The Illusion of the Future Self
Reframing the definition of "perfect."
This essay is from the archives, first published on December 30, 2020. It has been revised since its first publication.
Rethinking Ideas of Perfection
“Perfection” wasn’t part of my lexicon while growing up. A transient, unstructured childhood doesn’t leave much space for reflection or goal-setting. Because my mom and I moved so often, most of my energy wwas focused on surviving. Teachers had low expectations. There was no one holding me accountable for or helping me with schoolwork. With no previous benchmarks for academic comparison, any accomplishments, like placing in the county-wide spelling bee, felt like accidents, not the result of hard, sustained work.
Now that I know I was a kid with undiagnosed autism and ADHD, I understand why I gave up on myself, but the shame I felt when teachers questioned me about unfinished or missing homework and accused me of carelessness still lingers. It also informs my own teaching, and the way I treat my students.
When I ran away for the first time, at twelve, it was partially because of school. I hated it there and started skipping classes in the sixth grade. Sitting in a classroom was torture. Being called on was terrifying. There was no way for me to understand my limited knowledge and lack of educational foundation in adult terms. To me it only indicated stupidity. (I wrote about this in October).
I Used to Think I Was Stupid
A permeating belief in my own intellectual deficiency followed me into adulthood and kept me from returning to school. When I finally did return, first to community college and then, finally, to a four-year college, I held myself to near-impossible standards, constantly working from a place of urgency, scarcity, and emotional dissociation. but I never thought of myself as a perfectionist until I was studying for my MFA. At that point I had enough breathing room to start seeing a therapist in person.
During our third session she gently asked me: do you think you might be a perfectionist?
An absurd image appeared in my mind’s eye, like a stock photo I’d seen and internalized. There, surrounded by a void, was a woman wearing high heels, nylons, a black pencil skirt, and a white silk blouse. She held a briefcase in her left hand, wore glasses, and her hair was meticulously coiled into a tight bun.
Right away I responded: “I’m not good enough to be a perfectionist.”
The moment will forever be embedded in my memory, hilarious in its absurdity. I’m not good enough to be a perfectionist! I am not perfect enough to be perfect!
What a gift it was to finally understand this idea that I was simply and forever not good enough.
Good enough for what? For whom?
This was before I came out as nonbinary, but I knew at that point how far away I was from being a woman in professional clothing. I’d always been allergic to constricting clothes and high heels— wearing them made me supremely self-conscious. The image I saw in my mind, like the above image, was drawn by outside forces. Not self-generated. At 36 years-old, I had never asked myself who I wanted to be. I’d been striving for an illusory and constantly shifting standard: thin, feminine, and totally generic.
The word perfect has accrued multiple meanings throughout history.
Whole. Complete. Flawless.
From the English parfit, it means “lacking in no way” (late 14th century). In Latin, perfectus translates to “complete” and “exquisite.”
It’s my belief that the conception of flaws are externally introduced. This comes from my decades of work with children, all of whom, at some point or another, are introduced to the concept of sin. Not in a religious sense (although sometimes it is in a religious sense), but in the belief that one’s actions are representative as the whole self, instead of physiological, psychological or emotional actions and reactions.
Imagine that a child throws a small train at another child. The train dents the other child’s forehead. There are a couple things that can happen from here. An adult can step in and interpret the child’s action with their whole self (child, what is wrong with you, why did you throw that train?) or the child can learn that their action is neutral, but the effect of the action was negative. They hurt someone. Next time they can make a different choice. (child, we don’t throw trains at each other because they can cause pain.).
During our third session she gently asked me: do you think you might be a perfectionist?
An absurd image appeared in my mind’s eye, like a stock photo I’d seen and internalized. There, surrounded by a void, was a woman wearing high heels, nylons, a black pencil skirt, and a white silk blouse. She held a briefcase in her left hand, wore glasses, and her hair was meticulously coiled into a tight bun.
Right away I responded: “I’m not good enough to be a perfectionist.”
The second response implies personal agency and neutral intention. The action doesn’t induce a value judgement. The first response implies that the child’s action is a sign of bad character, and it’s most often interpreted by the child as I am bad.
Slowly, the child’s sense of self is poisoned with I am bad, though some children receive only a drop of this poison, and some receive buckets, burying the perfect self under layers of shame.
As adults many of us carry this shame with us. What happens when we make mistakes? Shame. What does shame inhibit? Growth.
My response to the shame was the creation of a future ideal. I wanted to be a different person. “If only I could (insert habit/personality trait etc) I would finally be good enough.” This mechanism is at the root of diet culture, beauty culture, toxic gender ideals, and conformity
We reject who we are. We abandon ourselves and our present experience for that future self. Or, that’s what I did.
What if we all embody perfection right now and in each moment? What if perfection is not a fixed state, but our whole, complete selves?
It’s the belief that we are damaged, flawed, and in need of repair that makes us feel damaged, flawed, and in need of repair.
It’s a loop.
The second response implies personal agency and neutral intention. The action doesn’t induce a value judgement. The first response implies that the child’s action is a sign of bad character, and it’s most often interpreted by the child as I am bad.
Slowly, the child’s sense of self is poisoned with I am bad, though some children receive only a drop of this poison, and some receive buckets, burying the perfect self under layers of shame.
As adults many of us carry this shame with us. What happens when we make mistakes? Shame. What does shame inhibit? Growth.
My response to the shame was the creation of a future ideal. I wanted to be a different person. “If only I could (insert habit/personality trait etc) I would finally be good enough.” This mechanism is at the root of diet culture, beauty culture, toxic gender ideals, and conformity
We reject who we are. We abandon ourselves and our present experience for that future self. Or, that’s what I did.
What if we all embody perfection right now and in each moment? What if perfection is not a fixed state, but our whole, complete selves?
It is the idea that we are damaged, flawed, and in need of repair that makes us feel damaged, flawed, and in need of repair.
It’s a loop.
Accepting ourselves as fundamentally perfect, as whole and complete as we are, interrupts the damaging cycle of “self-improvement” in which our culture is so firmly entrenched.
I am flawless. I am perfect.
Writing those words is uncomfortable, because it feels like bragging, and yet, I do believe I am free from flaws. Any flaws I may have are self-imposed and imposed by society. Accepting every part of myself requires accepting that I am flawless. Not flawless as in beautiful, or productive, or as defined in any material sense, but flawless as in whole.
I exist, therefore I am whole.
I remind myself of this, and I know this is true. I forget. I remember. I forget. I am whole.
When I accept my wholeness, I can hear the answer to this question:
Who am I?
I now know I am not. Like for you what seems like adhd got in the way
I also used to think I was stupid.