I would quite easily identify myself as a perfectionist.
I’m not good with failure and I don’t like making mistakes. I aim to please, am a little obsessive, and like things to be ‘just so’…
Interestingly, if you asked me to define ‘just so’, I’d probably struggle, and if you asked me to describe “perfection”, it’d be equally hard….which is where this post begins.
(more…)
My pondering on perception has opened a whole can of worms.
I’ve been going round and round and round and coming back to the same conclusion: we’re all unique and we all see things a bit differently.
It’s best illustrated through marmite. You either love it or hate it. A marmite lover talking about marmite is likely to create a very different impression of the flavour sensation to that given by a marmite hater.
As I said, it’s all subjective.
And subjectivity is a precarious basis for self perception.
Body image is the logical next step in my theoretical musings. It’s the link between emotional perception and the physical illness.
I’ve been resisting the whole ‘distorted body image’ debate. Trying to steer clear of clichés or over-simplifications. Trying not to replicate the patronising overtones that I used to hear in the references to my own distorted image.
They missed a crucial point: it wasn’t my body image that was distorted; it was my interpretation of my body image.
And there’s a subtle difference.
A lesson in the precarious world of perception.
For years, I believed that my voice was way too loud. I had a whole issue about speaking too much; was convinced that the volume was a notch or two too high, that I came across as overbearing or demanding.
One day, I was told that my voice was so quiet that it could barely be heard. That, by unspoken agreement, windows were closed when I was in the room so that any other noise was blocked out.
Moral of the story: your head can get it wrong.
