fall short of this standard, of where you want to be, and that’s why perfectionism is the lowest standard you can set.

If I’m not striving for perfectionism, then what am I striving for? Mediocracy?

I’ve always thought of myself as having high standards and high expectations for myself. I expect things from myself that I would never expect from others. I’ve always been extremely self-critical, an excessive organizer and planner, and am unfairly hard on myself when I make a mistake. This perfectionist trait is a major factor into what spiraled me so deep into my eating disorder. I signed up to run a half-marathon in the Fall of 2019. I began training in the Spring and stuck to a strict workout regime to prepare myself. I’ve always loved running, and I was an athlete in high school, with track being my favorite sport. So I was determined to prove that my love for running wasn’t mediocre. I wanted to prove that I was great. My workout routine consisted of running a certain number of miles a day, with a specific pace for each, and then I chose to weight lift on top of this to help build muscle. And it felt amazing. Working toward the goal of completing my first half-marathon was exhilarating. My Apple watch tracked my progress and I began to notice how many calories I was burning each time I upped my miles and increased my pace, and that was another high. And then the marathon came, and I ran really well, and was extremely proud of myself…but that lasted for about a day. It wasn’t enough. How could I keep getting better? Stronger? Burn more calories? I wasn’t where I wanted to be, so I continued to strive for more. More and more and more. Setting a goal for myself of how many calories I could hit, and then wanting to beat that the next time. It became an obsession – I didn’t even know what I was aiming for anymore, I just knew that I could keep pushing myself harder, and it would give me the high I craved. The high that I would feel when I thought I was reaching perfection. But I never made it there. It was never enough. The muscle built, the weight lost, the strict diet, killing it at work – none of it was enough anymore. And that’s when I started to wonder if my life was even worth anything anymore. Where I started to wonder if I even wanted to be alive.

Where does it stop?

I never took a step back to ask myself this question when I was in over my head. When I had succumbed to my eating disorder thinking that this would help me achieve my goal of perfectionism, stopping never occured to me. I would have kept going, thinking that each further restriction or extra minute of a workout would make me happy again. Because I wasn’t happy anymore. I had felt like a constant failure for not feeling like I achieved perfection. I didn’t understand where I went wrong, so I kept doing it thinking that the harder I pushed myself, the easier the answer would come to me on how to reach this expectation for myself. And I think this is why it was so hard for me to hear that people were worried about me. Why were they worried? I was working so hard on myself to be better (in my eyes), and the second someone expressed concern, I got defensive and I got angry. How dare someone insult all the hard work I’ve put in. They don’t understand the discipline it takes to be where I am. They wish they could be disciplined like me. Don’t they understand that I’m working harder at this than anything I’ve done before? This is how I reacted to everyone initially expressing their concern. And after I began hearing this more and more, I realized that maybe I was going about life all wrong.

I’ve always been a huge planner, and have a little (or a lot) of OCD around planning and organization. Whenever I plan something, I have a vision in my head on how it should go. And if even the slightest thing is off when this plan is happening, I get pissed. Like really pissed. It’s always been hard for me to have fun at an event that I’ve planned because I’m worried about it being perfect for everyone else there. But perfect was never what anyone else expected, it’s what I expected. Living in the moment is hard when you’re constantly in your head worrying about if the plan is going exactly how you envisioned it. Being happy is hard when you’re constantly let down when you don’t meet the expectations you had set. I blame myself for it not going as planned – I didn’t do enough, try hard enough, I wasn’t the perfect host, I wasn’t the perfect guest, I didn’t say the perfect thing or act the perfect way. It was exhausting. And it’s been my whole life.

I made a choice to start living. Really living.

When I chose recovery, I chose to live. And living was no longer going to revolve around perfectionism, because that trait was going to kill me. Recovery has been the hardest journey of my life because it’s been re-wiring this perfectionist mindset that I’ve lived by my entire life. But I can finally say that I’m seeing the results of the work I’ve put in for the last 13 months. I got back on Sunday from probably the best trip of my life. A European vacation with my boyfriend that consisted of a sunset boat ride in Lisbon, champagne on rooftops, visiting my favorite city of Milan, all the pasta & pizza & gelato & wine that you can imagine, swimming in Lake Como, rooftop dinners over the lake, and so much more. And you know what I didn’t do once? Workout. And I survived. I ate my little heart out every day, listening to what my body wanted and craved. Hell, I didn’t even eat one salad. But I ended each dinner feeling full and satiated. And by honoring my body, I was able to truly live in each moment there. I wasn’t concerned with what a bowl of pasta or plate of pizza would do to me, or how much sugar was in my gelato or tiramisu, or what anyone else would think if they saw what I was eating. And I couldn’t be more proud of myself. A year, even 2 years ago, I would’ve gone on this trip and avoided any craving my body had and been so in my head about what I actually wanted, that I wouldn’t have been present.

I’ve learned that food is so much more than just fuel. It’s an experience. It’s something people bond over. It’s something we create memories over. It’s something that brings us joy. The food on our trip was amazing, but it’s not solely what made the trip amazing. What made it amazing was the endless laughs, the unforgettable memories we made, the interactions we had, the cultures we immersed ourselves in – and I was able to experience all of this because for that week I let go of my eating disorder and flourished in the idea that I was this beautiful new me, thriving in a life post-recovery. Any normally it’s the days after I ignore my eating disorder that are the hardest.. but it’s 3 days later and all I feel is gratitude and joy. I’m thankful to be here. In a place where I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of recovery and to experience what life without any aspect of my eating disorder is like.

Perfectionist Nikki has no place here anymore.

Perfectionist Nikki would have looked back on this trip and been disappointed in myself for not being more strict, or planning everything to a tee. I would have been anxious at the thought of being spontaneous because it would have intruded on whatever expectation I had set to ensure the trip went seamlessly. But honestly, where is the fun in perfectionism? All it leads to is disappointment, constant feelings of failure, and no ability to live in the moment. Letting go and being spontaneous and free on this trip made me the happiest I’ve been in as long as I can remember. It’s shown me the progress I’ve made and the life that is ahead of me. The only standards I have for myself going forward are to be true to myself and to honor my body. To live in the moment and embrace a life of spontaneity. I’m done setting impossible standards, and am instead setting achievable goals that I can work for. It by no means indicates that I’m accepting mediocracy, but rather that I’m striving for greatness in my own eyes. I will continue to make myself proud. I will continue to strive for a lifetime of happiness surrounded by the people I love. I will strive for everything that perfectionism could never give me. And I will never set the lowest possible standard of perfectionism for myself. Because like I said, it doesn’t exist.