Fear, Growth, Discouragement, and Detaching from Perfectionism
Recent reflections from therapy and trusting the process
An artwork I made during my last work hiatus: doing this felt intuitive and fun
When I was younger, I used to be loud and passionate about the hobbies and interests that I want to pursue. It went on that way, until two incidents came along.
The first incident happened during the summer before my junior year of high school. It was 2009, and Multiply was alive and well. On my Multiply page, I shared a list of Bekinese terms, or gay lingo to my mutuals on the platform. The post did not bode well with my upperclassmen and peers from high school, which led to some of them making mean posts and comments about me. I left the platform after.
Months after that incident, one upperclassman approached me and said to “stay in my lane and just do my best.” I didn’t fully know what this upperclassman meant at that time, but I translated it as, “Focus on getting better grades and give up writing to not piss off your upperclassmen again.” I gave up writing, except when I’m needed to write academic papers. I also had paralyzing anxiety whenever I’m tasked to submit something for the school paper. It went on until my junior year of college.
The next incident also had a similar premise. One of my childhood friends was vocal about their art. At that time, I liked to draw and make art, so I told this friend that I wanted to pursue a similar path. Rather than encouraging me to make art, they told me to give it up and not pursue it. Not to mention, I struggled with coordination and my poor motor skills, which led me to giving up art altogether.
These acts of discouragement and rejection impacted the way I approach creative work. Instead of enjoying the process, every creative activity felt like a survival show. Every creative output must have a certain level of polish and perfection so it can be seen as “good.” Instead of writing for my own enjoyment or allowing myself to verbalize all the yapping I’ve done to my therapist, I ended up approaching my writing journey as a platform to prove my doubters wrong, or a space to overcompensate for the past rejections that I went through surrounding my craft.
A scenario in mind:
My first byline during my senior year of college. At that time, I volunteered to be a writer for our school paper’s graduation magazine. Rather than seeing this experience as an opportunity to channel my renewed passion for writing, I used it to prove my worth to my former editors. That I was not some annoying, useless fluke in our college paper.
I went into the writing process with tense shoulders, hoping that my piece would not be filled with revisions. While I was glad that I had minimal revisions for my work, the tension and anxiety that came with the writing process remained persistent to this day. It’s as if I’m trying too hard, rather than letting the ideas flow. And it shows up in other areas of my life. Despite this, I still feel a sense of gratitude in that opportunity, since it gave me the courage to write.
During my catch-up session with my therapist earlier this afternoon, he reminded me once again to be gentle with myself. He said this in the context of learning how to regulate my emotions better, but I think this applies to all areas of my life. Gentleness and rest feel hard to come by, especially when you’re used to pushing yourself to achieve something.
But I want to be gentle with myself. To be kinder to myself. Maybe that gentleness can mean: allowing myself to make shitty first drafts, taking night showers when things are overwhelming, making shitty watercolor art or silly TikTok edits, or letting other people help me without thinking that they’re out to get me. Operating in survival mode as a neurodivergent person can take a lot out of you, and I’m reminded again and again how important it is to have compassion for yourself.
From this day on, I want to give myself the compassion and kindness that I’ve long deprived from myself. I’m gonna allow myself to have shitty first drafts. I will dedicate time to say kind things to myself. So on and so forth.
Here’s to showing up (even if it’s imperfect),
Lea