India: The Curse of Perfectionism
I am not a show off. I work my ass off.
I am not a teacher’s pet. I pay attention.
I am not a know it all. I have failed more times than you can imagine and learned from each experience.
I am not egocentric when I offer to help. I genuinely care and want to assist.
I am not loud for attention. I live my life boldly and with enthusiasm.
I am not perfect. I suffer from perfectionism . . .
These are some of the challenges that I have faced here with my peers; and not just here … I have had to work through these misconceptions my entire life. When people first meet me they think I’m full of shit because I smile so much. That no one could be happy and smiling all the time. It’s usually not until 6 months to a year later that they realize that my face just defaults into a smile, that I actually am that stoked on life. I know this because a few brave and wonderful people actually told me about their experience of getting to know me. These people enlightened me on something that I had been confused about my entire life, and for that I am truly grateful because it has helped me heal a lot of raw wounds from my past. Now this experience isn’t true for everyone I meet. Some people "get" me upon our first meeting, but others struggle to really get to know the who i am beneath the surface.
I was given the wonderful gift of learning things quickly, my brother has this same skill although he managed to translate into test-taking… a realm in which my efforts always fell short. Now, this seems like a great thing, and it is! The only issue with getting information quickly is that other’s think that whatever you are learning is easy for you, this typically causes the little green envy monster (who lives inside us all) to begin to turn its ugly head or intimidates other from approaching altogether. I would like to say, for all those out there with similar experiences, just because someone picks up on something fast:
1. Doesn’t mean they know everything about it.
2. Doesn’t mean its “easy” for them, and
3. Doesn’t mean they are showing off.
These three aspects are easily confused, and rightfully so. Because how can we ever get to know someone’s experience in life unless we become informed? Most of the time, we assume that what we see and hear are fact, but really everything we input is an illusion. It is a calculated effort by our brains to turn jumbles of chaotic information into an understandable format. I mean have you ever studied the eye? It’s amazing! Every color we see is actually the REFLECTION of the color that is not being absorbed by the object itself. On top of that, everything we see is actually taken in by the eye and then is reflected in a different way by the time the signal reaches the brain. If you have seen Wild Wild West, they did a pretty good job at explaining it when the bad guy’s head was cut off and they had to flip it upside down to see his “last sight” clearly. (Granted that movie took some creative liberties with this concept but the basic notion is there).
For me this skill of learning quickly first arrived naturally: I started talking, walking and reading very early compared to other kids my age, but after a few years this natural ability became a carefully cultivated one. When you start out life leaning things rapidly you begin to think that this is your identity, or at least a large part of it. Over the course of 17 years, out of fear of loosing a part of my personality in which I defined myself, I invested large amounts of strenuous effort into maintaining that quality of myself. It quickly went from something small, like sleeping on the floor because I didn’t want to mess up my perfectly made bed, to much larger things, like staying up all night re-writing my notes from class over and over again because I made one mistake and didn’t like how white-out looked ( a visual representation that I made an error).
My name is Dani and I suffer from perfectionism.
Even if I make things “look” easy, most new concepts are really fucking hard! I’m learning just like everyone else and I’m working through the deep seeded fear of being wrong. I used to despise being wrong and its only in my recent adulthood that I have become satisfied with giving the answer of “I don’t know” when asked a question, and have learned to enjoy the sensation of being incorrect and acquiring the right-knowledge. In my youth I needed to give an answer, even if it was dead wrong or a boldfaced lie. Its taken me years to make peace with my twisted childhood; all of the lies I told to friends and family, and for the most idiotic reasons. It is only now that I see that sometimes saying “I don’t know” is the best and most correct answer one can give.
My early childhood was often lonely because of these misunderstandings. I even had issues with teachers and jealous parents all the way through high school. I once went to my 4th grade teacher to ask her why I didn’t have many friends; her response was “Maybe if you don’t answer the questions right all the time then people would like you.” I came home crying and told my mom what happened. I never went back to that school or saw that teacher again. But thank goodness for the friends I did have; the ones who, like me, were the miss-fits… they either had Type 1 Diabetes, glasses, or developmental disorders, and they were the most genuine and wonderful people you could ever meet. They taught me that often it is those who you would initially look past who have the most to offer this world. They are the compassionate survivors and I am forever indebted for all the lessons they taught me.
When I finally went back to school in 5th grade I decided I was done with being made fun of and teased. I was starting a new school in a new city and had made up my mind that I would do my best to “fit in” to avoid the pain I had experienced in my short time on this planet (which felt like an eternity) … what a hellish mistake that was. For the next 7 years I struggled to be like the “cool kids” most of whom I cant even remember their names. I lied to make myself appear cooler, I asked my parents to buy me things that would impress kids at school or help me ‘fit in’, I even bribed the ‘popular’ crowd and asked people to come over to play with our ping pong table, or use our community’s pool in the effort to build bonds with them. I wish I had known then what I know now: that my time would have been better spent invested into myself rather than into them; that people who come over to use your pool table or those who like you because you have the “right” backpack aren’t those who easily build lasting and honest friendships… but if I had known then what I do now it would have been like skipping to the end of a book. You miss the best parts, the development of the character itself. You miss the story. The challenges from those years helped make me who I am today. Every tear, every lonely day on the playground molded me into the strong woman I am today. For that I am appreciative, but I find that those battles never really ended. To this day I still work through jealousy of peers and complete misunderstandings about my personality. It’s nothing short of heartbreaking, but I am fortunate to have better tools now than when I was 10, 15 or even 19.
