Perfectionists are terrified of their emotions. Thus, their aim is to create a world without most of them. When patients enter treatment struggling with anxiety and depression, often underlying their evident struggles is a rigid mental map of the world, which includes their expectations for themselves and others. Among them is what’s called absolute perfectionism—the belief that one ought to be perfect everywhere, all the time, and to everyone. In this system of thought, mistakes are repugnant and viewed with scorn as they’re aberrations rather than integral parts.
Additionally, the absolute perfectionist fails to consider the trade-offs. They don’t believe that being perfect (or close to it) in one environment means you likely won’t be in another. They attempt to merge all contradictory traits into one harmonious and flawless system, eliminating all weaknesses.
Absolute perfectionism, the chase for the impossible, becomes a way of using shame in the present so they won’t have to deal with it in the future or, to be precise, ever again. This worldview is highly intoxicating, and counterarguments are often met with resistance: “Are you saying that I shouldn’t try to be great?” “Am I not allowed to want more?” These questions implicitly minimize this way of being, making it seem as though the perfectionist merely wants what most do—the chance to strive for more. Yet, greatness isn’t the issue; the extreme expectation is. (Wanting more is one thing; expecting to exist in a state of limitlessness is another.) Greatness can still be pursued. They don’t have to discard perfectionism altogether but would need to accept a more realistic version of it.
On the other end of the spectrum is something called relative perfectionism. This version of the construct views perfectionism as a process rather than an end state—a constant striving to become a better fit in one’s environment. Considering evolution by natural selection, species evolve to become better adapted to their environments, whether they become more or less hairy, faster or stronger, shorter or taller. Natural selection shapes them, with the surviving ones thriving in some particular environment. This means that one environment may be a good fit while another isn’t.
Applying the concept of adaptation to perfectionism, we may argue that perfectionism ought to be the pursuit of becoming a better fit for one’s environment, whatever it is. If you’re an athlete, it’s perfecting your ability in a sport. If you’re an academic, it’s learning more about your discipline and understanding its complexities. Equally as important is expecting and accepting your mistakes. Relative perfectionism accounts for them, meaning this version of perfectionism provides a satisfactory explanation for why they exist—if we consider “mistakes” as implying inferior versions of ourselves, then they’re natural parts of the evolutionary process of adaptation, which takes time. Just as more suitable species survive and thrive and just as nature learns from its mistakes, metaphorically speaking, we utilize ours to become better. On the other hand, absolute perfectionism views mistakes as anomalies that ought to be discarded as quickly as possible.
Nature is allowed to make mistakes, and so are we. The perfectionist tends to consider any alternative as a slippery slope, but I argue that without self-forgiveness, accepting mistakes as inevitable and necessary, the tendency to berate and expect flawlessness will eventually cause a crash. When perfectionists enter treatment, they want a therapist to tell them how to eliminate their symptoms so they can return to perfecting. At this stage, their shame, disassociated from any self-forgiveness, feels unmanageable. But the only remedy is the thing they fear snowballing into apathy. So, they cower from it.
Relative perfectionism, however, is a bit of a misnomer because the “perfect fit” doesn’t exist, only one that may be better than others. This means that somewhere down the line, someone better able than you might take your place. So, this version of perfectionism is more frightening while less overwhelming: a bit paradoxical. Ultimately, it entails the acceptance of reality as ever-changing, with you, perhaps, at the top for some amount of time.
As much of nature evolves, we learn to accept the pursuit of perfection as a chiseling away of our rough spots, a dying of sorts of our former selves. And it entails the insight that while we may fit in one environment, our talents may be useless in another. Thus, we won’t become universally loved. For me personally, due to my social anxiety, I likely won’t ever become a great speaker, but I make up for that with my writing. As I accept and expect one limitation, I focus most of my efforts on developing my craft in another area, hoping that doing so at least makes me slightly better in the one I’m really limited in.
Important to note is the perfectionistic tendency to generalize, fearing the worst based on some flaw. So, for example, I could tell myself that my limitations in public speaking imply my stupidity, thereby implying that I’m a poor writer. In reality, then, I need to be good at every relevant task, or else I’m actually bad at every relevant task.
Instead, I tell myself that public speaking is hard for me because it removes time to think and increases stress, making clarity less likely. Usually, after I feel terrible about some lecture or media appearance, I write an article to remind myself that I really do understand what I’m talking about, even if I struggle to articulate it publicly. Obviously, this isn’t an either/or question; I can certainly attempt to improve my ability to communicate verbally. But the overall point is that, regardless of where and how we improve, we have to remind ourselves that nature takes its time, whether with its species or with us. And, even then, we’ll still have to reckon with our limitations.