P is for Perfectionism

The beginning of the healing journey is admitting the problem

The other day, I found myself devastated at the thought of letting people down, whether it was a writing client, an artistic collaborator, or anyone in my personal life. As much as fall is my favorite season, it holds many challenging anniversaries and an incredibly annoying audition season in the opera world. Evolutionarily, we should be preparing for hibernation, not trying to have our most productive quarter. I got overwhelmed, so sue me. 

“You’re a perfectionist,” said my partner. “Me? No… I make mistakes all the time. That isn’t perfectionism.” Perfectionism meant perfect, no? And I’m far from that. As all these thoughts ran through my mind, I found the absurdity smack in the middle of my train of thought. Perfectionism is beating oneself up for not being perfect, and as an imperfect person, that made me morally reprehensible. Even in acknowledging my perfectionism, I still managed to beat myself up, which is precisely what a perfectionist would do. Suspicious…

My name is Alexa Rosenberg, and I’m a perfectionist. This has affected my relationships with loved ones, my professional work output, my ability to make expressive and honest art, and my ability to make art. It stresses me out to oblivion and is just plain old exhausting. It’s done more harm than good. 

Classical musicians notoriously battle with this. We are told that geniuses write the music we serve, and if you aren’t precise or perfectly expressive, Mozart will come up from his grave and slap you upside the head (as if dead Mozart has nothing better to do). We should take our art seriously, but it’s just art. I reminded a student yesterday that we were making silly noises and not performing heart surgery. No one is in danger, and no one will be harmed, yet so many of us are held hostage in fear of the consequences of our mistakes, even those who’ve left the field of music. 

So here I was, panicking about my word choice for a client’s task. My ancestors didn’t escape the pogroms for me to have these cortisol levels over an email. I know I make mistakes all the time. I’m the first to admit it, but should I punish myself for each one? Yes. I mean, no. Sorry, that’s the educational trauma talking again.

So, my perfectionists, sorry to break it to you, but you’re spending too much energy on potential mistakes. We know this already, but I’m telling you again because you don’t listen because you’re too busy being preoccupied with yourself. Yep, I said that.

Now what? Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t get that far, but at least I can laugh at myself as I go through the journey, and hopefully, you can, too.