Now, why am I bringing all of this up while I am in India having the adventure of a lifetime in a beautiful Ashram studying to become a more well-rounded yoga teacher? Because I have been dealing with the SAME issues I have for the past 27 years. I have been isolated from my peers (not all of them), been called a teacher’s pet, snickered at behind my back when they think I cannot hear, and quite frankly been made fun of.
The other day I broke down in class when I was in a headstand that I had attempted for the first time; a variation that is quite advanced and really freaking scary. I do my best not to show fear on my mat because I know through fear comes growth and that allowing anxiety in only gives it permission to grow. Instead I did my best to “fake it till you make it”. I put a smile on my face and went upside down. slowly I walked my toes toward my face and tucked my knees into my chest. With one BOLD exhale I extended my legs above my head… I nailed it! I was over the moon! My legs floated up, my stomach was quivering with every scary second I was balancing on my head without any support—no hands, no feet touching the ground—I felt like I was one step away from levitating … and then I heard her… there is always a her; in elementary school her name was Marissa, in middle school her name was Lauren, in high school her name was Sara … and now her name is Daria. She turned to the person next to her and said quietly in her thick Russian accent (but not quiet enough) “of course she gets it on the first try, let’s see if she breaks her neck” to which she followed her statement with a nice long chuckle. I don’t know if it was going from such a high of sticking that posture to the low of hearing her hateful tone (the words weren’t all that bad, I mean its not like she called me a bitch or anything, although that would have been easier to respond to), or if I was just tired and emotionally raw from all of the intense practice from the past 4 weeks, but those words cut deep and STUNG. She and I have had our near daily oil and water run-ins for the past 4 weeks and this one I let it too deep. In one sentence every mean spirited and snide remark from every “her” of my past came back to me.
I felt, once again, ashamed of my accomplishment. I felt like I had answered too many questions right, helped too many people while I was here (which translated to some as showing off or being a know-it-all). I felt like something about me was wrong. On top of that I was deeply confused! Who the hell goes to a yoga teacher-training course in India and spreads isolation, malice, and hate? Who the fuck does she think she is?!? The girl who falls asleep in class, who tells people to shut up when they ask a question, who is on her phone during practice or opts out of class all together? But it didn’t matter if I knew all that, the acid had burned into my flesh and I had an open gash on my heart. My cheeks turned red, my face grew hot, and the all-too-familiar sensation of a swelling ball in my throat began to rise as the first tear fell down my face. I turned away; I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing that she cut me.
Our teacher saw what was happening and decided to end class a little early. “Everyone close your eyes (THANK GOD!) and chant together”. We chanted Om 3 times and he excused everyone. “Dani please stay.” Aw shit. I wiped the last tears from my face and did my best to put on a half-assed smile. Maybe he will just let me go? Maybe I can convince him that I’m fine. “You have a deep sadness in you today. Would you like to talk?” NO, I silently screamed. “No… I’m Ok. Just tired today and dealing with some difficult personalities.” I smiled again as I often do when I’m uncomfortable and urged myself to hold back the tears that were ready to come out. The straw on my back was getting heavier and this camel was getting tired. Please let me go so I can be alone, I wordlessly beg him. “Dani, there are assholes everywhere. Don’t let them get the best of you. I know you have a big heart and want to help, but sometimes help is translated the wrong way. People get jealous, and when they lash out its not a reflection of you, it’s a reflection of them.” FUCK… the straw that broke me! The tears could not be held back and the Niagara Falls flood began. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t even try. I. Broke. Down.
He let me weep for a good 2 minutes making sure not to touch me while I was in this emotional state, and I’m glad he didn’t because I wouldn’t want to spread this feeling to anyone: the feeling of being alone in a crowded room; the feeling of “who would even care if I left early?”, the feeling of complete emptiness. I managed to stop the sobs and muster up a thank you. I let him know that I’ve been dealing with assholes my entire life and just always assumed that as I got older either they would go away, or I would be better equipped to handle them. “It’s not about getting older, I still deal with these people all the time, even in your group. It’s about understanding that their issue is with themselves, not with you. You are just easier to put the attention on because they don’t want the problem to be with them.” I could hear his words and I knew he was right, but like a piece of wood on the Ganga, it just didn’t sink in. I thanked him again for taking the time to check on me, and told him I just wanted to go lay down. He let me go after he gave me my yoga prescription (go for a 15 minute walk in nature, do a lot of arm balances/inversions, and do a little bit of twisting practice to balance myself out). I walked out of the rooftop studio and down the flight of stairs, half running, and half walking to get to my room as fast as possible without tripping over my own feet. I couldn’t get my lock open fast enough and hastily slid through door 309. I dropped my book-bag on the white tile, collapsed on my box-bed and began to sob again.
