If I could talk to my younger self, I know she’d be surprised, excited, proud, and likely a bit skeptical to learn that I’ve genuinely found fulfillment in imperfection.
I was a very timid and quiet child. I feared making mistakes, looking dumb, and not doing things right. I tried to avoid any possibility that I’d do something to be ridiculed or judged negatively.
I visibly shook throughout a presentation on candle-making to my fourth-grade class. It was torture to be the center of attention in a classroom. A high school presentation of a memorized poem wasn’t much better. Neither my nine-year-old self nor my 15-year-old self would ever have imagined that someday I would frequently present with confidence to large groups. Young me would be amazed that I overcame my fear of public speaking. People who have only known me for the last 10 years would not believe I was ever that shy and fearful.
Being diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis was a pivotal moment in my life. It added loads of new worries, put my existing fears in perspective, and motivated me to live as well as possible regardless.
New fears were big ones. I feared losing physical mobility, memory, and cognitive clarity. I worried about losing the ability to work and afford health insurance. I became increasingly aware that things I want to do someday might not be possible as time progresses and my health likely declines. I worried about the worst that could happen, and I aimed to combat my worries with action.
I feared MS would cloud my thinking and limit my ability to work and be good at my job. I was worried that misspeaking would be a sign of MS progression or stupidity. I started tracking how often people misspeak in meetings, presentations, and conversations. When I did, I noticed people say the wrong word or the opposite of what they mean A LOT. My hyperawareness taught me that smart, competent, and seemingly in perfect health people say the wrong word or the opposite of what they mean all the time. I’ve learned that when I misspeak, it’s how I react that matters. Knowing this allows me to relax, thank anyone for pointing out the mistake, correct myself, and roll with it. A benefit is it encourages group participation, and it shows others with less confidence that a person can be smart, good at what they do, and still make mistakes. This is the type of situation where I would have been embarrassed or insecure when I was younger. Now I embrace making mistakes and celebrate the benefits.
I feared asking dumb questions or being wrong, so I often didn’t ask many questions. I’d think about things a lot, soak up what I could, and learn a lot from books. In my professional life, I’ve experienced over and over again how much more I learn when I’m willing to offer my opinion and be told I’m wrong. Those are times when I learn something new, and I might not ever have known a different way of looking at it without being willing to be wrong. These are also moments where it’s how I react that matters. It’s become important to me to show that people can be good at what they do and also be wrong sometimes. I consider these instances to be good examples to others who might need to overcome this fear.
I avoided looking silly to anyone other than my closest friends and loved ones. Being diagnosed with MS helped me see how things I thought would be judged as silly or foolish aren’t a bad thing. Singing karaoke was something I never thought I could do. When I did, it was fun and brought me closer to others. Letting fear limit how I have fun now seems a foolish decision.
Striving for perfection was an effort to avoid making mistakes. Embracing imperfection has been freeing and fulfilling. I know my younger self would have a hard time accepting the joy of imperfection, but I know she eventually did.