I am a perfectionist, always have been. Before I had a spouse and children, the only person my perfectionist attitude affected was me. However, that has all changed, and I must now find coping mechanisms before I ruin my marriage and my children.
All my life I have been driven toward perfection. I had to be the best at everything, no mater what. When I first starting teaching, I had myself so worked up that I developed stress hives and landed in the hospital numerous times. I tried running, other exercising, and even therapy; however, I was simply convinced that my body and brain were wired to be highly anxious and overly stressed. Over the years, I have tried every anti-anxiety medicine that exists. They worked for about two to three months, but after that, I was back to my panicked, frenzied self.
Once I became pregnant, I had to give up the anxiety medicines and simply deal with my inner turmoil. After each daughter was born, my worries, my fears, and my perfectionism grew, almost out of control. I again sought the help of my doctor and anti-anxiety prescriptions. Nothing helped. I struggled inside, never quite capable of finding inner peace, no matter how hard I tried or prayed.
As my daughters grow older, my problems only worsen. Girl drama and mama drama have nearly sent me over the edge this year. I have one drama queen daughter and one, who like myself, is an extreme perfectionist. I guess I hit the wall the other night when I discovered what I have done to my oldest daughter. I was preparing to take my nightly shower when I noticed a clump of hair in the bathroom trash can. Ordinarily I don’t worry about this; my hair falls out by the handful. However, the hair was not mine. The beautiful golden locks belonged to my oldest daughter. I immediately went to her room to question her. She told me the hair fell out when she was brushing it, but I did not buy that story. I left her room and returned to the shower.
As the hot water cascaded over me, I cried and pondered the situation. Something was just not right. So, after my shower, I returned to her room. What she told me caused me to run from her room, tears streaming down my face. She told me that she was frustrated with her homework, so she simply ripped her hair out. I felt like a failure as a mother, the way I have felt many, many times over the years. What had I done to my beautiful girl? Had I put so much pressure on her that she was resorting to physical pain to escape my rants and nagging? I crawled into bed beside her and apologized profusely. I made her a promise that night, and it went like this:
I told her that I will, from now on, back off and allow her to take charge of her own life in terms of school, assignments, and the like. I promised to be there for her but not try to control the situation, which is so my normal personality. I vowed to always be ready to help but promised to stay in the background. This decision was very difficult for me, but seeing my daughter’s locks of hair in the trash can woke me up, sent a scare through me. I know how it feels to be full of anxiety and panic stricken. I do not want that for either one of my children. Lucky for me, my husband is a saint. He loves me and, although he could never begin to understand how I am wired, he stands by me through it all. I am hoping that I have not permanently damaged either daughter. As a mother, I would give anything and do anything for either one of my girls. They are my life and always will be. Letting go was the hardest but most important decision I have made thus far in my life.
