W hen I was planning my wedding, I was absolutely determined not to get caught up in the “perfect day” of it all, and to have a relaxed, informal celebration. I more or less managed, and my husband and I ended up having a lovely time. But I can’t say the same for our honeymoon.
Perfectionism has a weird reputation; the only confessable “weakness” in a job interview, an eccentric character trait and the secret of Steve Jobs’ success. But I think it’s much darker than that. It’s a kind of psychological fascism that can take over the sufferer’s mind, draining their world of colour and light, spontaneity and joy.
Deep down, I think many of us are driven by the unconscious wish that if we could just have the perfect body, the perfect kitchen, the perfect job, the perfect wardrobe, the perfect family – if we could just rid ourselves of every flaw – then we would, finally, be happy. For that reason, it can be one of the most significant obstacles to happiness we encounter in life. The psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott wrote about the importance of the “good enough mother” who meets enough of her infant’s needs in a timely fashion, but is not perfect.
This can often be understood as meaning that mothers should forgive themselves for falling short of perfection, because good is good enough. But what he was saying is far more radical than that: he was telling us that perfect is harmful. To be so precisely attuned and knowing, to meet every desire immediately, t.
