Nope, I’m not getting all judgmental on you. Especially since I just paused to ask myself the same question and thought of several. 

It’s easy to have an explanation for everything, isn’t it? You bought the dress because you’re going to need a nice one for Maria’s wedding anyway. I had to deviate from my food plan because the seminar was in a hotel with only one restaurant, and my choices were limited. What? Oh, sure, I could have ordered a salad, but the lettuce didn’t look fresh. 

The difference between what we say we value and what we actually do sets up something called cognitive dissonance. We feel uncomfortable because we know we’re not walking our talk. Our minds naturally search for ways to close that gap so we can feel good about ourselves again. Excuses, explanations and rationalizations make convenient mortar for filling in the chinks and shoring up the walls of our self-esteem.

The problem is, all that mortaring takes energy, and the wider the gaps, the harder the job. This can easily kick off a long downward spiral of frustration, depression, and shame. You want to live in certain ways and do certain things, but you seem to have less and less energy to do them. Your talk and your walk drift further and further apart. And your walls need even more repair. 

So how can you lay down the trowel and quit mortaring? Here’s one idea: 

Figure out what you value. 

This is tough to do because of all the socialization we undergo. Our parents and families are our first teachers, and we absorb their viewpoints and priorities automatically. Teachers, religious leaders and other authority figures dip their oars in as well. The mass media start pounding away at us as soon as we’re able to begin comprehending their messages.

And we’re not even aware that most of this is happening. Which means we’ve pretty much inherited an entire value system unconsciously.

To start repairing the gaps between your values and your actions, it helps to get some clarity on what those values are. Which ones are truly your own, and which came bundled with the software? 

Are you up for a quick exercise? Grab a sheet of paper and quickly write out a list of the things you think are most important in life—the core ideals which form the bedrock of your personal value system. Aim for about 10-15 items, or whatever emerges in about three or four minutes of writing. Go ahead, do it now—I’ll wait.

(whistling some cheery on-hold music)

Okay, take a look at your list. I’ll bet it contains many items such as (in no particular order):

• Love
• Happiness
• Family
• Religion/Spirituality
• Honesty
• Hard Work
• Excellence
• Security
• Courage
• Compassion
• Friendship
• Gratitude
• Determination
• Generosity
  . . . and the list goes on.

These are the types of “old standards” most of us inherit, and they seem so obvious that we rarely question them or think about them deeply. (Love? Of course! Who wouldn’t want love in their lives?) Plus—and this is key—we know at some level that it’s safe to espouse these beliefs. They’re socially acceptable because they are dictated to us by society. 

Let me be clear. There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of these values. In fact, most of us would agree they’re very important. They’re just . . . a little vague, don’t you think?

Let’s say you wrote down “courage,” for example. Sounds great—but what exactly does it mean to you? Not backing down in a physical confrontation? Getting over your fear of public speaking? Standing up for yourself and drawing healthy boundaries in a relationship? Going (oh, no!!!) to the dentist?

There is no judgment attached to any answers here. (Well, as long as you don’t value torturing living creatures or engaging in destructive hurtfulness, there’s not.) You just need to figure out what the stuff you’ve probably been parroting all your life really means to you, if anything.

Check your list. Is there anything you wrote down because you felt you should? Be honest. Maybe you don’t actually value hard work, or family. That’s okay! It doesn’t mean you’ll never work hard or spend quality time with your family—just that these are not going to be primary motivators for you. Maybe you feel you should go to church or spend time in meditation, but deep down it’s just not fulfilling to you. Again, no judgment. You’re only admitting this to yourself anyway, and I promise the world won’t end based on what you think and feel.

Speaking of feelings, the relief you feel when you accept what is true for you is immensely liberating. Maybe for the first time ever, you’re in a clear and conscious space with this stuff. And it feels wonderful. 

Now add the values that you’d really like to have on your list, but were afraid wouldn’t look good. Rest and relaxation, anyone? Fun? Freedom? Travel? A different religious or spiritual perspective than you were raised with? Go ahead—this is your list, and no one else ever has to see it. 

Congratulations! You’ve just taken a major step toward congruency between the things you say are important to you  and the things you do. Because it’s a whole lot easier to walk your talk when you honestly believe in the things you’re saying.

(HINT: Even if you didn’t actually make a written list, I encourage you to mull this over for the next few days. Your unconscious mind can do some amazing things when you’re not looking, and you may be treated to an epiphany or two! If not, you’ll have dug a little deeper into your own motivations. That’s always a good thing.)

I’ve been pondering why it is that I always feel as though I have to meet a higher standard than anyone else. How did that requirement sink in? What, in my genetic makeup or my upbringing, makes me feel like I must be flawless in everything I do, to the point that I’m often so paralyzed I can’t even start?

I may have gotten some fresh insight into this. I’m currently in an extended phase of physical decluttering at my house, and yesterday I unearthed a bag of stuff my parents had sent me a few years back when they were decluttering. I’d tossed it in a “things to deal with later” box and forgotten about it.

