Perfectionism can paralyze our children, and our response is what matters the most. Here are 3 unexpected ways to pull your kids from the struggle and move toward perfect effort instead.
Several weeks ago I hit a wall. It was white, newly painted, and disguised as a blog on a topic with which I am intimately familiar. The minute I collided with the thing I was distraught I hadn’t written it.
My body lay at its feet, battered and broken.
“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!” it bellowed, and for the past three months that’s been all I could hear.
So began a hellish encounter with writer’s block, filled with perseveration, avoidance, and fear. I obsessed over failure after failure, paralyzed by my own self doubt. It was a horrible experience to go through, but I think it’s made me a better mother to my kids. I now have a greater understanding of the perfectionist cycle, a vicious beast I’ve seen slay my children time and again.
Perhaps you can identify with the following scenarios, plucked from the trenches of life with gifted kids:
10 year old, with feeling: “I will NOT do my math. It’s horrible. I hate it. It takes TOO LONG and it is ABSOLUTELY DISRUPTIVE TO MY OVERALL SENSE OF PEACE! I am going to watch Building Time with Stampy and THEEEEEEENNNNN – I’m playing Minecraft. So there.”
Me, with desperation: “GAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
6 year old, with sass: “I’m COMPLETELY ILLITERATE!!!! Don’t you even know what that means? I can’t read. I’ll never learn to read. I’ll spend the rest of my life relying on the kindness of strangers who are willing to interpret those dumb things you call words.”
Me, with I don’t even know: “GAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
2 year old, with singular determination and a total lack of adult dexterity: “No mommy do it. I do it. I DO IT!!!!! I DOOOOOO IIIIIIIIIT!”
Me, with a vaya con dios: “Dan? Where’s that bottle of wine?”
Prior to my own existential crisis, I chose a reaction more akin to gaslighting than maternal support. I wanted to defuse, problem solve, and move forward – the exact opposite of what my kids need. I couldn’t see this until I’d had my own brush with it, though.
The beast looks much different from inside.
Anatomy of the Descent
It begins with a desire to succeed, to perform to the best of your ability. You scrutinize every step, every action, every choice. But the line you drew is crooked, or the perfect words just won’t come.
The scientific resolution remains elusive.
It’s entirely, absolutely your fault.
At once you are lost in obsession, your singular focus locked on your flaws. The ideas, the dreams, the goals still exist, but they’re colored in a failure-ridden fog.
Paralysis moves in swiftly. Even though you long to create, discover, and explore, each spark of hope becomes mired in a putrid swamp of fear and self-loathing.
You are completely, 100% stuck, and the only option left is to run.
Composition of the Climb
My unholy experience with perfection, perseveration, and paralysis brought much-needed insight to the world my children inhabit. My kids aren’t lazy, unmotivated, or obstinate. They are industrious, and sweet, loving kids. Fear of failure takes over and consumes them. They shut down and lash out of self preservation. I have to help them move out of the fear.
First, I empathize
When I was locked in my battle with writer’s block, I found plenty of people willing to offer advice. Very few wanted to experience the anguish with me.
Fortunately, my husband and a good friend filled that role. Rather than offer platitudes and encouragement, they listened, reflected, and tried to understand my pain. Their empathy pulled me through the valley, and in turned helped me do the same with my kids. I now have an arsenal of phrases I can use when they’re struggling:
You have some big worries.
Your feelings have been hurt.
Your frustration level is high right now.
You feel frustrated with yourself (your teacher, your coach, etc.).
It’s hard to see a way out of this.
You’re dealing with a lot right now.
You feel disappointed.
Then, I steer into the skid
It seems counterintuitive, really, to immerse oneself in the very thing causing pain. But it’s like surviving a riptide when swimming in the ocean – you have to swim parallel to find your way out.
For my own part I started slowly, writing vague expressions to scratch the surface of my soul. Eventually, the words came more easily, and spilled out my frustration onto the page. The wording was wieldy, and awful, but I was writing – something I hadn’t been able to do for months.
For my children, I use this approach to move them out of an oppositional situation, like an impasse with a certain subject or chore. But I’ve found sometimes it’s best to lean in another direction, especially if when we have some flexibility.
One of the strongest allies of a gifted child is the rabbit hole – the all-in pursuit of a fascinating subject. When math problems devastate my oldest, I let her immerse herself in science to her heart’s content. A number of shoots grow from that singular focus, from self-directed writing assignments to math skills and more. When we lean into subjects about which she has passions, she’s more likely to give other things a go.
Finally, I keep concrete reminders of successes.
We don’t obsess over them – we just keep them on display. If the event or accomplishment comes up in conversation, I try to stay focused on the process and not the end result. My hope is that our children will begin to see perfect effort as something distinct from perfection itself, then adopt the former as the rule.
While I would have preferred not to have such a drastic run-in with perfectionism, I’m ultimately glad that I did. The wall taught me how to be a better mom to my children when they have their own collisions, and I think that’s what we needed in the end.
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