My body was still and shrunk like a wilting flower, hugging itself gently, compensating for the bitter battle I was losing inside.

BY SANTIAGO ARIAS OROZCO

IMAGE BY JASMINE COWAN

The healing path out of perfectionism started on a gloomy winter night. Beneath the blankets and with two sweaters on, I stared vacantly at the darkness. No movement, no action. My body was still and shrunk like a wilting flower, hugging itself gently, compensating for the bitter battle I was losing inside.   

You are a lie, all smoke and mirrors, you know that right? a voice rumbled in my head while my body shivered in a cold sweat.

You were there in front of a blank page without writing anything but your name, the voice continued playing in a loop, alongside the infamous memory of the article I failed to start after numerous attempts all afternoon.

And you are still convinced you will be successful one day... delusional.

My eyes became flooded with tears. My stomach squirmed loudly. My heart was pounding heavily, wanting to break free from my chest. I was drowning in a panic attack and perfectionism was the only culprit to blame.

Perfectionists like myself live inside an Olympic track competition, racing for the gold medal and towards a finish line that moves every time it is about to be crossed. No accomplishment, no victory, no achievement can satiate the thirst for perfection. And yet, the desire to keep pushing and aiming higher for the next time lingers. There’s the need to keep trying to be flawless, as it seems to be the only path to run away from the thought of not being “good enough.” It is an ever-present feeling, peaking whenever expectations aren’t reached or mistakes are made.

The emotional burden perfectionism imposes is none other than a spike in stress and anxiety levels. Mental distress is camouflaged and disguised as the sacrifice inherent to every worthy accomplishment.  

I swallowed and kept ignoring these intrusive thoughts for years, while they plunged me into misery one day after the other. Until a panic attack like no other led me to hit rock bottom. I fell short of breath, steaming in a cold room, while effortlessly trying to escape from the perfectionist voice that poked at my insecurities.

I knew that it was time to look for mental health support. Yet, two days after my panic attack, I was back again at my desk, procrastinating on some pending tasks. It seemed easier to run away and avoid the assignment altogether, rather than deal with the highly likely chance of not delivering a flawless performance. The wake-up call to change my miserable way of living was halted. Something didn’t feel right, not because of prolonging my harm, but because I didn’t fit what society has shown mental health recovery to be. And as a perfectionist who abides by very specific standards, it was very bitter. 

Counselling, therapy, and psychological assessment is more than ever openly spoken about and systematically encouraged. Companies campaign against the stigma of mental health struggles. High performance athletes leave everything behind to focus on their anxiety, even the chance of reaping the victories they have exhaustingly fought for. More artists and performers join the “it’s okay not to be okay” speech. Even work/study places foster more alternatives to ease the path towards treating mental illness. Now, it is nothing less than expected to book an appointment with a psychiatrist once the mental struggle has taken form. This counterproductive expectation not only weighs on top of the already existing emotional distress, but also undermines the strength necessary to realize the underlying mental harm, and the effort required to move along a healing path. To some extent, the new standards around mental health pushed me away from it.

Stuck in self-considerations of worthlessness and failure, I wished to shut down my brain and the voice of perfectionism, even if it was just for a second. My willpower desperately wanted to eliminate the unreachable standards, the success-driven morals, and the intolerance for mistakes. Yet, understanding the wrongfulness in my behaviour, aiming to fix it, and working towards that goal, was neither a single-moment event nor a swift trajectory that could have been undertaken with a couple of sessions.

Nonetheless, the accessibility to mental health support, coupled with the growing number of testimonials attesting to its positive impact, brought up dangerous expectations that tell a different story about coping with mental health struggles: a back-and-forth between idealization and standardization.

Formal and informal conversations on mental health have stretched practically everywhere, from the dinner table to Twitter feeds and institutional policies. For a moment, it wouldn't be crazy to assert that counselling, therapy, or talking about having bipolar disorder or ADHD is understandably “normal,” yet that privilege seems reserved only for some. The backlash and disbelief is mute only when staggering fame or significant responsibilities are weighing on someone with a mental illness struggle. However, for those like myself, who carry on a very standard life for a post-secondary student, with no other ‘significant burden’ than the test coming up next week, having a mental struggle is ruled out from the options.

How could I see perfectionism as a mental struggle if my academics were the only aspect where I held standards of perfection? I used to ask myself this question while assuming my mental struggle wasn’t “serious” or “problematic” enough to reach a level of concern.

The current narrative around mental health struggles spreads another lie: anyone can know when mental health is compromised and when support is necessary. With terminology like anxiety, stress, and depression over-depicted and overshared, recognizing the wrongfulness and toxicity in some ways of thinking is supposedly “crystal-clear.” Yet, once again, it doesn't apply to everyone.

Perfectionism reaps all the credit for the victories. Only the overwork, precision, and exigence would have brought achievement into reality, as neither the talent nor the intelligence of the perfectionist leads to achievement. Then, after being trapped inside a reality where accomplishment and outstanding performance were all I was and all I cared about, the idea of ripping the key to such '“success” out of my hands deceived me into ignoring the dangerousness of my behaviour. Scared of losing track of the life path I had exhaustedly fought for, I abided to cope with perfectionism on my own.

Naively, I was convinced I had the strength to moderate the compulsive, self-destructive thoughts in a healthy way. This was a demand impossible to ever fulfil, yet the one I claimed, to be both outstanding and “happy.” 

The calm and the freedom that came after my first panic attack gave me a taste of the life I was missing out on living. And for two months I strived to bring it back by forcing myself to be less of a perfectionist. I was looking to be flawless in not being obsessed with perfection. But reality hunted me down soon after. Between my regular demands for excellence and my failure to control them, I was back drowning in anxiety, spiking beyond the usual. 

However, a side thought came along: being there was entirely my choice. Once I had the willpower to challenge the bitter thoughts rumbling inside me, to ease the burden mounting as bricks on my shoulders, it was only a matter of time to claim my freedom back. 

Then, a second panic attack stormed me. The victories I had achieved didn’t bring any relief, they fell shallow as all the sacrifices behind me left me exhausted. Plunged into misery with no room for self-compassion, I realized the perfectionist-driven triumphs were never victories at all. Perhaps they were all I could see of myself, they were all I was used to, so I grew comfortably alongside the mental distress they evoked. But once I opened my horizons, seeing a life beneath the pain, I understood the wrongfulness of my behaviour. Perfectionism was no longer my key to success. Showing its true colours, perfectionism became the black void inside me. 

There was no longer a reason to stay in this vicious cycle. I had a new goal in mind, a further pursuit to look for: to loosen up the pressure, to break free from the expectations, to be in peace. It was time to shout out for help. To begin the actual change of mind. 

My healing path out of perfectionism has been all but flawless. I had to realize my incapacity to cope with this issue, I had to suffer through it even more to acknowledge how harmful it was, and only taste freedom on the side in hope of bringing it back. However, it was all worth it in the end, and possible since I experienced it on my own. So, even in a time when mental health is closer than ever to being widely significant, it has no rules set in stone. Conversely, building a mental healing path may seem easy or standard in society, but making a decision towards that healing can only be achieved at your own pace and time. 

Santiago Arias Orozco is a first-generation immigrant journalist, writer, and photographer interested in investigative, social issues reportage. Santiago, currently based in Toronto, is completing his Advanced Diploma in Journalism Print & Broadcast at Humber, while fulfilling his French studies and working in feature news reporting.

Image: The Long Walk (Jasmine Cowan, 2021)

Edited for publication by Chloe Biel as part of the Creative Book Publishing program.

HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.