Showing up imperfectly

The desire to be vulnerable amid perfection is the paradox of a lifetime.

I recognized it immediately — the eerie, haunting melody unspooling from the restaurant’s speakers. Despite the singer’s dark vocals, there was something nostalgic about the song. Maybe even something…new? It didn’t take long to make sense of this novel quality — for the first time in all my playbacks, a certain verse rooted itself into my psyche. It wouldn’t leave my mind until I wrote about it:

Spoke a lot of words, I don't know if I spoke the truth

Got so much to lose

Got so much to prove

God, don't let me lose my mind

These words alone might have clued you into the song, but if not, I’ve embedded Cage The Elephant’s iconic song “Trouble” below. Give it a listen — not only is it an absolute joy to listen to, but the song’s journey mirrors my own in this piece. There’s a shared quality of breaking through, of shedding the old and coming into a version of peace only change can bring.

Going back to the verse above, so much of it is relatable, but the line that resonated the most is: “Spoke a lot of words, I don't know if I spoke the truth.” We’ve all been there — weaving elaborate sentences around the truth to soften the blow. My favorite form of this is intellectualizing my emotions with the air of a wise scholar (yes, it’s as silly as it sounds).

Sometimes, this manifests in the form of a soothing technique— particularly when I’m trying to work through an issue and have already spoken about it with friends. I speak out loud to an imaginary audience, as if I’m a renowned scholar on the topic (à la TED Talk). This character of mine is cool, calm and collected — in her world, everything is a lesson, everything makes sense, and everything is okay. The trouble is, it usually isn’t; logic alone can’t mend our hearts or settle our nerves.

It would be pretty neat if I could keep this habit internal, but it also likes to sneak up on me externally. In regular conversation (or conflict), I’d catch myself slotting in unnecessary words and actions. I’d smile when I didn’t need/want to, over explain myself, and apologize without cause. On the off chance that I’d notice, I’d attempt to act more “myself,” which only confused things further. Which version is the real me? How much of my personality is tied to this lifelong habit?

I’m not here to say I curbed this habit and emerged transformed — quite the opposite. I’m still working through it, but something did change. Calling back to the lyrics from “Trouble,” a certain conviction kept surfacing in my mind over the last few weeks:

I don’t want to perform anymore.

I do want to: show up authentically, forfeit the idea that I need to have everything figured out (or appear that way), and communicate directly for the benefit of myself and others. 

Most of all, I want to keep pushing for self compassion. To be easier on myself. Self-criticism never created any healthy or lasting change, but compassion did. When I chose to be a friend to myself, the mind quieted. The heart grew. Everything was not okay, but for the moment, it could be.

There isn’t much to be learned from showing up perfectly, anyway. Repeating recycled insights and lessons may put a bandaid on the wound, but the wound is still there. Like any process, it takes time to unwind the threads of perfection. But it can start somewhere small. 

It can start with slowing down when you feel the instinct to paint your words and actions in perfection.

It can start with responding to “How are you?” with something more honest:

“I’m a little tired. How are you?”

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Any illustrations, including the cover image, are by Levi and Lily Nunnink of Humanities Studio (https://humanities.studio). Any text added is my own.

Thanks for reading! Here are a few poems I’ve loved recently that speak to self-compassion and showing up imperfectly. I hope you find them healing:

The Promise | Jeff Foster

Instructions for the Journey by Pat Schneider

Birthright by Danna Faulds

Forget About Enlightenment by John Welwood