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Vulnerability and perfectionism are diametrically opposed. And that’s what perfectionists prefer. If we consider the idea of masking as it relates to autism and acknowledge that perfectionism is pronounced in the population of people on the autism spectrum (Greenaway et al. 2010), then we can, arguably, think of perfectionism as a form of masking, of social protection. Deeper, most perfectionists wish to do more than just mask; they strive to become completely different people.
One of the more challenging aspects of therapy is self-disclosure and acceptance, likely even more difficult than change. Perfectionists enter treatment to better align with their ideal selves. Chronically fatigued by endless masking, a good number of them wish to become who they pretend to be, something the ancient Greek philosopher Socrates recommended as well.
While that is seemingly a reasonable aspiration, their needs are buried but never forgotten. Perfectionists tend to present as independent, self-assured, and driven. They disdain anything weak, needy, and, most important, human. Therapy then becomes another aid for self-delusion (even if its articulated goals conflict with that reality), reflecting the perfectionist’s image back to them while somehow simultaneously improving it.
So, it becomes a complicated and strange dance. How do I as a perfectionist maintain my image while revealing enough of my weaknesses to actually become the person in that image? If this feels nonsensical, it’s because it is. It’s why treatment for perfectionism is often daunting.
While desperately needing therapy, perfectionists struggle to ask for help. They blame burnout, external circumstances, and even their partners—anything feels superior to just revealing a need.
Thus, if there’s one emotion spreading its tentacles into almost every facet of perfectionism, it’s anger. Anger dominates the perfectionist’s existence. Perfectionists are often angry at their jobs and the demanding workloads. They resent their parents for failing to meet their needs. And they often blame their partners for being inconsiderate.
On the surface, all of this is usually true. Their bosses can and should consider whether they’re taking advantage of their tendency to people-please. Their parents, likely perfectionists themselves, are too preoccupied with their own self-loathing to push through to help them. And their partners likely wait to be told what to do, conveniently using the excuse of the perfectionist’s silence to limit their own curiosity.
Despite all of that being true, the perfectionist’s fundamental rage is aimed toward themselves, revealed by the equally fundamental question of: Why should I even have to ask? It’s one thing to have your needs chronically discounted, another to feel repelled by the idea of announcing them.
Perfectionists refuse to be vulnerable. At once, they want to not have needs (outside of the basic ones, such as for food and shelter) while having others anticipate them. They wish to be cared for while maintaining the image and, perhaps more important, self-image of hyper-independence.
They want to not think too deeply about their place in the world and take for granted their specialness. They want to see and judge weakness in others while blinding themselves to their hypocrisy. Again, they want to become their masks while vaguely knowing that that sort of image can be supported only if others quietly do their jobs, placing the perfectionist at the center of their lives.
To admit that you’re angry with yourself for having needs, for needing help, and even for being fraudulently independent is the first step in fixing your relationships and your orientation to work. Next, you’ll be asked to acknowledge how choosing that specific partner and that specific job aided your sense of self, and why each may be unsustainable for you in their current forms. Somewhere in all of this, you’ll be asked to explore the validity of your understanding of weakness and need and whether the two are inextricably linked.
Perfectionism Essential Reads
What if your partner wants to help you? What if your needs aren’t burdens? What if others won’t judge you as they support you? What if you aren’t, in any meaningful way, competing with anyone but yourself? Lastly, what if you have to accept that some part of you resembles a parent whom you believed to be unworthy of respect? Since parents are often mirrors into our worst parts, we also sometimes project onto them our anger toward ourselves, justifying it by their failures.
The question may be: Can I be loved if I’m just like them, or am I cursed forever? Due in large part to black-and-white thinking, we often exaggerate our parents’ flaws while deluding ourselves into believing we’re superior.
“No one wants to be weak” is the perfectionist’s refrain, yet their understanding of weakness is highly flawed—every need is perceived as symbolizing immense weakness. Every flaw is disqualifying. And every imperfection is denied. Whatever weakness or vulnerability means, to the perfectionist, should probably not be taken too seriously. This is probably what psychoanalyst Don Carveth meant when he wrote, “The point of analysis is to get over yourself.”
Next time you catch yourself being angry at someone else or even yourself, you may ask: Am I, in reality, angry at myself for being imperfect?
