The Struggle To Create Something As Perfectionist

So this is my first post... Years ago, I had a blog where I reviewed the books I read; now, as an author, writing something feels so foreign to me. Perhaps I should act formal and cold, yet I feel as though I have so much to say about these kinds of things.

When I finally decided to publish my book, I felt a huge sense of relief. Because for years, it was as if I had given up. I had given up on my relationships, my dreams, everything. I was just living for the sake of staying alive. It felt like whatever I touched, I ruined. Like I couldn't succeed at anything or please anyone. My adolescence was spent with these kinds of thoughts.

Better not to start at all than to be disappointed. If I’m not going to be the best at it in the end, why even bother spending time on it? These were the things running through my mind. If I wasn't going to be perfect at it, what was the point of doing it?

There could be many sources for this obsession, I won't get into the psychological facts. But for me, I was afraid of disappointing others, and most of all, myself. Up until this age, I did everything my family told me; I never heard a single complaint about myself from my friends. I maintained that "perfect profile" for years, and I was terrified that if I tried something now and failed, I would be humiliated.

I was so cruel to myself. I found everything I did "cringe." No matter what my friends did, I would support them, but when it came to myself, I was never satisfied... Even if everyone else praised me, if I wasn't satisfied, the work had no value, unfortunately... I used to overanalyze everything. I’d always find something to upset myself, something to ruin my day.

So yeah... Because of this stupid thing that I couldn't produce anything for years. I began drawing; it was going okay, but the moment I realized I wasn't a Picasso, I quit. I tried playing the violin, but once I realized I wouldn't be a Karen Briggs, I quit that too.

This obsession that "unless I’m at the top of something, there’s no point in doing it" is horrible. In a way, it’s ambition and it’s toxic, but in my case, it took me years to realize it. I thought I was just lazy, but no... I was just a pathetic teenager obsessed with perfection. I feel so sorry for my old self.

But now, I feel like I can breathe. I am living for myself. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I will keep doing whatever feels right to me. Even if there are flaws in things, they are worth loving. Besides, what does 'flaw' even mean? According to whom? We humans invented many things and ostracized those who didn't conform to them. But then again, what does 'perfect' even mean? I believe it’s an abstract concept that doesn’t exist in reality. Philosophy has many ideas on this, but perhaps 'perfection' is just a concept invented so that people always feel inadequate and continue to tear themselves apart over trivial things.

Writing is like that, too. Perhaps I won't be an incredibly successful author, but when I look back, I will look at something I put effort into, something I created myself, and I will be proud. I won't be ashamed of myself. I will give a giant hug to all my mistakes and all my "imperfect" sides.

I don't know if these were the things I actually wanted to talk about, but I've written a lot... that’s all for now. See you!