A note before I start: This is a post I've had in my head for probably at least four months and in draft form for at least one. I've been holding on to it because it wasn't quite right, because there were far too many conflicting metaphors, because I was too afraid to share. But that's exactly the point, right? So here goes...
It's funny to try to trace your long-held notions back to their root because often you will find that so many of the problems you face stem from the exact same origin. You've been trying to hack them off at ground level separately for years only to find that they're all connected feet below the surface and you are going to need to break out the heavy machinery and dig it all up. And by you, of course, I mean me.
I have always been a rule-following kind of kid. If there's a rule, it must be there for a reason, right? Better to follow it, just to be on the safe side. Who knows what could happen if you break it. For a long time it baffled me how I got this way. My parents were more lenient than most of my friends', I wasn't raised with any particular religion...I think it was just never getting into trouble that led me to believe that it would be the worst thing I could do. The kids that tested the limits found out that the consequences were pretty minor, all things considered, and once you'd done it once it wasn't that hard to keep doing it. I lived in constant anxiety because I didn't know what would happen and a mark on my unblemished record would destroy all I had built.
I have already pontificated on being a perfectionist in recovery, but recently I've been thinking a lot about perfectionism and the concept of building, particularly "building a life". I think this concept is what has caused me a lot of problems, both in terms of "success" (good grades in middle school were important because they were important in high school because they were important in college...sweat all the small stuff because it all adds up!) and in terms of relationships (of all kinds).
That phrase has been stuck in my head for a while now. I heard a friend of mine talk about "building a life" with their significant other and my first reaction was intense jealousy. I thought that was everything I wanted. It is certainly everything I've been taught to want. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that it isn't what I want. Not really.
Building a life implies that there is a firm foundation, that if the soil you started on shifts there can be no shifting with it, only crumbling. In my relationships I am usually the one who builds faster, trying to lay bricks precisely and quickly, following the blueprint I have specifically tailored to everything I think the other person wants so that they will agree to stay in this house we've built together...then when it's clear that they are no longer building in the same direction as I have been I am already too high in the scaffolding and refuse to jump.
When, usually months later, construction finally does cease, the building is left vacant, unfinished, and desolate, but it does not disintegrate. It stays, in a row with the others, haunted by the ghosts of failure, of what could have been. If I had changed the blueprint, if we had worked together, if it were fancier, if it were smaller, if I had tried harder, if, if...
It is of course reasonable, natural, and expected to feel sad when something ends. What I hate is the feeling of loss, not of the other person but of the structure we were building together. I never want to be sadder about losing an imagined future than I am about losing someone I care about.
Also, though I crave safety and security, I am also deeply claustrophobic. I don't want to build a life because I don't want my life to have walls. Instead, I want to share my life.
It is scary to think about it this way because my terrified little perfectionist heart wants to build a perfect fortress with a perfect partner, and be Done. Like it's supposed to be, right? But you're never done until you're dead. You can keep building forever, hoping that the shifting sands will not topple your castle, trying desperately to keep each other within the confines of what you've built, or you can give in to the fluid nature of existence and not try to force it into any particular shape.
I want my life to wash across the soil, picking up and depositing debris as it goes. I want my life to collide with others and create reactions, to mix into a volatile solution, to pool for a time, to recede, to course and change and be changed by those around it. When streams diverge around a solid object in their path that they could not break through together they do not mourn for what could have been. They carry on, permanently and fundamentally changed by the experience of swirling together for a time over the rapids. I want my life to be vast, to flood the landscape, to be fed by many streams at once, to grow and change and keep growing. I want to take the love and experience with me, to give it freely and let it multiply, rather than entombing it within walls, hoarding what I have jealously.
Of course, thinking up pretty metaphors is easy. I am still a scared little rules-obsessed kid whose biggest fear is screwing up. What if I hurt someone? What if I make a mistake? What if I can't take it back? What if I ruin my life? What if I loosen my grip and lose everything? How do you uncurl your fingers after a lifetime of clinging desperately? Thinking about it is easy but feeling and acting on these thoughts gets hard, scary, and messy almost immediately and, all things considered, my life is still pretty pristine. I am lucky. I have planned well. I haven't felt a lot of consequences, and when I have dealt with life's difficulties I've been quick to forget how well I handled them. Maybe next time it will be different. Maybe next time will ruin everything forever. Better be on the safe side.
I wrote this all out because I think it is Important. Because I am exhausted by trying desperately to cling to what I have and where I am. Truthfully, none of this is new. I've been working on this for a long time and I've been making progress, getting braver, but I'm getting to a point where I have to let go of the cliff and jump to get to where I want to go and I know I can do it but I'm too scared and the longer I sit here weighing my options the more my muscles grow weary and start to shake. I've been trying so hard for so long to hold on to everyone I care about all at once and to be completely honest I do not trust the people I love to hold on to me back, even though many of them have proven that they will. It's just safer if I do it all myself. But I am sick and tired of being scared, of holding on for dear life. I want so much more than safety.
So, deep breath. Here goes. I hope if you're reading this you'll stick with me through whatever happens next.
