Imperfect Perfectionist

per·fec·tion·ist [pərˈfekSH(ə)nəst]

Noun: a person who refuses to accept any standard short of perfection.

Adjective: refusing to accept any standard short of perfection.

I was recently accused of being a perfectionist.

I say accused because the term was not altogether complimentary.

A perfectionist sets standards for themselves that they judge themselves against, and assume others judge them in a similar manner.

“Good enough” is not in the perfectionist’s vocabulary other than to mean failure.

“Try” is an excuse used when you fail.

“Everybody is human, and humans are imperfect” is not only another euphemism for failure, but is a challenge to disprove the adage, because everybody is ‘perfect’ at something, right?

Therefore, depending on how harsh one judges themselves, perfectionists are in a constant state of failure. The perfectionist is often unable to accept praise for quality product, because s/he will be able to point to the faults in the final product, and wonders why other cannot see the often-minuscule faults and errors that plague, and indeed haunt them.

For the general population, somebody who strives for and often achieves outstanding, even exemplary, results, occasional or ongoing praise is accepted, albeit reluctantly, depending on the resolve of the individual’s humility.

However, consider a perfectionist who has a persistent, and often overwhelming and unwavering belief of unworthiness, coupled with occasional genuine failure (perfectionists know that Second Place is just the first in a long line of losers) and you have the perfect recipe for deteriorating mental wellness that gets worse every time you fail.

The genuine failure does not have to be in the present, but failure is failure whether it is a “B” in Grade 10 History or an adult prison sentence, and stands out in the mind of the perfectionist as a personal blight that EVERYBODY can see.

Since failure is unforgivable (and often unavoidable), the imperfect perfectionist follows Alice down the spiraling rabbit hole drawing the perfectionist’s mind to deeper malaise that s/he may not be able to come out of without help.

The conundrum being that since the perfectionist is, by definition perfect, asking for and/or receiving assistance comes at great personal cost – and not everybody is willing or able to pay that cost (personal or monetary) even if it means further deteriorating mental wellness.

That being said, there is professional help available to keep the imperfect perfectionist off the ledge, but the journey out of the rabbit hole can be a long and winding experience – just ask Alice.

#BellLetsTalk

#BellLetsTalk day sounds like a great initiative to start a conversation, but it may not be for everybody. Stigma may be socially unacceptable, although legal, but then again so is tobacco use, but 17% of Canadians continue to legally smoke, despite social pressures to the contrary.

The stigma against those with mental wellness issues is more profound in those who are middle aged – the generation of Canadians who are in middle and senior management, those who make decisions about hiring, retention, promotion, and dismissal policies for organizations large and small.

Consider that corporate memories are long because everything gets written down. Disclose an issue with mental wellness, you get a pat on the shoulder with a ‘…we’re here for you…’ and a note goes in your personnel file. The next time there is a promotion opportunity or corporate downsizing, see how fast action is taken to the detriment of the stressed, depressed, or anxious, employee as stigma raises its ugly little head. 

It matters not of it is the same week, or years later, the mental wellness issue will still be written down and accessible to generations of Human Resource Managers for their criteria consideration. 

Thanks to #BellLetsTalk there may be a few more people talking about mental wellness, and certainly it will give a financial shot in the arm to the CMHA, however, the chances of altering deep-set, decades aged thought processes that mental illness = ‘crazy’, 'Funny Farm Fodder’, ‘bag of nuts’, or worse, in less than two generations (40+ years) is unreasonable to expect.

Returning to my original analogy; it has been 53 years since the 1964 landmark report, released by US Surgeon General Dr. Luther Terry, linking smoking to lung cancer and heart disease, yet people continue intentionally inhale carcinogens found in smoldering tobacco. Will it take just as long to reduce the stigma of mental wellness issues?

Truths

My truths are my truths,

And form my reality.

Your truths are your truths,

And form your reality.

The difference is I accept that you believe

your truths are the only truths that matter.

