Imperfectionism

Imperfectionism

Many people remember traumatic events clearly – where they were, with whom they were, when it happened, as if the image were frozen in their mind.  I remember – vividly - where I was when I heard that I am not perfect.  It was a veiled compliment, really – she told me that I was “almost perfect.”  I was devastated, and kept trying. This memory is particularly meaningful as I realize the impact of my desire for perfectionism on my child. When I was pregnant, I prepared for the perfect child – bought my Martha Stewart-like planner, designed the birth announcement, listened to classical music so that he would develop good taste in music. I quit my job to reduce stress. I ate the right things. I took prenatal yoga.  I did everything I could to make sure this child would be what I wanted him to be, down to inducing labor rather than wait for him to come out on his own. I can’t be alone, can I, in my desire to mold my child? Isn’t it natural to want to help children develop to become smart, successful and happy adults? I wonder how many parents struggle to place the line between gently facilitating development and forcing the mold to fit an image.  What happens when they don’t turn out like we had planned?

I am guessing that many parents wish (okay, maybe secretly) that their kids were different. Sometimes it’s the little things – we wish they would stop picking their nose in public, care about their appearance (“pull up your pants!”) or have different friends. I am betting we will all admit (despite the public vow to never repeat our parents’ indiscretions) that we licked our hand to neaten their hair, and how many of us have secretly corrected their homework before they hand it in? For me, I confess, it went deeper – I practically hand-picked his friends and extra-curricular programs. For years I tried to get him into activities I wanted him to like – not only soccer but church choir, horseback riding, and art lessons.  I had this vision of who my child should be, and somehow I thought I could “create” him. Child development specialists will testify that it is good to expose the child to a variety of activities, but I doubt they would encourage those like me who kept their kid going until all hours, propping him up while cheering “don’t you just love this?? Honey? Honey?? Of course you do!!” And then judging or criticizing him when he didn’t.  I believe I am in good company of parents who want to  their children – one only need tune in to the infomercial promising to teach the child to read before he even understands the impact of words, or watch a reality show sporting two-year old beauty contestants. (“No, really, my daughter’s first word was ‘tiara.’” Right.) That may be the extreme, but it is clear that, like Will, today’s average elementary-schooler is “over-booked” for activities like golf, Chinese, SAT-prep, and music instruction.  While these may be good intentions for developing a well-rounded child, I think when it goes from “facilitating” to “molding” it seems out of hand.  My “molding,” as if he were a dehydrated piece of playdough that I found by the radiator, became very evident this year.  My “perfect” boy is, in fact, far from my previous image of “perfect:” diagnosed with Attention Deficit and Learning Disorders, his afternoons, once full of expensive activities that might have taken place in a country club now consist of Special Education classes in a dusty library.  The perfectionist in me feels resentful – this is not what I planned! I feel guilty, as a perfectionist I always wonder if I could have done more (was it the glass of wine or cup of coffee I drank in the 3^rd month of pregnancy?) Still wanting to have control over it, I have rationalized: “If he gets a teacher who understands his needs, then it will be okay.” “If we can get the right medication, then it will be better.”  The hardest part about the erosion of the childhood I imagined for him was that it became clear to me that I needed to accept him as he is, and this let him accept it, developing a healthy sense of himself. 

As I began to practice yoga, I realized the value in living in the present and accept what “is.”  Stephen Cope, Director of Kripalu’s Institute for Extraordinary Living, talks about yoga’s ability to help us see things as they are, and that the situation at hand, if examined from a different angle, is already “ok.”  That once we understand that happiness arises from acceptance, we begin to find contentment from just being – being where we are, right now.

Not until I became a regular yoga practitioner did I realize the hazard of forcing my perfectionism on my child, and the importance of accepting him, “warts and all.” As I developed my yoga practice, and became an instructor, I became more attuned to the study of the Yamas (moral restraints) and the Niyamas (personal observances) from Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras.  As stops one and two on the Eight-limbed path to awakening, they can be incorporated into a practice that affects all aspects of life.  By studying the yamas and the niyamas, I have been able to let go of some of the ideals I once held, such as the expectations for my child, and see the glory of who Will is.  For example, following the niyama Santosha, I learn to feel more content with the situation at hand, finding light where I might have seen darkness before. With the yama Satya, I learn to accept the truth of what is and is not possible – and letting go of that which clouds my thinking.  Many of us begin our practice on the mat.  The asanas are just one of the eight limbs of yoga practice – and the foundation of many Western yoga practices.  However, by incorporating the other limbs (Pranayama, breathing; Pratyahara, drawing within; Dharana, focus; Dhyana, the flow of consciousness; and Samadhi, enlightenment or awakening) we are able to live a yogic life off- as well as on- the mat.  When we do so, we understand that our actions have consequences far beyond our imagination.  With the Eight limbs, I am able to understand the impact I am having on Will. The Eight Limbs encourage us to live the truth in the present moment, accepting that which is rather than searching for that which is not.

While he may not be a champion equestrian, or a Rhodes Scholar, he will find himself, and, to quote him, “I will do it if you just stop yelling at me to.”   As long as he is safe, healthy and happy, I need to back off.  However, I still maintain the right to tell him to use a tissue, not his sleeve, and to pull up his pants.