When dealing with a change of the clocks and therefore a change in schedule, for those of us who overthink, it seems almost comforting to rearrange the entire day—look at us, we can engineer the most efficient, most logical, most pretty-on-paper schedule. And then, inevitably, because the plan is so perfect, it must be our fault that we failed at sticking to it.
If all I’m doing is fighting my brain, then I have zero room for anything else.
We are surrounded with messages about making our lives easier, being more productive and organized and efficient. There is a fix for everything, so why shouldn’t there be a fix for my own brain seeming to stand in my way?
Making decisions based on all the factors, wanting to carefully consider options and not just jump head-first into an option before checking the depth of the water, this isn’t a bad skill to have. The anxiety appears when I skip over the line from functional to distressing.
That saying, when you only have a hammer, everything becomes a nail? When you only have an anxious, ruminating mind, everything becomes a problem to solve.
So the pressure is a bully, reminding me that, no matter what, I am a failure. And it tells me that what I AM doing isn’t enough.
There is nothing I desire from life that will come by filling my time with shoulds and busyness.
The first step in anything big and scary is usually rocky. It looks huge. My perfectionism convinces me I can’t take that leap, but look over here, here’s a safe thing you can do instead that is guaranteed to go well and you won’t trip and fall.
What does my perfectionism feel like? Like a pinch in the stomach Like a building up of pressure Like guilt Like shame Like fear Like a worm
In this month's essay, I explore the link between perfectionism and depression, and how they feed each other through my inner voices.