Minus 33%

Ch. 1 – What’s Wrong?

For the third time, she offered me anti-depressants. She said it would be a low dose, just to get me back on my feet. For the third time, I said, “No thank you”. Was I really that bad? I mean I thought I was getting better.

I know I can be dramatic. Maybe she just thinks I’m much worse than I really am. I come here every week and dump all my shit on her, but she doesn’t see me outside of this hour of purging. She doesn’t see me when I’m laughing with my friends, or singing with my band, or flirting with some boy at a bar. I have plenty of moments of joy. It’s just sometimes they are dampened by a subtle cloud of depression. This cloud drifts and grows smaller and bigger depending on the day. Sometimes there’s a storm, sometimes it’s just quiet and slyly questioning everything with the ever bottomless “What’s the point?”. It’s been with me so long I used to not even notice it was there. That is until my unconscious unraveled to the surface in painful patterns. Then I had no choice but to face it, to pay attention to the parts of me dragging me down, begging to be heard.

It’s my second time in therapy. Going on 2 years now. She mustered up the courage to ask me why I didn’t want to take the anti-depressants. Because I feel like it would be admitting defeat, I said, I feel like it would mean I failed. “It’s interesting”, she said, “I’m offering you a low dose anti-depressant just for a little while to help you out, and you don’t want to accept help, because you think it means you are a failure.” I might have chuckled when she said that, as I often do in therapy when I realize that I contradict myself. I am, after all, only there for help. Her words got me thinking. Do I believe accepting help makes me a failure?

I began to realize how much I punish myself. I started to think of the ways in which I don’t accept help, in which I don’t allow joy or support or relief into my life. I realized it had been a long time since I listened to music. I used to always listen to music when I showered or got dressed, just to keep me company, to keep me sane. But then I stopped because I felt like it was distracting me from my thoughts and feelings, which I must be in tune with in order to know who I really am and what I really want, right? I stopped doing things that I thought were fun because I thought that I had to be focused and I felt like I had to get somewhere and I felt like I had to be something or someone. I started to see all the little ways in which I was making life harder on myself. Why do I do this? Why do I make life hard on myself? Why do I find ways to temper happiness?

So I started listening to music again, I started to watch mindless TV shows again and I started to look for ways in which I could relieve some of the pain, or allow in some comfort. Give myself more of a break from this whole “facing myself” thing. Maybe try not being so hard on myself. It was nice. I got momentary pleasure and distraction from these things. At times I was reminded of why I love them. And yet, I still found myself feeling like these things were an escape. Because what I really want to do is change myself. And I’m afraid that doing these things I like and enjoy is just procrastination from doing what I really need to do, which is figure out what’s wrong with me and fix it.

I’ve spent most of my life feeling like there is something inherently wrong with me. Like I’m missing something that everybody else has. Like God forgot to insert some little piece of information, some little strand of common sense in to my mind. My friends and family insist that it’s not true, that there’s nothing wrong with me. But there is. What’s wrong with me is that I think that there is something wrong with me, but that is still something wrong with me, isn’t it?

Ch. 2 – My Disease.

Yoga has proven to be as much my therapy as well, therapy. My teacher says that you can do yoga, and work really hard at it, and it will help you in your life, or you can forget yoga, and just have faith. Since I can’t have faith, I do yoga.

Yoga gives me, my body, my mind, my spirit, a map to follow. A safe playground to experience myself and my being. It’s just about the only time of day that I give myself permission to just be in my body, and just be alive. It’s a set space where repetitive movements, and attempts at postures are somehow comforting. They satiate both my desire and need to feel like I’m working hard, as well as validate my nagging feeling that I am not, nor will I ever be good enough, and yet on the yoga mat, that’s ok. It’s ok on my yoga mat if I can’t do a pose perfectly, because my teacher says it’s ok. Because the sutras say, that it’s not about getting the pose right, it’s about how you move into the pose, and whether or not you are breathing and present. That is all that matters. I try to transpose this into my life. But it’s much harder to believe off the mat, that my best is really good enough. Off the mat I fall for the lies that my mind likes to tell:

-You are not worthy unless you are productive.

