Fara is one of those souls I just feel as if I connect with. We are on the same wavelength in so many ways. Our love for yoga and passion for a true recovery of freedom is just a few of those. Fara writes with authenticity. She posts on Instagram with vulnerability. She is REAL. She embraces her humanness. I hope her piece touches you in the same way it did for me. Keep up with her journey at @fueling_fara over on Instagram! If you’d like to share your journey to freedom, email me or DM me on Instagram. <3
Finding Freedom from Perfectionism; On and Off the Court
“Do You Consider Yourself a Perfectionist?”
When my therapist asked me this question, I laughed a small but audible chuckle at her absurd question. I thought, this lady is clearly getting the wrong impression of me. I am the farthest thing from a perfectionist. I’m not a stickler for details. My room is a mess. I rarely go the extra mile, and if we’re talking about real running then I quite literally never opt for the extra mile…how could she mistake me for a high achieving perfectionist?
Well, in the way that therapists do, she politely, cleverly, and with a good sense of humor schooled me on what “perfectionism” really means. While all the above facts are true, they are irrelevant to the question at hand. Why? Because perfectionism has nothing to do with end results. Perfectionism is a mindset!
Society teaches us that our peers who get 4.0 GPA’s and keep their room impeccably clean are the perfectionists among us. Chances are, they probably aren’t. Our culture puts perfectionism on a pedestal, suggesting that the mindset yields positive or desirable results like a high GPA. Perfectionism is perceived to be synonymous with high achievement, but this is terribly untrue. The more you succumb to a perfectionist mindset, the farther you will get from healthy striving for excellence; which might actually get you a 4.0 GPA.
At 19, I had trouble grasping this disparity between what society tells us perfectionism is and what perfectionism really is. During CBT therapy summer before junior year of college, overcoming perfectionism became an important focus on the road to recovering from my eating disorder.
As I chased breadcrumbs in my hippocampus, the first applicable memory of perfectionism I came across was within my volleyball career—jackpot!
From my earliest days on the volleyball court right up to freshmen year of college I was, “Fara Cohen, #23, 5’10, outside hitter.” Left side of the net was home base. My territory. I knew my responsibilities like the back of my hand and could practically transition around the court with my eyes closed; a product of years of repetition and footwork.
Now, imagine my surprise when sophomore year, after over 6 years of playing outside, I found myself stepping into a brand new position—Libero.
Before the start of a collegiate game, both teams spread out across their respective end line. At this time you can start to take an educated guess about which players might fill the various positions on the court. The tallest tend to be middle hitters. The smallest players tend to be libero’s. Libero’s aren’t always, but often are very short players, especially by comparison to their towering teammates who tend to be predominantly above average heights. Despite the rational understanding that height does not change someone’s ability to pass and defend in a game, at 5’10, you can imagine that looking at the opposing teams 5’4 libero, albeit superficial, still felt bewildering!
I knew deep down I was capable but I silenced the voice inside that faintly whispered “yes you can” and drowned it out with a voice that was more promissory. I figured this more demanding voice had my best interest at heart. I thought, this voice was a motivator; preaching humility and excellence.
“don’t let your team down, do your job!”
“don’t let your height be a weakness”
“you aren’t a trained libero like the libero across the net so you need to work even harder than they do.”
“hit your numbers! There are no excuses”
With the help of this “coach” in my head, I berated myself for not achieving the perfect passing stats and nailing my defense. Beneath my calm team captain demeanor, I was bullying myself with negative self-talk each practice and game. No performance on the court was good enough for this voice.
An illustrious 2.3 serve receive and 4.0 digs per set dangled in front of my eyes like a carrot. Even when I hit both of them within the same match, it wasn’t enough. Instead of feeling accomplished, I felt stressed. They no longer felt like victories. They felt like agonizing ultimatums. Each time I hit it, I felt even more pressure to prove that it wasn’t just a fluke. That I wasn’t just a fluke. I had to be even better than those numbers, because if I was lower, I was not doing “my best” to fulfill the job of a libero for my team.
To my teammates, my coaches, and competitors I was “Fara Cohen, #23, 5’10, Libero”. No one thought less of me or second guessed my capability, except me and that gremlin coach in my head. I didn’t see myself as “Fara Cohen, #23, 5’10, Libero”. I saw myself as “Fara Cohen, #23, 5’10, outside hitter posing as a libero.” Not only had I convinced myself that I was a fraud keeping the jersey warm for a “real” libero, I had convinced myself the rest of the world saw me that way as well.
I was experiencing shame. Shame researcher Brene Brown says “when perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shot gun and fear is in the back seat”. Shame drives two main tapes. The first says “you’re not good enough.” The second says “who do you think you are?” These tapes were the anthem to my teenage and early college years. While I had general awareness of that feeling of “not enough”, I didn’t realize it was stemming from that perfectionism coach because I believed that voice was going to coach me up to become “good enough” and take the shame away. If I could become good enough, I would become immunized from disappointment…or so I thought. Under these false pretenses, I found a sense of security in my self-deprecation both on and off the court.
That coach in my head did not just show up to practices and games. That coach was with me from the second I woke up until the second I fell asleep at night. That coach was demanding perfectionism in every aspect of my life and ultimately, that coach was my eating disorder.
Perfectionism is a shield. We believe it will protect us from hurt, failure and disappointment. We believe that if we can “do it perfectly” or “be perfect” we will be more worthy of love and belonging. We believe it will reject uncomfortable and negative emotions. But the truth is, when you put up a shield…you put up a shield! You block them all! There is no dream catcher shield that only lets the good vibes through.
Ultimately, perfectionists are people living under the mindset that if they are truly seen, they will not measure up. If they are truly seen, they won’t be enough. This principle was what my eating disorder was all about; a shield to hide behind and take refuge from life.
Eating disorders are promissory and seductive, much like the sensationalized view of perfectionism. But despite the initial lust, numbing out is never sustainable and will always leave us empty in the end. Most of all living in a disordered mindset is certainly is not conducive to helping to nurture a sense of freedom in our hearts. As I grew to understand perfectionism, I also grew to understand my eating disorder. Slowly, a strong desire to free my heart from under these weights bubbled inside me. This passion grew and grew and it grew despite experiencing fear, vulnerability, and disappointment. Because the more I felt those scarier emotions, the more joy and gratitude I was able to welcome into my life along with them.
These days in recovery, freeing my heart from perfectionism is a daily practice. I understand that while I may not be able to control these thoughts entirely, I can control how I react to them; and that has made all the difference.