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LITTLE MISS GOODY-TWO-SHOES
Girl discovers striving for perfection is overrated, pointless
In second grade, I got in trouble. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but it meant everything to me. My teacher was talking to an educational assistant in the back of the classroom. I was eavesdropping and overheard my teacher tell the assistant to follow her. That’s when I made the mistake. Upon the words “follow me,” several other classmates disobeyed the previous instructions to sit down and started to rise from their seats. I noticed them get up and decided to get up too. When my teacher heard the unmistakable sound of chairs moving, she turned around. “Sit down!” She ordered. My heart swelled up when the teacher started yelling at the class. Her voice rose as she became filled with anger, and she started to accuse people by pointing at them. When her index finger rose in the air and pointed in my direction, I froze. I did something wrong; I was disobedient. I rose from my desk and walked towards my teacher. She demanded everyone who didn’t follow her instructions give her a “dollar,” which was something she used as a part of a punishment/rewards system in her classroom. “Libby,” she said. “I didn’t see you stand up. I pointed to the girl next to you.” I nodded my head. She may not have seen me, but I was guilty, and the guilt consumed me. It had a funny way of doing that. It might seem crazy that an act like standing up when I wasn’t supposed to could make me feel so bad, but it did. For the rest of the day, I thought about it. I tried to distract myself with different activities, but my mind kept dragging me back to the incident. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I told myself it was just a stupid mistake and nobody was perfect. However, the guilt was screaming in my head telling me I did something wrong, telling me I wasn’t good enough. My stomach twisted. I hated feeling this way. Other kids around me got in trouble all the time and they didn’t seem to feel a thing. I told myself that as I got older, I would probably grow out of this fear of getting in trouble. It never went away. Throughout elementary school, I avoided trouble at all costs and always strived for perfection. I was the teacher’s pet in my class each year, and I looked for ways I could be an even greater kid. I served as a member of student council for four years, and even dressed up as our school mascot for assemblies. Teachers, parents and classmates always called me smart and thought I was “a good kid.” I left elementary school feeling like I was destined for greatness. Middle school tore me apart. My years in elementary school didn’t prepare me for the bitter loneliness I felt in middle school. I struggled to feel comfortable in my own skin and felt friendless. I suppose this is the stereotypical middle school experience, but I was changed by it. My main goal in middle school was to impress people just like I did in elementary school. I look back and realize how this became an obsession of some sort. In middle
school, I focused on trying to succeed in every aspect of my life. I kept any bad or anxiety-causing part of my life a secret and hid it from everyone. I thought this would prove to people around me that I was capable, that I was worth something. So, I did it all, or at least attempted to. Most of the time, I tried to impress people through good grades. I was heavily involved in the Excellence in Youth Program at the middle school and worked hard to pass my classes with flying colors. My mentality was that my grades proved how smart I was. So, good grades showed I was smart. If I was smart, I was a capable, worthy human being. By the time I was 14, my confidence was built on other people’s thoughts. I lived for the moments when people called me “a rock star” or “fantastic” or even “perfect.” People praised me for how well I was doing in my classes or activities, and I loved hearing what they had to say. They gave great compliments, but I took them all too seriously. I was soon a freshman in high school and kept the attitude up. I took as many honors classes as I could and finished the year with straight A’s. My high school expectations for myself were met, and I was pretty content with my academic life. But then came sophomore year. I stretched myself way too thin and wanted to take three AP classes at the same time. I ended up dropping a class, (which was somewhat scary, but I knew it was for the best). But then I got a B. My first B ever, which broke my streak of A’s. I told myself it was okay. I’d make up for it next year. Then I became a junior and realized I couldn’t make up the B I got. My grades made me want to scream. I felt anxious. In elementary school, I assumed I would succeed in high school and do well in college and then live happily ever after. Life would be easy like some sort of fairy tale. “Succeeding in high school” is hard — harder than I ever thought. When I was little, I told myself “I’m Libby Seline. I can do anything.” However, reality has hit me in the face, and I’ve realized it’s physically and mentally impossible to do everything. As much as I want to say that I’m perfect, the truth is that I’m far from it. So I write this article as your typically confused teen trying to figure out my life. I’ve developed an unhealthy attitude that causes me to distance myself and stop caring. I don’t like to think about the future because it makes me want to puke, and I stress out when someone gives me advice. I’ve shut down. I don’t like that I’ve stopped caring about certain things, though. To me, it means that I’m not exactly happy about who I am or who I am becoming. However, it’s forcing me to take a step back and figure out my identity and what makes me happy. I’m figuring out what’s important. So, I realized I shouldn’t give a sh** about being little miss perfect anymore. I’m even swearing now. Elementary-school-me would be so surprised that I’ve started to cuss, but it’s so liberating. It’s like breaking out of cage of your own emotions. It’s like telling yourself that you don’t have to live up to these overly high standards, and by telling yourself that, the shackles chaining your mind break.
L I B BY S E L I N E
MANAGING EDITOR I’m starting to realize that I don’t have to be perfect, because striving for perfection is tearing me apart. I’ve been blessed with people in my life who have seen through my charade, and have helped me see that I’m more than my grades or my activities. I’ve begun to trust people more, and I feel freer to share information I once kept to myself. I’ve realized I can’t always handle life on my own; I can’t be this perfect person I’ve always wanted to be. I’m lucky to have people in my life who have lifted me up on their shoulders and helped me build self-esteem. There’s still a part of me that thinks a number can determine my worth. For instance, I cried when I saw my ACT score, which I didn’t think was high enough. I broke down in my mother’s car because my grades weren’t good enough. I’ve cried myself to sleep because of stress and anxiety. It’s taken me 17 years, but I’m finally realizing something: Intelligence should never be, “How smart are you?” but more like, “How are you smart?” Sometimes I feel less like a human and more like a robot. I’ve lost touch with what makes me unique because I’m more obsessed with managing the details of my life. Intelligence has become a matter of grades and less a matter of what I’m good at. Slowly, but surely, I’m learning to find a new appreciation for myself. An appreciation that isn’t number- or gradebased or even based on other people’s thoughts. I shouldn’t aim to be perfect because perfection is impossible. Striving to be perfect is like beating yourself up for standing up when you weren’t supposed to: devastating and pointless.