I was crying so hard now my whole body was shaking, and I was reminded of that day in yoga therapy where our teacher took us through similar feelings of sadness. I remembered what he said: “don’t try to stop it. Let it come out, these are the emotional blockages releasing themselves.” I cried even harder without holding anything back. I let myself have the moment without guilt, knowing that it would soon go over and my life would come back into focus. My bed had never felt so comfortable. I cried for a good 30 minutes and eventually the sobs turned to sniffles and then a deep peaceful stillness. I started to guide myself through that same process of yoga therapy and channeled long breaths in and out. Eventually my breath steadied and a calm sensation flooded over me. I gave myself a few more moments of numbing stillness like a blob of mud on the street. Get up Dani, that’s enough. The voice in my head was my own, but stronger now and more direct. Abruptly I grabbed my phone to take a picture of my face as I was coming out of the thick fog of sadness. I didn’t want to forget this moment. Everyone likes to take pretty pictures of themselves, but its never the whole story of who they are, and then we (the viewer/witness) end up thinking that we’re the broken ones because we don’t see what happens behind closed doors; just as my door to room 309 was closed and locked tight. My nickname at the Ashram and around Rishikesh is “The Girl who Smiles” but I wasn’t smiling now, and moments like these are just as important to share. They are the human moments, the RAW, uncomfortable, painful moments that can bring people together just as much as the ones where everyone is smiling; maybe even more so because its harder to fake a good cry than it is to fake a smile. Everyone cries.
I snapped a quick pic ½ proud of myself for having the guts to take it and ½ wondering if I was starting to share too much of my life. Fuck it! I put my phone down and walked the 5 steps to my bathroom. I turned the faucet on and let the cool water fill into my palms. I splashed my face and the temperature difference between the water and my cheeks jerked me back into the present. I tilted my head up towards the small mirror and looked myself directly in my eyes. You’re ok. Enough of that feeling sad stuff now, time to get BAD ASS. Time to bring out that rebellious chick that got pissed off at the airport 6 years ago and got $1000 from the airlines and a free hotel stay (a story for another time). Time to rise up. Time to BE BOLD. Time to take a shower; because girlfriend… you smell.
I stripped off all my clothes, tainted by the negative energetic experience in the studio and threw them into a pile on the floor. The hot water was working and I rejoiced that something so small could go so right and bring such immense joy after a deep sadness. I washed my entire body head to toe, and imagined that I was scrubbing off all the painful words of my past. I cleansed my outside in the hope of starting the same process on the inside. I grabbed my green towel, dried off and changed into something new. I grabbed the t-shirt that a student gave me before I left (Yoga? Im Down Dog); it always makes me smile when I wear it. I also put on my favorite red pants, my power color. Time to do what the teacher suggested. I went outside for my 15-minute walk in nature. The monkeys were singing their songs; the cows were looking for their lunch, and what felt like every dog in Rishikesh came to keep me company.
By the time I returned to room 309 I was warm and ready to practice. I grabbed my $5 purple yoga mat and placed it on the floor. I then decided to put on my husbands music as a reminder that I am never truly alone, and I ended up having one of the most amazing home-yoga-practices of my life. I did whatever I needed without question and without guilt. I twisted, I inverted, I prasarita’d and had a good long savasana. By the time I sat back up Daria’s words weren’t even on my radar and I was ready to leave my room and rejoin my group. I had missed lunch to give myself time to heal alone in my room, and the familiar sensation of hunger was filling my body; but I wasn’t hungry for food … I was starving for redemption. I walked into the studio with my head held high and my shoulders back. The same space where I had left 3 hours before in a state of complete disarray, but I was returning stronger, more focused, and more in tune with my breath. I walked right passed her without blinking an eye. I set up my mat and sat down ready to practice Ashtanga and I smiled. One of those genuine and coy smiles where you know something no one else does… a private joke between you and the universe. I was braver. I was fiercer. I was ready for anything.
…
It’s important to know that those who smile a lot are going through their own process of healing in their own way. Those who seem like they “have it all together” are still works progress, and those who you see smile, still cry. This was my way, and I want others who may be suffering in silence to know that it’s not pretty and doesn’t have to be; I am not perfect, I do deal with the negative effects of perfectionism, but my story isn’t over yet. I grow every day. As my mother-in-law likes to jokingly say, these are the character-building moments. The ones that aren’t fun but teach us the most valuable lessons. So remember to breathe. Give yourself the opportunity to work through the struggles rather than try to avoid them. Avoiding the painful moments teaches us nothing more than how to scape by. Attacking them head on teaches us how to stand up and ROAR! So be fierce my friends, and howl at the moon, cry to release the deep seeded emotional blockages, and walk back into the studio sturdier than before, knowing yourself a little better each time.
“If you are willing to look at another person’s behavior toward you as a reflection of the state of their relationship with themselves rather than a statement about your value as a person, then you will over a period of time cease to react at all.”
Yogi Bhajan