Giving Up on Perfect

Chapter 2 Marked by Fear

I am afraid I will lose the respect of my colleagues if I fail in my job responsibilities. Scribbling the words in my notebook, I saw the face of the person across from me light up with understanding. We had been talking about the pressures we felt in the workplace, specifically the high expectations we had for ourselves. Putting tangible form to the fears racing through my mind, the words written in black ink on the white page revealed what was in my heart. Though external factors, such as workplace culture, certainly played a role, our conversation that day reminded me that beneath every behavior is a belief. Like most people, I don’t enjoy failure, and I relish the unplanned proclamation of my weaknesses even less. In my mind, to fail was to expose my deficiencies. So with every effort, nothing but complete investment would suffice. Every detail had to be examined, every error corrected. Only then would I allow myself to rest in a job well done. The problem wasn’t that I wanted to do well in my job. The problem was in my motivation: my goal was to impress people.

A turn from a healthy drive to do our best to an unhealthy, self–reliant addiction to success happens not just when we rely on our own efforts, but also when we wrongfully attach our value to the opinions of others. When that happens, our endeavors, investments, and even the simple tasks we complete become not just a measure of our abilities but also an evaluation of our worth to those around us. No matter how brave we act, the more we fear a lack of happiness or personal failure, the more we try to prevent its occurrence. And the more we try to be perfect or create perfection, the more pronounced the possibility of failure becomes. The end result is a tormenting cycle of cause and effect.

In an article she wrote about her own struggles with perfectionism (“The Dangerous Downsides of Perfectionism”), Amanda Ruggeri references the connection between performance and identity: “Perfectionism isn’t a behaviour… It’s a way of thinking about yourself. The trouble is that, for perfectionists, performance is intertwined with their sense of self. When they don’t succeed, they don’t just feel disappointment about how they did. They feel shame about who ” they are.

Though there are exceptions, most often our fear of failure stems from a real–life experience with pain. Whatever we felt in that moment of disappointment stays with us, and we work hard, whether knowingly or subconsciously, to avoid feeling inadequate ever again. Pain provides great potential to learn, but whether the lessons make us stronger or close us off to others depends on how we see ourselves. To the person who has connected his sense of significance to his performance, failure isn’t just missing the mark; it’s a personal commentary on his value as an individual.

And for the perfectionist, even relationships can become entwined in and intensify our desperate avoidance of failure. We want to be connected to others, but the possibility of our inadequacies becoming visible makes the going trepidatious. Whether we fear rejection or mistreatment, or simply have a distaste for disappointing people, our desire to shape how others see us can lead us into behaviors that are less than honest. If we can’t eliminate our failures, at the very least we will do our best to keep them covered by controlling other people’s perceptions of us. We spin, we skew, we hide. We do whatever it takes to make sure others see only what we want them to see.

The Cover–up

How it became a fascination, I have no idea, but somewhere in the throes of adolescence, I became intrigued with the prospect of being able to sit down in front of a mirror to get ready each morning. I think in some small way, it represented a facet of refinement. Despite the acne still present and my hair still unruly, with the help of a mirror, I could at least posture as someone sophisticated.

Vanity dressers were not in vogue at the time, so my parents and I took to garage sales to find one. Finally, we came across a specimen in fairly good condition. However, one significant difference stood out between it and the dresser I would be giving up. The piece of furniture I was replacing had been made of a solid wood, which could be stripped and refinished without damaging its original construction. In its place would now be a vanity dresser consisting of little more than particle board covered with an oak veneer.

Not only had I given up ample drawer space, I quickly realized how everyday wear and tear would chip away at the beautiful but flimsy top layer of wood grain. I would eventually move out of adolescence and into adulthood, and when I married my husband, the dresser came with me. After a few years of use, the accumulation of blemishes revealed significant segments of the cheaper pressed wood underneath, and the lesson has yet to be forgotten: appearance is a poor exchange for authenticity.

Far more valuable than any piece of furniture, our relationships are subject to the same superficial veneer of perfection. We do our best to cover the particle board of the imperfections we see in ourselves. But in our best attempts to find perfect, we end up sacrificing the quality of true connection, the kind found only in vulnerability.

Most significantly, though, is the danger of distancing ourselves from God. Mistakenly believing we can hide our failures from an all–knowing God, we allow our fear of inadequacy to keep us from being vulnerable with Him. Deceiving ourselves, we think if we keep Him at arm’s length we can somehow keep ourselves from falling short of whatever we believe He expects of us. Even in this way, our desire for control again entangles us in self–reliance.

Originally recorded to warn the Israelites not to put their faith in alliances with other nations, Jeremiah 17:5–6 exposes for us the danger of trusting in human efforts. Indicating that the appearance of more would result in a reality of less, the lesson is still real for us today: “This is what the Lord says: ‘Cursed are those who put their trust in mere humans, who rely on human strength and turn their hearts away from the Lord. They are like stunted shrubs in the desert, with no hope for the future. They will live in the barren wilderness, in an uninhabited salty land.’”

Our ardent attempts to barricade our lives against any form of failure, lack, or insufficiency leave us looking to ourselves rather than trusting the provision and leading of the Holy Spirit. Deuteronomy 13:4 reminds us, “Serve only the Lord your God and fear him alone” (emphasis added). Whether we are relying on our own efforts or finding our value in what other people think of us, trusting in people instead of God is nothing less than idolatry. We may not be bowing down to idols carved by human hands, but our time, energy, and resources become the sacrifice laid on the altar of human expectation.

Meanwhile, wrapped up in our own destructive cycles, we fail to see how we have fallen prey to the enemy’s battle strategy, one he uses against the wellness of our souls. Failure, lack, and unhappiness are not our greatest foes. The enemy is the one who makes us fearful. If we believe his lies, our behaviors will align with what we have believed, and bondage to fear will be the subsequent result.

Jesus told His disciples to be aware of Satan’s deception by reminding them, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy,” but to those who would follow him, He promised “a rich and satisfying life” (John 10:10).

We were made for freedom, and it is the perfection of Christ and His Word that sets us free (Galatians 5:1; James 1:25). When we reject self–driven, performance–focused thought patterns, we learn to rest in God’s goodness. And in this truth we find continuous hope: Jesus never fails. Only a flawless love could have devised such beauty from brokenness.

Chapter Questions:

1. Why will finding our value in others’ opinions gradually lead us into an identity crisis?

2. In what ways has the fear of a lack of happiness or a fear of failure negatively impacted your relationships?

3. What lie have you believed about failure and how has that lie impacted your willingness to be vulnerable with God?

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