My truths include a passive acceptance,

that I lack worthiness in the world as a whole,

that the incessant barrage of noise is the truth,

because there is little else to hear,

and that noise has few, if any positive undertones.

My truths include a passive flirting with death,

as a welcoming mistress who has invited me

into her home on occasion with the sweet seduction

of acceptance, not found in any other place hitherto known.

Her doorstep has welcomed me before others have cruelly

snatched me away from her welcoming, non-judgmental arms.

My truths demand that I accept your beliefs publicly,

while privately ridiculing them,

else be slotted into institutionalized care “for your own good”

a judgement unto itself, foisted upon others than for no other reason,

than to protect their own truth as being the one and only, omniscient truth.

My truth hears judgements in voice, body language and actions.

Working at a computer terminal means not getting your hands dirty

or getting exercise, therefore it is not really work, therefore valueless.

Working at a computer terminal means getting fatter by the minute

for no other reason than to make others miserable.

Relaxation at the same terminal is narrow minded, selfish and anti-social,

Therefore unworthy of attention, because obviously,

The laptop is more important than people.

My truth knows that is no value in developing relationships

beyond the surface with anyone as they can, and do, desert you.

It is by far easier to avoid meaningful relationships

beyond the very immediate family, 
because as soon as the common bond is broken,

friendships disappear faster than mists in the sunlight.

My truths are based on repetitive and consistent analysis

provided by the one closest to me,

that education does not make a person smart – it makes them educated,

and I can be simultaneously well educated and too stupid to live,

missing a freeway turn-off is one of many examples.

My truths are my truths,

And form my reality.

Your truths are your truths,

And form your reality.

The difference is I accept that you believe

your truths are the only truths that matter.

Well Dwellers

At this time of year (December/January) the symptoms of those living with, and often suffering from clinical depression are amplified, often to the point of self-destruction. Statistics show us that the majority of self-destructive behaviour happens not during the annual dark days of 21 – 27 of December, but 30 – 60 days later, long after the seasonal greetings of “Good Will To All Men” are nothing more than a distant memory.

Imagine yourself living in a well - a well-dweller if you will.

Your life as you know it may be a bit tighter than others might experience it, but it is YOUR well. You may not have chosen this particular well as it is deep, dank, dark, and seemingly inescapable without super powers that you simply do not have – so you accept your situation an try to move through life the best way you know how – putting one foot in front of the other, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, all while being surrounded by the walls of the well that nobody else can see.

For 42 weeks of the year your well serves you well – it keeps you safe from the do-gooders who might want to use THEIR super powers to free you from your well, often with good intentions, but with no concept of the depth and strength of the walls of your well.

Then there is Thanksgiving in October and a soft start to the silly season.

Do-Gooders come out of the woodwork – people who would not give you the time of day for the rest of the year, have perma-grins and are spouting off any variety of deep winter greetings that are intended to chip away at the well walls they cannot even see.

The culmination of these seasonal well-wishers ends sometime late on the 25^th of December; the more aggressive of these greeters last an additional 24 hours.

The sheer volume of the “well-wishers” who are blissfully unaware of your well, can drown out the coping mechanisms you have developed to the point that these coping mechanisms start to fail, cracks appearing at the bottom of the well, driving you deeper into the abyss.

As one slips deeper into this abyss, social integrations fade (after all, who wants to be in in the company of a grouch in the “Hap- Hap-Happiest time of the year”?) and Durkheim’s theories are proven over and over.

Your demeanor DOES NOT CHANGE throughout these eight to ten weeks  as indeed your well is still your reality, and you get labelled with any number of epitaphs:  ‘Grouch’, ‘Grinch’, and ‘Scrooge’ being the most polite of the names muttered under the breaths of the better people in society, including ‘friends’ and family.

Fortunately by December 27^th life is back to your normal for the next 42 weeks as people revert to ignoring that which does not affect them directly.

In the meantime, your well has gotten slightly deeper, more dank, and darker, making social integration slightly – almost unperceivably – more difficult for another year – until Thanksgiving, when the cycle repeats.

