***BE REAL***

As a warning, the following post was written in
complete desperation. I have recently learned some
very sobering truths from people that I love dearly.
These truths have set in motion a quest within me to
do whatever I can to make a change. Today is not
geared at funny. Today is geared at something
greater. Read it to the very end. I promise you will be
affected in a way you have always needed to be. I
spent more than twelve hours writing this post
because its message is that important to me.
I wonder. Am I the only one aware that there is an
infectious mental disease laying siege on us right
now? There is a serious pandemic of “Perfection”
spreading, and it needs to stop. Hear me out because
this is something for which I am passionately and
constantly hurting. It’s a sickness that I’ve been trying
to put into words for years without much success. It’s
a sickness that I have personally struggled with. It’s a
sickness that at times has left me hiding in dark
corners and hating myself.
And chances are it’s hit you too.
What is the disease called ”Perfection”? Perhaps a list
of its real-life symptoms will help you better
understand it. We live in communities where people
feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always
appear perfectly happy, perfectly functional, and
perfectly figured. “Perfection” is much different than
perfectionism. The following examples of “Perfection”
are all real examples that I have collected from
experiences in my own life, from confidential sources,
or from my circle of loved ones and friends. If you
actually stop to think about some of these, you will cry
as I did while writing it. If you don’t, maybe you’re
infected with way too much of this ”Perfection”
infection.
“Perfection” is a wife who feels trapped in a marriage
to a lazy, angry, small man, but at soccer practice tells
the other wives how wonderful her husband always
is. “Perfection” keeps people from telling the truth,
even to themselves. My husband is adorable. He
called me a whore this week because I smiled at a
stranger. When I started crying, he said he had a
game to go watch. I love him so much.
“Perfection” is a husband who is belittled,
unappreciated, and abused by his wife, yet works
endlessly to make his marriage appear incredible to
those around him. ”Perfection” really does keep
people from being real about the truth. You would
have laughed, guys. She said that I suck at my job and
will never go anywhere in life. Then she insinuated
that I was a fat, rotting pile of crap. Isn’t she the best?
“Perfection” is a daughter with an eating disorder that
keeps it hidden for years because she doesn’t want to
be the first among her family and friends to be
imperfect. She would give anything to confront it, but
she can’t because then the “Perfect” people would
hate her as much as she hates herself for it.
“Perfection” is when a son has a forbidden addiction,
and despises himself for it. “Perfection” makes us
believe that nobody else could understand what it is
like to be weak and fall prey to the pressures of the
world.
“Perfection” is a man who loathes himself for feeling
unwanted attraction toward other men.
“Perfection” is a couple drowning in debt, but who
still agree to that cruise with their friends because the
words “we don’t have the money” are impossible
ones to push across their lips.
“Perfection” is a mom hating herself because she only
sees that every other mom around her is the perfect
mother, the perfect wife, and the perfect neighbor. I’d
give anything to be Mrs. Jones. Today she ran 34
miles, cooked six complete meals, participated in a
two-hour activity with each of her seven children,
hosted a marriage class with her husband, and still
had time to show up for Bunco. What this mom
doesn’t know is that Mrs. Jones is also at home crying
right now because the pressure to be “Perfect” never
lets up.
“Perfection” is a dad hating himself because he can’t
give the same thing to his kids that other dads do,
and then hates himself further because he takes his
self-loathing out on his kids behind closed doors. You
know what would have been nice? If you were never
born. Do you realize how much money I’d have right
now? Now come give Daddy a hug because I can
force you to give me validation.
“Perfection” is a child hating herself because the boys
at school call her fat, and when she goes home she
tells her mom that school was fine. Her mom never
stops to question why her daughter doesn’t have any
friends, because her mom doesn’t want to think that
anything might be less than “Perfect”.
“Perfection” is a man feeling like a smaller man
because his neighbor just pulled in with a new boat.
“Perfection” is a woman who is so overwhelmed that
she thinks about killing herself daily. “Perfection”
makes it so that she never will because of the things
people will think if she does. How could I make my
suicide look like an accident? If I kill myself, I don’t
want anybody knowing that I ever had any problems.
She never stops to look at why she wants to do it,
because healing means admitting imperfection.
“Perfection” is a man who everybody heralds as
perfect, and inside he is screaming to be seen as the
faulty human being that he always has been. Because
to no longer be “the perfect one”, that would be
freeing.
“Perfection” is a woman having an affair because
she’s too afraid to confront the imperfection in her
marriage.
“Perfection” is a twelve-year-old boy killing himself
because he is ashamed that he can’t stop
masturbating.
Stop, and read that one again.
There is a twelve-year-old boy buried 20 miles from
where I sit because the “Perfection” that has infected
the people around him infected him to the point that
he deemed his own life worthless. “Perfection”
pushed him to take his own life over something most
of us would consider negligible in the life of any
teenage boy.
“Perfection” is my friend’s cousin swallowing
hundreds of pills because she just got the news that
she was pregnant, out of wedlock, and the shame
was too much to bear. She was only attempting to
cause a miscarriage. 24 hours later, she closed her
eyes and never opened them again. She is dead
because of the “Perfection” infecting those around
her. We’d rather you die than shame this family.