-You should always be doing something useful.

-You must become perfect, or you will not be loved.

Which leads me to what I have come to call, the disease behind my disease, a.k.a. perfectionism. As unconscious drives have risen into consciousness, I have come to believe that this is the source of most of my anguish and depression. I have a core belief that I have carried for many years, that I will never be truly loved, until I am perfect. Perfectly charming, perfectly intelligent, perfectly vulnerable, perfectly intrusive, perfectly tame, perfectly kind, perfectly humorous, perfectly perfect.

Perfect = Love

Imperfect = No love

The problem with this way of thinking is that, when love comes into my life, I reject it because I know I’m not perfect, so it can’t be real love, right?

My friend Mari says I shouldn’t think of it as a disease, but as coping mechanism, as a way that I developed to survive my childhood. Self-preservation or something like that. I suppose she is right, and I suppose maybe I could be a little more gentle on myself if I look at it that way. But frankly, it feels more like a disease. It feels like cancer. Because it’s my very perfectionism that is actually devouring me for being a perfectionist.

For example, I do this thing I call “zeroing out”. It’s like a button I push in my mind that makes everything I accomplished basically zero out. You see in perfectionism, the tiniest flaw destroys the whole. When one thing isn’t right, like a house of cards, everything else topples over. All the effort you made, all the work you did, is rendered worthless. I “zero out” several times throughout the day. Despite all I have done, I feel like I have done nothing, and despite any progress I have made, I feel like I‘ve gotten nowhere. I’ve served no purpose and I’m just another day behind.

Perhaps the worst thing about perfectionism, is it’s like programming. It’s not something you can take off. It’s always there. You are either trying to be perfect, or you are trying to be perfect at not being perfect. Or, you are trying to be perfect at not trying to be perfect at being imperfect. And it is literally an attempt at the impossible. Yet my stubborn mind keeps insisting it’s the only way that I will get what I want.

Needless to say, it’s exhausting, and of course depressing. Because every day I live my life for the day that I am perfect, and everyday I fail. I don’t get closer to being perfect, I just get farther and farther away.

Ch. 3 – The Lies Of The Mind.

When I did my yoga training last year, we had a special guest speaker by the name of Martina Ziska. A lovely yogi with such an air of wisdom about her that we all sat at the edge of our seats knowing it was important to absorb every word she said. We took turns asking questions, and finally it was my turn. Not surprisingly, I asked about perfectionism in yoga.

It seemed to me that yoga can really feed into perfectionism. Often times instruction is very specific. We spend a lot of time talking about and refining details of the practice down to our fingers and toes. An inhale is tied to a very specific movement, as well as an exhale. There is an emphasis on correct placement and accuracy in our transitions. Its about moving consciously, but it seems to me it’s really easy to get caught up in this idea of “doing it perfectly”. And so I wondered, is perfectionism something to be cautious of in yoga? And how do we find the balance between effort and ease, when our calibration is off?

Martina listened, and as I spoke, I felt as though she didn’t hear what I said, she felt what I meant. When I finished my question, she looked me in the eyes from across the room, and as though sensing the kind of person that I am, she said, “Oh yes, I used to be like you”. Then she simply said, “Approach everything with minus 33%”. At first I wasn’t sure what she meant, but after some thought I came to understand, that my hundred percent, is actually trying too hard. She was suggesting that I back off.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised by this comment. I had had other yoga teachers say similar things to me. One said, “Just because it’s easy for you, doesn’t mean you are not doing it”, in other words, you don’t have to make it hard on yourself just because it comes naturally. And another one said, “More ease, less effort”.

So I tried to lessen my effort. Minus 33%, felt like way too much, so I started at minus 3%, and moved up, or down, from there. I started in yoga, and then I let it seep into my dating life, and my work life. It was at times a relief, and at times the catalyst of sheer panic as to what might happen because of my lessened efforts. What would fall apart? What disaster would unfold? Who would die?

You see, the difficult part about minus 33% for a perfectionist like me is, it literally feels like you’re giving up, like you’re not trying at all. It feels as though everything that you fear, that you are always trying to prevent from happening, is going to happen. Minus 33%, is actually terrifying.

