Perfection is the only option. You need to have the perfect pictures, the perfect captions, the perfect relationship, be the perfect parent with the perfect kids and have the perfect family. You’re supposed to always keep the perfect smile in your back pocket at all times, even when your life is crumbling apart around you. Nobody wants to hear when that perfect smile has no place in your pocket because work has kept you on your toes for the last year. Nobody wants to hear that you’re an insomniac that has turned to sleeping pills for 3 hours sleep peace every night. Nobody wants to hear that your teenager has driven a wedge between your marriage because as a parent “I just can’t get this shit right.” Regardless of all your struggles, the world can only see the smiles and not the shame.
My entire life has been a long distance sprint towards perfection. I was raised to feel like if I wasn’t perfect, I would be a problem and problems get thrown out on the street for being disobedient. I always had the best grades and would practice my piano until my legs would bruise from me slapping my legs when I made a mistake. I never wanted to be a problem because perfection was the only option. The first time I got a C in 3rd grade I cried myself to bed and the shame I felt was so crippling as I child I still remember that moment vividly.
Shame - a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior. What’s funny is we’ve been groomed to feel shame even when the problems aren’t wrong or foolish. We’ve been programmed to feel shame even when life just isn’t what you planned it to be; the life we’ve dreamt of having when we were 5 years old. Successfully manifesting a beautiful family by the age of 25 didn’t come in my timeline so here comes the shame that tells me that I have to overcompensate for my emotions and prove to the world that I’m okay being single with no kids at 35 years old. My dream was to go to college and experience life without worry with top honors GPA, scholarships galore and a career that would jumpstart my life at 22 years old. By the time I was 22, I was making $7.25 an hour working a 45 hour work week at a smoke shop with a 4 year old son. Society tells me this was failing. I was a failure statistic who did not live up to my potential and my shame told me to pursue my dreams as an artist to overcompensate for my lack of schooling. I’ve worked my life to tell people that “experience is just as valuable as a diploma” when deep down inside I’ve always wanted that piece of paper to validate that little 8 year old girl who cried herself to sleep for getting an “average” grade for the very first time.
Depression has lived in me as long as I can remember and that strive for perfection has held a padlock stronghold on my existence ever since. Would all of my problems have disappeared had I went to college and got that signed document? Could I have achieved that “perfect” life if I had just practiced what I preach now to my son and “focus on my schoolwork?” That was the world that I lived in 5 years ago, an ever evolving door of shame. With that shame came regret, anxiety, insomnia, pessimism, chaos and increasingly bad decisions. Therapy has helped me to organize my chaos and force me to ask the questions that matter, including the most important, “What is the key to happiness?” My research has lead me to believe that happiness has nothing to do with achievements and awards and everything to do with the appreciation of life. I’m currently reading a book by Viktor Frankl called “Mans Search for Meaning” which follows his years that he spent in Auschwitz during World War II. He describes in detail how men and women were stripped of everything they owned, their diplomas and professional licenses burned in front of their faces, and fed a single loaf of bread to share between 1200 prisoners. Although the average person today would not be able to handle such torture and mental distress, the art of practicing gratitude helped him find his will to live. Even under the worst circumstances during one of the deadliest wars in history, he found optimism in every single day and lived to tell his story. The strongest person isn’t who can lift the most weight or do the most pushups, it’s the underdog who remembers that even during our toughest times there is always something to be thankful for.
Yesterday I posted a TikTok on my background story. It blew me away how many people reached out to me because they didn’t know at all. I spent the last 13 years building around the shame that haunted me because of what I experienced. I was afraid that people would think less of me because of the horrible moments I had to endure. That thought of being a victim haunted me harder than the act itself. At what point is my shame of who I was, holding me back from what I can become? Living in the shadows of my own shame is only immobilizing my ability to be honest with myself. I showed such a strong and solid front for so many years, giving the perfect life and the most perfect circumstances. That perfection was built off pain yes but vulnerability keeps me alive. It keeps me vibrant and real. It gives people a chance to see that perfection is only an idea it isn’t a lifestyle. An idea that is completely different from every single person in this world so you literally CANNOT please everyone. I don’t want to be the perfect version of me that society wants me to be, I want to be Xoch who has bad days and looks like a bum off the street 99.9% of the time. I don’t want the validation of feeling beautiful because I’ve got on the best clothes with the nicest makeup, I want to feel beautiful because my back didn’t hurt when I woke up in the morning. I don’t want to feel ashamed about being a girl with a past, I want to feel good about the right here and right now. The sound of thunder that rattles my ears as I write this, the curiosity of life that surrounds me knowing there’s a rainbow nearby, the sound of geese flying south for the winter, the security I feel with my 70 pound pitbull best friend sitting at my side, and the peace of feeling comfortable in my own home. My future cannot be predicted, I can plan out as much as I would like but at the end of the day, I don’t have control and that’s okay. What I can control is my reaction to the small inconveniences that could ruin a happy day. That switch that tells us “not today, satan” because our attitude is as stank as our booty hole (yes I said booty hole). We have to call ourselves out for our bad moments and bad days that trickle down to those around us like rain falling off a leaf. Your shame can trick you to believe that your asshole tendencies are justified because you spilled your coffee over your brand new shirt earlier in the morning. Your shame is lying, don’t be a dick.
In closing, I don’t want to be a dick anymore. I haven’t been a dick to people on purpose for some time now but I’ve been a total dick to myself. I’ve been protecting myself from myself for a long time now. I don’t want to be a strong figure for anyone else because I do have bad days, I am struggling with keeping it together and I have a lot I still have to work through but I do want to be a vessel for others who may be trying to break away from their shame like I am. I don’t want people to look up to me, I want people to look me in my eyes. I don’t want to be your guidance, I want to be your friend.
We got this.
God loves you and so do I,
XO