Perfectionist?

I'm sure that you along with me I grew up with the old adage, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well". I know my parents quoted that to me very often, and I grew up believing it. My parents didn't lie. Then many years later at Jeanie's graduation from college, the commencement speaker gave a talk part of which has stayed with me until this time. How unlikely is that for a usually long and boring speech? In fact, I was so impressed that a I sent away for the talk. The part that I remember and that made me begin rethinking my initial view was when he said: "Not everything you do should require your best effort", and then he began elaborating as to why. His reasoning made a lot of sense to me. He said that we need to prioritize by importance what should require our best efforts and what should not. Not everything that is worth putting forth our best efforts. But how do we differentiate between the two? Those who have to do everything perfectly suffer from a lot of anxiety and stress which is common among those "perfectionists". They are not usually happy people.

This month our Relief Society and Young Women undertook a humanitarian project making T-shirt dresses for little girls in Africa. The sisters and girls were excited and totally supportive of this project. They donated enough T-shirts and fabric to make a total of eighty-two dresses. We were unable to finish all the dresses in one night of sewing, so the sisters took the rest home. Because I was in charge of this project, all the dresses were returned to me. Most of the sisters did a beautiful job sewing the dresses, but there were some which obviously had been done very sloppily without much care. That really bothered me, because one of those sewers bragged about she had been sewing since she was fourteen and was now even selling some of her work on line. It seemed obvious to me that she didn't feel the dresses for these destitute children were of enough importance to give them her best efforts. In fact, I heard her say, "The children will be so grateful just to have a new dress that they won't really care if the sewing isn't perfect". Her work didn't even come close to perfect.

As I sat ripping out the work of that sister and remaking those ten dresses I thought to myself, "Am I such a perfectionist that I need these dresses to be at least as well made as those I would make for my own family? Maybe this sister is right. The children won't really care. I should just appreciate the fact that she was willing to take dresses home to finish. Is it just the perfectionist in that makes me sit here hour after hour redoing all of her work? I am aware that I have always been one of those (a perfectionist) but have since that graduation talk tried to evaluate how much time and effort a task is worth giving. And I also realize that as I get older I tend to slip backwards in my effort to make rational decisions. I enjoy having a neat, clean, organized home because now without children in the home, I can. But that really isn't that important when I consider how easy it can become an obsession in that there are days that I am too tired to do the work and stress about letting it go. That is just one example.

In my own mind this project was important enough to me to give it my best efforts. And I did. But I also had to redo those that were really bad. Was this something that was worth doing, but not worth the extra time and effort I put into it. Or am I just a hopeless obsessive perfectionist?

The Good, the Bad, and the Downright Ugly

The second semester of Jim's third year had just begun. He was enjoying this year because he was well into his major, electrical engineering. He was already familiar with much of the material he was now studying because of his four years of training and experience in the Air Force. However, of the 250 students who were accepted into the Electrical Engineering Department with Jim, less than 100 remained...and they were the very smart ones. So there was a lot of competition for grades. Only 63 actually graduated.

It was in February of that year (1957) that I woke up each morning not feeling too well. I was pretty familiar with that symptom, so when the doctor told me I was pregnant, I was not too surprised...just a little concerned about how we were going to pay for another baby. I was excited, too. Just the thought of God trusting me with another of his special spirits brought a lot of joy to my heart. And the most wonderful thing was that Jim was happy, too. He didn't seem concerned that another mouth to feed would be a burden. If he was, he surely didn't show it. He was more concerned that my breathing problems had become worse and felt it was time for me to see a specialist. Reluctantly, I agreed.

The news wasn't good. The doctor said he had never seen a nose as bad as mine. Not only did I have huge polyps in both nostrils, but the septum (the cartilage that separates the nostrils) had at some time been broken and was also preventing air from going through my nose. Surgery took care of both problems and for the first time that I could remember air could pass through my nose. It was the strangest feeling I had ever felt. It was as if I had holes in my head and air was rushing through. It took a while for me to get used to it. How we ever paid for that surgery I don't remember, but I only know it was worth it.