So if you are a do-gooder who wants to help, what can you do?

1. ASK if the Well-Dweller wants anything (sometimes, sitting silently with a coffee is enough).
   
2. Consider Eeyore: Even though Eeyore is clinically depressed, he still gets invited to participate in adventures and shenanigans with all of his friends, and they never expect him to fell happy, they just love him anyway and never leave him behind or ask him to change.
   
3. Do not assume the well-dweller want to talk because you do. Not every well-dweller is able to verbalize in terms that other non-well-dwellers understand. They may have alternate means of interpreting their pain – from writing to music to interpretive dance.
   
4. Unless you have a Masters in Clinical Counselling – if you REALLY want to talk about it – be prepared for the long haul. Well-dwellers may have been in their situation for decades, sinking deeper into the abyss day by day – it can easily take just as long to bring them out of the well. If you are not prepared to potentially spend years listening to what will sound like incessant whining, don’t even start (see #1 & 2 above).

Depression in Older Men

New research (Feb 2016) shows that men with depression view their condition in a very negative way, and that depression in elderly men is more widespread than perhaps most of us realize.

University of British Columbia (UBC) researchers have determined that in a general sense society has compassion and understanding for men who suffer from feelings of sadness, anxiety, and despair. In other words, depression is an acceptable condition in men. However, men with depression often think of themselves as a burden on people or a disappointment to those around them.

Following a survey of the participants, UBC nursing professor John Oliffe who happens to focus on men’s health said, “…it is concerning that the men with depression or suicidal thoughts felt a strong stigma around their condition, and many were afraid of being discovered.”

As many mental health experts point out, fear of speaking out about depression can prevent a person from getting the help they need and it can make the depression worse, thus leading to all sorts of problems, including isolation.

http://www.belmarrahealth.com/depression-in-elderly-men-2016-updates-symptoms-causes-and-treatment/

Hamburger Meat

This is a story of abuse.

This is an honest, open story from a young woman about her marriage. There are some powerful truths spoken here, worthy of notice and reflection.

As reflected below “… Or worse yet, they’ll actually come to believe those labels are true…”. When this happens, depression can take a steady hold to the point of suicide ideation and potentially, suicide completion.

From  Reddit:

My “Aha Moment” happened because of a package of hamburger meat. I asked my husband to stop by the store to pick up a few things for dinner, and when he got home, he plopped the bag on the counter. I started pulling things out of the bag, and realized he’d gotten the 70/30 hamburger meat – which means it’s 70% lean and 30% fat.

I asked, “What’s this?”

“Hamburger meat,” he replied, slightly confused.

“You didn’t get the right kind,” I said.

“I didn’t?” He replied with his brow furrowed. ” Was there some other brand you wanted or something?”

“No. You’re missing the point, ” I said. “You got the 70/30. I always get at least the 80/20.”

He laughed. “Oh. That’s all? I thought I’d really messed up or something.”

That’s how it started. I launched into him. I berated him for not being smarter. Why would he not get the more healthy option? Did he even read the labels? Why can’t I trust him? Do I need to spell out every little thing for him in minute detail so he gets it right? Also, and the thing I was probably most offended by, why wasn’t he more observant? How could he not have noticed over the years what I always get? Does he not pay attention to anything I do?

As he sat there, bearing the brunt of my righteous indignation and muttering responses like, “I never noticed,” “I really don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” and “I’ll get it right next time,” I saw his face gradually take on an expression that I’d seen on him a lot in recent years. It was a combination of resignation and demoralization. He looked eerily like our son does when he gets chastised. That’s when it hit me. “Why am I doing this? I’m not his mom.”

I suddenly felt terrible. And embarrassed for myself. He was right. It really wasn’t anything to get bent out of shape over. And there I was doing just that. Over a silly package of hamburger meat that he dutifully picked up from the grocery store just like I asked. If I had specific requirements, I should have been clearer. I didn’t know how to gracefully extract myself from the conversation without coming across like I have some kind of split personality, so I just mumbled something like, “Yeah. I guess we’ll make do with this. I’m going to start dinner.”

