I Was a Perfectionist — Until I Had a Third Kid
Perfectionist, obsessive compulsive disorder, Type A, enneagram Type 1 … it’s not hard to see the pattern emerging when I try to describe myself. I have always felt most secure when I’m able to control my environment, and that didn’t go away when I became a mother.
In an anxious season of postpartum and beyond, the sense of free-falling through the complete and total unknown of first-time motherhood left me reeling and determined to control my world even more intensely than before. Even with my second child, when things got harder trying to maintain multiple schedules, I didn’t loosen the reins– I tried to tighten them even further, to preserve my own sense of security with control and perfectionism.
But then my third child came along, and lemme tell y’all – that kid broke me.
For years, I had been happy to give others grace and remind other moms that they weren’t expected to do everything perfectly all the time, but under no circumstances could I accept that same grace for myself. I had to be perfect. No one else had to, but I did.
My therapist reminds me often that perfection is impossible – once a perfectionist thinks they’ve gotten there, they set a new bar for themselves and try to do it even better. It never ends. It’s exhausting. And it took a third child for me to fully realize just how impossible it is.
I simply cannot control the chaos of having three young boys living their best lives under my roof. If I tried, none of us would ever be happy. They wouldn’t be free to be themselves, and I would be crushed under the pressure of trying to achieve perfection. And that wouldn’t serve any of us.
I can’t say that I’m actively embracing the chaos, but I’m practicing giving myself grace. Instead of doubling down, I’m leaning back. Instead of shouting and controlling, I’m breathing through it and ignoring anything that’s not going to result in immediate bodily harm. This does NOT come naturally to me, but sometimes I think this third kid came my way to break down my walls and build me up as a better mother.
I’m not perfect (even when I want to be!), and I’m learning every day, but these three little humans keep chipping away at my perfectionism, and I’m grateful for it. Outside of perfectionism exists the opportunities to be more fun, relaxed, spontaneous, easy-going– words that are not often used to describe me– but the potential is there. I hope my kids remember this version of me.