You start to realize how you mold your life to satiate your desire for perfection. You make every decision to appease your mind and it’s judgments of right and wrong, good enough and not good enough, worthy and unworthy. You are a slave to your own preconceptions and patterns and judgments, and for what? Because you are afraid of what your mind might say if you don’t follow it’s instruction? Because you don’t want to hear the raging voice of fear that insists it’s just trying to protect you? Because on some unconscious level you literally feel like if you don’t do what your mind says you should, you will die?

So you just keep trying to attempt the impossible; to be everything, to everyone, all of the time. Until one day, it breaks you. Until you fall and this time, you can’t get back up. Until you realize that the “pay off” your mind keeps promising you is lie. You will not be more loved, or more worthy, or more accepted, or more peaceful, or more happy, if you are perfect. You just won’t.

I used to joke that it’s a miracle I’m not an alcoholic. The truth is I have the personality of an addict. But I’ve always been so painfully aware of it and determined not to be one that it’s almost become my addiction to avoid addiction. In fact, I think it’s fair to say, my addiction has been striving for perfection. How crazy is that?

Perfectionism is a disease of the mind. And it’s quite a destructive one. But the truth is, it’s not who I am. My perfectionism is who I think I should be, and is therefore by definition, a war against myself. An inability to accept myself the way I am (I never learned how to), a rejection of my very self (one that remains partially hidden behind a variety of pre-developed masks) and an insistence, that me alone, as I am, without adornment, never has, and never will be good enough, worthy, or lovable. Well no wonder I’m depressed.

Ch. 4 – Tell The Truth.

Why in the world would I divulge this information on a public blog? Why in the world would I share these things with friends and strangers? Three reasons:

1)   I share these things with you because I know that I can’t be the only one that feels this way. I may have my own unique experience of this. But I know much of it is universal, and in this past year I’ve come to realize how powerful the words “me too” are.

2)   I share this quite simply, because it’s the truth. And what I’ve come to learn about the truth is it doesn’t get smaller the more you ignore it. It only gets bigger.

3)   I share this because I can no longer hide it. It’s hiding it that has been slowly killing me. The shame I feel both for being imperfect, and for being a perfectionist has been enough to keep me hiding from the world. And I refuse to continue doing so.

Thanks to therapy, which has helped me understand where my perfectionism comes from, and practicing yoga, which has helped me cope with and process life as it is, I’ve learned to sit in the imperfection, to sit in the pain, the discomfort, the ugliness, and just let it be. It still doesn’t change how shitty it feels, but it’s usually not half as bad as I think it is, and it doesn’t last as long as I fear it will. At least now I’ve learned that it won’t kill me. And I get better and better, as I learn to tolerate the parts of myself that my parents, and those I grew up around, didn’t know how to tolerate in themselves. Basically, my utmost humanity.

I didn’t take the anti-depressants. I decided to stick with learning to take better care of myself, doing yoga, resting and learning to love and accept myself more. Treat myself with kindness and respect. Fall in love with my life. Learn to listen to me. To really listen to me in a way that perhaps nobody has ever listened to me. Because what I’ve so desperately wanted someone else to give me, is something I can only give myself. And the only way to do this, is imperfectly. Because in this reality, there are no clear cut answers. There is more gray, than black and white. The path is changing and unpredictable. And I may fall, and I may stumble, and I may always cross paths with depression and perfectionism. But in the end they are only here to teach me who I am and who I am not. Exploring them and learning from them can only lead me to a better understanding of myself.  Know thyself, right?

Now, I can honestly say, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt really depressed. I feel sad sometimes, or scared, or happy, or angry. Thankfully I feel a lot of things! And so, may my road continue to be messy, unruly and most imperfect, for at least now I have joined the living.

Ellie Araiza

P.S. Confession: As a recovering perfectionist it has taken me over a year to publish this blog because I never felt it was perfect enough. That said, coming back to it time and time again, and working on it, has proven to be extremely healing. Today I release it, as imperfect and flawed as I. Cheers to minus 33%!