Now here it was again. I opened it up to find a pair of my baby shoes, a baby book with entries by my mother, and an assortment of old report cards, poems I’d written, plus a couple of clippings of myself in the local paper. Curious, I started flipping through the baby book. There were pictures, a few locks of my hair taken at different times, and glowing entries about how cute I was. Then, as I read about myself getting older, I noticed an interesting pattern.

First medical examination: “She was so good and didn’t even cry.” Six months old:”Such a good girl!” And more through the first years of my life, in my mother’s handwriting: “Her nursery school teacher is continually astounded.” “Michelle is a really good girl.” “At a fifth-grade reading level already.” “A teacher’s dream.” “Michelle is still a very good girl.” (As if they were poised for me to become something else?)

Then an undated entry under “Likes and Dislikes” (about school) reads, “Michelle loves to learn. She seems to expect perfection from herself and others.”

Many people develop a sense of perfectionism because they are taught to feel inadequate from early childhood, and the only way they think they can be worthy of love is to strive (or at least appear) to be flawless. That was never my problem. Nope—I was always being told how smart, creative, wonderful, artistic, and ahead of my peers I was. You’d think this would be absolutely fantastic for a young child to hear, wouldn’t you?

In many ways it was. I’ve always had a lot of self-confidence, and I’m very grateful to my parents for instilling that in me. But it certainly set the bar high.

I clearly remember my parents telling me that they would be proud of me no matter how I did in school as long as I tried my best…but that they were very glad I always brought home As and Bs. College, they continued, was very expensive, and it would help a whole lot if my grades were good enough to earn some kind of scholarship.

This was when I was about 10 years old.

I don’t blame my parents for pushing me—they were honestly doing what they felt was best, and I certainly never balked. I was one of those geeky kids who really did love school. Why? Well, I truly did love learning things. But I also liked all the ego strokes I got for being such a good student. Who wouldn’t enjoy all that praise?

So I must have become terrified of not getting it anymore. I became a people-pleaser. First my parents and my teachers. Then anyone in authority (religious leaders, college professors, employers), and friends who might take away their approval and acceptance of me if I failed to be the person I thought they wanted me to be.

I created a series of costumes to wear in different situations. They don’t completely cover me—I wear them so that just enough of me peeks out to give my appearance a stamp of originality. The zany sense of humor. The jaunty confidence and outgoing nature that so often hide the yearning places and the sadness in my heart. The tightening of the mouth that I can’t allow to reveal what I want and need, because that might not be acceptable. And then people might not like me anymore.

Underneath it all, there’s still the little girl who so desperately wants to be included in the hopscotch games at recess not because she’s smart or creative or a good little girl, but simply because she’s herself.

I think I need to find out some more about who she is.

Check out the artist statement. Then go back up and look at Sam’s earnest little face.

When I was a child, I used to wonder about the dandelions, too. I was afraid of the spiky-looking leaves–I refused to step on them, and I remember one day making my father carry me over a stretch of grass in a park because there was nowhere to step without walking on dandelions–but I always thought the flowers were pretty.

I still do. Cheerful miniature suns smiling up from lawns and fields, they always cheer me up. And how cool is it when the blossoms go to seed? How many other flowers can you have fun blowing apart into the wind when they reach maturity and are ready to reproduce?

Who decided that dandelions are weeds? That roses, for example, are the epitome of flowery “perfection”?

Who gets to decide that people like Sam are less than perfect? That they are, in fact, disposable? (“‘Are you going to keep him?’ a nurse asked.” Were you as horror-struck as I was when I read that she actually said this, let alone thought it?)

So many of us pursue the ideal of perfection in our lives, at least in part because we’re conditioned to do so. From earliest childhood, we’re bombarded by unending messages from our parents, families, teachers, authority figures, and friends telling us what we should do, be, own, look like, and act like–messages which we all receive from the mass media and pass back and forth among ourselves as if they are gospel truth.

If perfection means keeping up with these perpetual, completely unreasonable, and sometimes conflicting demands, then perfection is impossible. But that doesn’t t stop us from wanting to achieve it, so we live in denial of the real truth and keep pushing, pushing, pushing. This usually leads to low self-esteem because we feel like we never measure up to all the standards that we “should”–and, all too often, to burnout, frustration, anger, and bitterness.

Personally, I prefer the definition of perfection that I found in the first entry on this page. First entry, from the Random House dictionary, meaning 3:

perfection – a perfect embodiment or example of something.

Doesn’t that take the pressure off? I don’t have to look like the model on the cover of that magazine in the checkout line (forget the fact that she doesn’t even really look like that, either) to be perfectly me. You don’t have to be as saintly as Mother Teresa to be perfectly worthy of love. Sam doesn’t have to have the mental acuity of his peers to be a perfect embodiment of Samness.

I can live with that definition of perfection.

Think what would happen if everyone did.