He seemed relieved it was over and he left the kitchen.

And then I sat there and thought long and hard about what I’d just done. And what I’d been doing to him for years, probably. The “hamburger meat moment,” as I’ve come to call it, certainly wasn’t the first time I scolded him for not doing something the way I thought it should be done. He was always putting something away in the wrong place. Or leaving something out. Or neglecting to do something altogether. And I was always right there to point it out to him.

Why do I do that? How does it benefit me to constantly belittle my husband?
The man that I’ve taken as my partner in life.
The father of my children.
The guy I want to have by my side as I grow old.
Why do I do what women are so often accused of, and try to change the way he does every little thing? Do I feel like I’m accomplishing something? Clearly not if I feel I have to keep doing it. Why do I think it’s reasonable to expect him to remember everything I want and do it just that way? The instances in which he does something differently, does it mean he’s wrong? When did “my way” become “the only way?” When did it become okay to constantly correct him and lecture him and point out every little thing I didn’t like as if he were making some kind of mistake?

And how does it benefit him? Does it make him think, “Wow! I’m sure glad she was there to set me straight?” I highly doubt it. He probably feels like I’m harping on him for no reason whatsoever. And it I’m pretty sure it makes him think his best approach in regards to me is to either stop doing things around the house, or avoid me altogether.

Two cases in point.
#1. I recently found a shard of glass on the kitchen floor. I asked him what happened. He said he broke a glass the night before. When I asked why he didn’t tell me, he said, “I just cleaned it up and threw it away because I didn’t want you to have a conniption fit over it.”
#2. I was taking out the trash and found a pair of blue tube socks in the bin outside. I asked him what happened and why he’d thrown them away. He said, “They accidentally got in the wash with my jeans. Every time I put in laundry, you feel the need to remind me not to mix colors and whites. I didn’t want you to see them and reinforce your obvious belief that I don’t know how to wash clothes after 35 years.”

So it got to the point where he felt it was a better idea — or just plain easier — to cover things up than admit he made a human error. What kind of environment have I created where he feels he’s not allowed to make mistakes?

And let’s look at these “offenses”:

A broken glass.

A pair of blue tube socks.

Both common mistakes that anyone could have made.
 But he was right.
Regarding the glass, I not only pointed out his clumsiness for breaking it, but also due to the shard I found, his sad attempt at cleaning it up.
As for the socks, even though he’d clearly stated it was an accident, I gave him a verbal lesson about making sure he pays more attention when he’s sorting clothes.
Whenever any issues like this arise, he’ll sit there and take it for a little bit, but always responds in the end with something like, “I guess it just doesn’t matter that much to me.”

I know now that what he means is, “this thing that has you so upset is a small detail, or a matter of opinion, or a preference, and I don’t see why you’re making it such a big deal.” But from my end I came to interpret it over time that he didn’t care about my happiness or trying to do things the way I think they should be done. I came to view it like “this guy just doesn’t get it.” I am clearly the brains of this operation.

I started thinking about what I’d observed with my friends’ relationships, and things my girlfriends would complain about regarding their husbands, and I realized that I wasn’t alone. Somehow, too many women have fallen into the belief that Wife Always Knows Best. There’s even a phrase to reinforce it: “Happy wife, happy life.”
That doesn’t leave a lot of room for his opinions, does it?

It’s an easy stereotype to buy into. Look at the media. Movies, TV, advertisements – they’re all filled with images of hapless husbands and clever wives. He can’t cook. He can’t take care of the kids. If you send him out to get three things, he’ll come back with two — and they’ll both be wrong. We see it again and again.

What this constant nagging and harping does is send a message to our husbands that says:

“… we don’t respect you. We don’t think you’re smart enough to do things right. We expect you to mess up. And when you do, you’ll be called out on it swiftly and without reservation...”

Given this kind of negative reinforcement over time, he feels like nothing he can do is right (in your eyes). If he’s confident with himself and who he is, he’ll come to resent you. If he’s at all unsure about himself, he’ll start to believe you, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Neither one is a desirable, beneficial outcome to you, him or the marriage.