Thanks for taking care of that, honey. By the way, we’ll
do the right thing and make ourselves out to be the
victims now. We have to. We’re infected with
“Perfection”.
I could go on. This is all a small sampling of the
disease called “Perfection”. You have brothers, sisters,
mothers, fathers, extended family members,
neighbors, friends, and children who are ALL these
things, yet none of us will ever know. “Perfection” is a
hideous monster with a really beautiful face. And
chances are you’re infected. The good news is, there
is a cure.
Be real.
Embrace that you have weakness. Because everybody
does. Embrace that your body is not perfect. Because
nobody’s is. Embrace that you have things you can’t
control. We all have a list of them.
Here’s your wake-up call:
You aren’t the only one who feels worthless
sometimes.
You aren’t the only one who took your frustrations
out on your children today.
You aren’t the only one who isn’t making enough
money to support your lifestyle.
You aren’t the only one who has questions and
doubts about your religion.
You aren’t the only one who sometimes says things
that really hurt other people.
You aren’t the only one who feels trapped in your
marriage.
You aren’t the only one who gets down and hates
yourself and you can’t figure out why.
You aren’t the only one that questions your sexual
orientation.
You aren’t the only one who hates your body.
You aren’t the only one that can’t control yourself
around food.
Your husband is not the only husband who’s
addiction sends him online for his sexual fulfillment
instead of to you.
Your wife is not the only wife that is mean and
vindictive and makes you hate yourself.
Why didn’t somebody, anybody, put their arm around
that 12-year old boy and let him know that they loved
him and would always love him? What was he being
told and taught that he would end his own life over
something that almost no teenager can control?
Maybe that beautiful and wonderful boy would still
be alive if even one person had broken down the
“Perfection” that completely controlled all those in his
life from whom he desperately craved validation.
Why didn’t somebody, anybody, tell a beautiful
pregnant girl that there was nothing so big in life that
it couldn’t be made right. Maybe that incredible young
woman would still be alive. Maybe her now one-year-
old child would be learning to walk or say “Mommy”
right now. Maybe.
Maybe.
The cure is so simple.
Be real.
Be bold about your weaknesses and you will change
people’s lives. Be honest about who you actually are,
and others will begin to be their actual selves around
you. Once you cure yourself of the disease, others will
come to you, asking if they can just “talk”. People are
desperate to talk. Some of the most “perfect” people
around you will tell you of some of the greatest
struggles going on. Some of the most “perfect”
people around you will break down in tears as they
tell you how difficult life is for them. Turns out some
of the most “perfect” people around us are human
beings after all, and are dying to talk to another
human being about it.
You’ll love them for it. And you’ll love yourself even
more.
Let’s not forget this quote: “I went out to find a friend
and could not find one there. I went out to be a
friend, and friends were everywhere.” Somebody
who is being a friend doesn’t spread “Perfection”.
Somebody who is being a friend spreads “Real”.
Then, and only then, can we all grow together.
I am not perfect, nor do I want anybody to think of
me as such. Here’s my dose of real:
I once stole a box of money that was meant for a
child with cancer. There was more than $150 inside.
That was 12 years ago, and I still hate the person in
me that did that.
I believe in God, but not religion. It took me 30 years
to find the courage to say that. It took me 30 years to
believe that I could be a good man and still believe
that.
I once got so angry at my wife that I hit the wall. The
dent is still there, haunting me every time I see it
because I never thought that was something I would
do.
I once sat in my bedroom crying uncontrollably
because I felt like everybody thought I was fat and
ugly. I was a full grown man.
There are some people I avoid bumping into in public
because I feel like I’m not as good as them.
I judge people harshly who share the same features
that I hate about myself.
Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m not funny.
Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I stay
at home on a weekend because I just don’t want to
see the “Perfection” going on around me. Sometimes
I want to drop-kick a perfect person’s head across the
room.
“Perfection” infects every corner of society. It infects
our schools. It infects neighborhoods. It infects our
workplaces. This is not to say that there aren’t a lot of
genuinely, happy people. I am one of those people.
Most of the time. There is nothing more beautiful
than a person finding true happiness in who they are
and what they believe. No, this is not me trying to
diminish the happiness in others. This is merely me
pathetically attempting to put a face on a problem
that I see everywhere but few people ever notice.
This is me, weeping as I write, asking the good people
of the world to find somebody to put their arm
around and be “real”. This is me, wishing that people
would realize how beautiful they are, even with all of
their imperfections. This is me, sad and desperate for
the girls in this world to love themselves. This is me, a
very imperfect man, trying to help others feel a little
more perfect by asking you to act a little less perfect.
Will you help me spread “Real”? Tell us below just
how perfect you aren’t. You never know who might
be alive tomorrow because you were real today. You
never know who needs to feel like they aren’t alone in
their inability to be perfect. Even if you comment as
an anonymous guest, please comment. Tell us what
you struggle with. Tell a sad or dark secret. Get
vulnerable. Get real. Let’s see if we can get 1,000
people showing the world that we’re not defined by
perfection.- by Dan Pearce