There is a type of individual that appears to have an admirable level of self-motivation, thoroughness, and determination at first glance. They get up at the crack of dawn, rarely take vacations, and are constantly sneaking in an extra hour or two of work. Their supervisors are blown away; they are regularly promoted, their grades have been perfect since elementary school, and they never miss an appointment or turn in subpar work.
We prefer to describe such a person as having high standards; we may even call them a perfectionist. It may appear eerie to look for difficulties here. In a difficult and apathetic world, why worry about an excessive pursuit of perfection? Isn't there something bad about being extremely precise? What exactly is it about perfectionism that makes it so flawed?
The perfectionist's job (whose beneficiaries are in a very privileged situation) is less important than the quality of their soul. Perfectionism does not, unfortunately, spring first and primarily from a love of excellence in and of itself. Its roots can be traced back to a far more unpleasant feeling of never being good enough. It's founded in self-hatred, spurred by early memories of being scorned or abandoned by those who should have treated us with more respect.
We become perfectionists because we feel unworthy; uninteresting, defective, a disappointment, a letdown, and a thorn in our side. We are willing to do almost anything to rid ourselves of this sense, which is so powerful and appalling in its grip on our psyches that we are willing to work at all hours, curry favor with authority, and do twice as much as the next person. These are the tools with which we seek to cleanse our apparently shamefully undeserving selves.
The fulfillment of the next task, one part of the mind promises, will eventually usher in serenity. We can be extremely skilled at feigning sanity when it comes to our desires. However, our work has a sisyphean aspect to it. Our functional boulder will tumble down the hill as soon as we roll it up the hill. There will never be a place of rest or a lasting sense of accomplishment. In reality, we are sick rather than driven.
We're not looking for ideal work; we're looking for a way to get away from the feeling that we're terrible people, and work is just the vehicle through which we're attempting to become more palatable in our own eyes. However, our problem did not begin with labor, and work will never be able to establish the solution.
Our true goal is to feel acceptable, not to be the ideal employee or professional that we imagine ourselves to be. However, our bosses, consumers, or a never-endingly demanding capitalism system cannot be held responsible for our sense of acceptance because it is in their nature, without any malice intended, to continuously demand more.
We need to change our perception of where our motivation comes from. We're not overly concerned with perfection; rather, we're struggling with the unreasonably strong sensation that we're terrible people - an issue that can't be solved by working harder.
We must allow ourselves to believe that we are deserving of acceptance from the start, and that it is not always our fault in our minds if we are not. It is not our responsibility to demonstrate that we have a right to exist. It is unreasonable to expect ourselves to be subjected to a referendum on our validity every time we turn in a report, pass an exam, or serve a customer.
Working efficiently is an admirable objective. However, it becomes a symptom of mental illness when it serves as a cover for a hidden desire to make up for a lack of early love. We should applaud our ability to tolerate periods of inactivity, not because we are naturally lazy, but because it indicates that we have learned to speak more kindly to ourselves and to be appropriately angry with those who could not accept us for who we were without an abundance of trophies and prizes at the outset.