Did my husband do the same to me?

Just as I’m sure there are untold numbers of women who don’t ever do this kind of thing to their husbands, I’m sure there are men who do it to their wives too. But I don’t think of it as a typical male characteristic. As I sat and thought about it, I realized my husband didn’t display the same behavior toward me. I even thought about some of the times I really did make mistakes.

The time I backed into the gate and scratched the car? He never said a word about it.

The time I was making dinner, got distracted by a call from my mom, and burned it to cinders? He just said, “We can just order a pizza.”

The time I tried to put the new patio furniture together and left his good tools out in the rain? “Accidents happen,” was his only response.

I shuddered to think what I would have said had the shoe been on the other foot and he’d made those mistakes.

So is he just a better person than me?
Why doesn’t he bite my head off when I don’t do things the way he likes? I’d be a fool to think it doesn’t happen. And yet I don’t remember him ever calling me out on it. It doesn’t seem he’s as intent as changing the way I do things.
But why?

Maybe I should take what’s he always said at face value. The fact that these little things “really don’t matter that much to him” is not a sign that he’s lazy, or that he’s incapable of learning, or that he just doesn’t give a damn about what I want. Maybe to him, the small details are not that important in his mind — and justifiably so. They’re not the kinds of things to start fights over. They’re not the kinds of things he needs to change about me. It certainly doesn’t make him dumb or inept. He’s just not as concerned with some of the minutia as I am. And it’s why he doesn’t freak out when he’s on the other side of the fence.

The bottom line in all this is that I chose this man as my partner.
He’s not my servant.
He’s not my employee.
He’s not my child.
I didn’t think he was stupid when I married him – otherwise I wouldn’t have. He doesn’t need to be reprimanded by me because I don’t like the way he does some things.

When I got to that point mentally, it then made me start thinking about all the good things about him. He’s intelligent.
He’s a good person.
He’s devoted.
He’s awesome with the kids.
And he does always help around the house. (Just not always to my liking!)
Even more, not only does he refrain from giving me grief when I make mistakes or do things differently than him, he’s always been very agreeable to my way of doing things. And for the most part, if he notices I prefer to do something a certain way, he tries to remember it in the future. Instead of focusing on those wonderful things, I just harped on the negative. And again, I know I’m not alone in this.

If we keep attempting to make our husbands feel small, or foolish, or inept because they occasionally mess up (and I use that term to also mean “do things differently than us”), then eventually they’re going to stop trying to do things.

Or worse yet, they’ll actually come to believe those labels are true.

In my case it’s my husband of 12+ years I’m talking about.

The same man who thanklessly changed my car tire in the rain.

The guy who taught our kids to ride bikes.

The person who stayed with me at the hospital all night when my mom was sick.

The man who has always worked hard to make a decent living and support his family.

He knows how to change the oil in the car. He can re-install my computer’s operating system. He lifts things for me that are too heavy and opens stuck jar lids. He shovels the sidewalk. He can put up a ceiling fan. He fixes the toilet when it won’t stop running. I can’t (or don’t) do any of those things. And yet I give him grief about a dish out of place. He’s a good man who does a lot for me, and doesn’t deserve to be harassed over little things that really don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Since my revelation, I try to catch myself when I start to nag. I’m not always 100% consistent, but I know I’ve gotten a lot better. And I’ve seen that one little change make a big improvement in our relationship. Things seem more relaxed. We seem to be getting along better. It think we’re both starting to see each other more as trusted partners, not adversarial opponents at odds with each other in our day-to-day existence. I’ve even come to accept that sometimes his way of doing things may be better!

It takes two to make a partnership. No one is always right and no one is always wrong. And you’re not always going to see eye-to-eye on every little thing. It doesn’t make you smarter, or superior, or more right to point out every little thing he does that’s not to your liking.
Ladies, remember, it’s just hamburger meat.

Self Diagnosis