I was still recovering from the surgery when my little brother (not so little any more) came to us to see if he could borrow a small amount of money. He had graduated from high school and had been working during the summer so he could start college in the fall. He needed to register and pay his tuition, but he was short a little bit. You may wonder why he didn't go to my dad who, for sure, had more money than us. First of all, he hadn't had a very good relationship with Dad and Teun (his new wife) during those difficult teenage years and second, Dad was not big on higher education. He just didn't feel it was necessary if you were willing to work hard. And if you wanted an education...fine, but it would be with no help from him. On the other hand, Jim and I felt education was really important so we gave him the money. I don't have a clue how we came up with it, but we did. The result of that decision ruined the rest of my summer.

A few days after giving J.D. the money my dad called me. He was furious! He yelled at me, swore at me, and told me to mind my own business...which didn't include my brother. I was devastated and called Jim at work just sobbing. Jim tried to calm me down on the phone by assuring me that Dad didn't mean what he had said, but I could tell he was really upset. About an hour later my Dad called again, and all he said was, "Well, your husband just said I couldn't talk to you anymore, so this is the last time you'll hear from me." And he hung up. Now I was a basket case as I called Jim to find out what had happened. I sensed correctly that he had been upset by what I had told him. Actually, "upset" was too mild a word. He was downright angry, and even though he was only twenty-four years old at the time, he was ready to take on his father-in-law without hesitation. He had called my dad back and told him in no uncertain terms to never talk to me like that again. And if he called me again it had better be with an apology. Obviously when my dad called me again it definitely was not with an apology. It was "I'll never talk to you again." Even though it was quite a while before he did, I think on that day Dad acquired a lot of respect for Jim. Just to know that his daughter had a husband who would stand up for her and protect her had to be a comfort. I think it would have been a comfort to any father.



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We're Halfway There

We had reached the half-way mark of Jim's college education and we knew now that we could finish. We both had the determination not to quit no matter how difficult the challenges would become. I know I have talked about some of the difficulties I faced, but I know Jim probably faced even more even though he never complained. Someday I hope I can convince him to write about his own thoughts and feelings at this time. As I look back, I don't know how he did all that he did to support the family, do all the school work that was required, and still remain sane...and maintain a positive attitude.

Did I help Jim with his homework to take away some of the pressure? Only once. It must have been in his freshman year when he had to take an English class. English is usually not a male's favorite class, and it certainly wasn't Jim's. But it was required so he struggled through it. But when he was required to read the book "Billy Bud" and write a themed report on it, he just didn't have the time or the writing skills (so he thought) to finish this project. Even though I had never read the book, he asked me to help him. He hadn't read the whole book either, so we just skimmed over it together, shared ideas about we thought the theme was, and I wrote the paper. He was thrilled to get a "B" on the paper, and frankly, so was I. After that, things just got to technical in all of his class so I wouldn't have been able to help him if he asked. But he never did.

Some memories of that that third year in school include:

• Jeanie's love for her new little sister. She constantly piled her toys on top her when she was awake.
• Jim's first display of his creative ability when he turned an old army bunk bed (one he slept in as a teen) into a bed when Debbie got too big for the cradle and needed Jean's crib. He made a padded head board that was curved and scalloped to make it more "girlish".
• Jeanie getting so lethargic and just lying around on the floor. We took her to the doctor because we thought she was ill only to discover that it was because she missed her daddy. His schedule had changed and he was not longer able to come home for lunch at noon when he would always play with her for a few minutes. The doctor assured us that children were very versatile and quick to adjust to new situations, and Jeanie did. She was soon back to her old happy self.
• Going to church alone when Jim had to work. It was no fun juggling two little ones by myself. No one seemed to notice my struggles nor offered to help.
• Working as a member of the "Homemaking Board" of Relief Society where we did a lot of crafts back then. I had to come up with a ideas and then implement them. It was so difficult because it required that I purchase materials ahead of time and I just didn't have the money or the transportation to be able to do that. Sisters would pay back the money at the activity (sometimes) but I just didn't have the money to put out up front.
• Working in the nursery during Relief Society, a paid position, to bring in a little extra money. R.S. was held on a week day.
• A once-in-while treat of a Dairy Queen sundae when Jim had a rare night off.
• A New Year's Eve "celebration" when Jim returned home from work. I wanted to celebrate with him in some way. So I set up a table in the living room with a table cloth and candles, turned on the TV to watch the New Year arrive across the country, and snack on the only "snackable" food I could find in the house...saltine crackers and avocado. It turned out to be a humble but romantic evening for us. I always used to wonder how poor people could really be happy. I learned how that evening.
• But the most wonderful but scary event happened in February of that third year.
  

STAY TUNED!!!