How Perfectionism Almost Stole Christmas

It was December 23 and, for the first time in my life, my shopping was done, I'd stuck to the very slim budget within a few dollars, the gifts were wrapped and I had a few hours alone. My house wasn't immaculately clean but it was picked up and presentable...my laundry was even done.

So why did I feel utterly empty and alone?

Looking back over the few days before, I realized that much of my uneasiness went back to Sunday night, the annual Christmas-before-Christmas formal-sit-down-meal I prepare for my children. My table was perfect and the meal I prepared was flawless. I was even congratulating myself for being so at ease with the addition of girlfriends to our table...

...then the testosterone kicked in and my boys, now aged from 22 to 15, began to tussle and verbally spar. No news there...but somehow I'd left that little "normal" behavior out of my mental equation. As a matter of fact, I'd actually pretended that, for this one night, they would act like perfect gentlemen.

To make a long story short, the whole thing culminated with Ryan and Adam having a sword fight of some sort in the kitchen (instead of serving dessert), complete with blood and a three inch superficial cut to Adam's forearm.

So much for my vision of the perfect Christmas meal.

Even though I admitted at the time that the whole thing upset me, two days later I found myself alone with my own insides and few distractions. I found myself unwilling to deal with the emotional leftovers of feeling so disappointed...

In print this mental wrestling match seems relatively benign, but the reality of my quandary...and my total unwillingness to identify what was going on inside my heart...meant several days of pacing the floor, and of being totally miserable. Combine that with the fact that the weather was quickly going south (in Texas, three flakes of snow will shut down the Interstate system) and I was quickly becoming a mental basket case.

The explanation above took more than a bit of reflection on my uncomfortable state of being. Even though I've spent six years working on quieting the internal bedlam, I sometimes still find myself besieged by my personal Trojan Horse: unrealistic, albeit mostly undefined, expectations of perfection.

By undefined, I mean that I didn't know at the time what I expected, or even what I wanted to happen (other than I wanted things to be "perfect",) but what I found in my heart that day was an old menasis that had again crept into my soul: enough isn't ever enough, good isn't good enough, and I'll "never" measure up.


And therein lies the problem of my emotionally charged loneliness that day. The problem wasn't my sons' less-than-desirable-behavior. The problem was my nebulous and unrealistic expectations. Without the chaos of having unfinished projects, pressing chores and self-enforced busy-ness, I was forced to come face to face with my own insides: good never seems to be good enough, and no matter how hard I try, nothing ever seems to reach the level of perfection I seek to attain.

No wonder I was so miserable.



I wrote most of the above before Christmas. I penned it to explore what was going on inside myself, but in the days since, I realized that I'm probably not alone with my department-store-version-of-Christmas perfectionistic traits.

The holidays seem to have a way of bringing out both the best and worst, the lovely and the lonely, in me. Peace on Earth, Goodwill Toward Men is my ultimate goal...but when I let go of the real reason for the season, my mindset gets turned into a soul-twisting bludgeon.


After I realized that I was under the bondage <> of perfectionism, I was able to adjust my expectations, say a prayer (several actually), then make a conscious decision that I was going to embrace any peace that might be sent my way.

That sounds lofty and somehow way too easy, but it worked (I think it was the prayer part...) In the words of Abe Lincoln, I'm just about as happy as I decide to be.

Gratefully, the rest of the holidays was much more smooth...and I didn't expect that it would be perfect (and it wasn't)...but then, that's another story.