How going to a library convention cured* my perfectionism
*or at least the closest to cured I imagine I'll ever get
Being a perfectionist has cost me countless self-celebrations. The lone B+ or even A- on a report card haunted me from childhood through graduate school. For years, every time this happened, I felt something far from pride: a combination of disappointment, dismay, disgust. Perfectionism taught me to be terrified. Of disapproval. Of failure. Of being found out for not being good enough.
It’s only been in the last few years that I’ve realized I’m still allowed to celebrate what’s imperfect. And thank god I see it now; if perfectionism had its way, I would spend several hours panicking over the mistakes I make in damn near every (oh no, or is it actually every?!) newsletter. I’d never take advantage of the Q&A at book signings again. I would certainly stop facilitating writing workshops.
Two weekends ago, I had one of the most unique and enjoyable experiences I’ve had in years—and if perfectionism had its way, I would’ve stressed and second-guessed myself the entire time.
Every January, the American Library Association hosts LibLearnX, a national convention of library workers—this year, in Baltimore. They invited me to attend as press, which is an experience I never, ever expected to have, let alone at a massive gathering of badass librarians. Books are in my bones; from sleeping with Goodnight Moon in my crib through a career of teaching high school English, I consider books to be among humanity’s most valuable resources. And for an entire (long!) weekend, I was going to listen to and learn from library professionals about how they protect these collections. How they increase our access to information. How, every day, they nurture their communities through, with, because of books.
Between the time I received my invitation till the first morning of the conference, I felt excited and honored and a little bit in lucky disbelief about getting to attend LibLearnX. It wasn’t until somewhere along my two-mile commute that I realized how quiet my inner mean girls had been this whole time. It struck me not only that I hadn’t felt imposter syndrome, but that, in this case, it might’ve actually been reasonable to. I’m not a journalist. I have no idea what it means to go anywhere as press. I don’t know how prepared I should have been beforehand.
And yet all weekend, Perfectionist Kerry didn’t nitpick. She didn’t remind me how much I stood to lose by making mistakes. She didn’t compare me to every—or even any—one else. She didn’t list all the expectations I wasn’t going to meet.
When I decided I didn’t feel up to networking the way I’d hoped to, she didn’t scold me for wasting this rare occasion. When I missed a few sessions I’d planned to attend, she didn’t call me lazy or irresponsible. When one of the ALA’s Communications Specialists contacted me during the conference, asking how my piece for the event was going, I swear Perfectionist Kerry wasn’t even in the building. Instead, I emailed back that I was still working on my precise angle and that yes, I’d love to take him up on the offer to connect with speakers after the convention.
Throughout the entire convention—even though it felt like I was talking about someone else whenever I introduced myself as press—I felt content. Because Perfectionist Kerry kept her thoughts to herself, I was able to relax into a special opportunity. My attention wasn’t divided by a constant self-assessment of what I could or should have been doing. For three days, I fell even deeper in love with libraries. I let my mind wander with possibilities of pieces to write about this.
And, at least a few times each day, Self-Celebratory Kerry squealed on the inside that this was happening.
Because I’ve worked hard. Because I’ve stayed committed. Because I write words that resonate. Not because I’m perfect, or even anything close to it. And, apparently, that is entirely okay.
As delightful as LibLearnX was, most of the information I learned—about censorship, book bans, threats to libraries and library workers—was troubling. The essay I’m writing is one attempt of many I’ll make to sound the alarm.
I just started The Cleaner by Brandi Wells, which apparently came out on Tuesday! On New Years Eve 2023, I began reading audiobooks; this is one of the handful of books I’ve heard instead of held since then. Perfectionist Kerry keeps protesting that this doesn’t count as reading; every time, I’m reminded to interrogate, and challenge, my ableism.
Between its headline (“The Sacred Act of Self-Belief”) and her hard-earned wisdom about healing, I knew this post by
would resonate before I even read it. When I got to the line “The practice of self-celebration is a radical act of acceptance and self-love,” I smiled at how often Alex says just what I need to hear.
People-pleasing is a sibling of perfectionism, which
writes about confronting here. “I started to approach communication with a ‘the more, the better’ mentality—in hindsight I can see that it was my anxiety that pushed me to over-explain, over-communicate, and over-articulate my thoughts to the point that I was exhausting myself emotionally,” he says, thus illuminating one of the insidious ways it has appeared in my life, too.- recently wrote about his own relationship with perfectionism–specifically, how it’s made him sick. He notes that taming his perfectionism has led to “a much more serene way to live.” Yes! Serene and self-celebratory—for me, at least, and I hope for ohsomany of you.
Ken accomplished something awesome and impressive and downright uncommon: he self-published his technical writing guide. I hope it’s the proud, relieved, and excited versions of yourself who show up as you promote your guide, Ken. You deserve unwavering belief in yourself.
Along with her editor
, of hosted their community’s first Zoom call. (It was about setting intentions to “craft the life [we] want to live,” and I’ve been especially hopeful ever since.) For years, their newsletter has encouraged and comforted us; I’m thrilled that they’re engaging their readers in even more supportive and thoughtful ways.It’s become increasingly clear that my relationship with writing is struggling; I’m proud that, in the face of failing to meet various (self-imposed) deadlines lately, I’m not mad at or disappointed in myself. Instead, I’m curious. Committed. I’ll take the time to figure out what’s going on, and I’ll figure out what I need to do to help my relationship with writing thrive again.
Please please please tell me what you’re celebrating writing-wise. Sometimes I’ll just take it upon myself to celebrate you (like in Katie’s case), but I’d love for you to tell me yourselves. It’s a self-kindness I hope we hone here, together.
This issue of Real Quick is brought to you by paid subscriber Judy. Thank you for supporting writers! In return, I wish you ample opportunities to read words that soothe you, others that make you laugh, and still more that remind you of a favorite song.