how my style has evolved over the years
I’ve been really reflective lately—moving tends to have that effect on me. A lot of things I’ve been reflecting on are pretty damn heavy—past relationships, lessons I’ve learned, people I’ve met, things I wish I’d done differently during my time in Idaho. But I’ve also been reflecting on how much I’ve grown as a person and come into my own as a woman. Part of that journey for me has been curating my own sense of style that feels very affirming to me as a queer femme. It’s been interesting to look back and think about all of the years I spent experimenting with my style and gender presentation—they all taught me something about myself and how I want to show up in the world.
I want to preface this by saying that I’m a thin white woman, and I’ve never been discriminated against for the size of my body or the color of my skin. I have a lot of privilege in the way I show up in the world, even if I’ve occasionally bumped up against the gender police.
When I was a kid, I didn’t care too much about my appearance. I obviously absorbed messaging that I should care, but I just kind of didn’t. I was way more concerned with hanging out with my friends, expanding my Webkinz collection, and plowing through another American Girl book series to give much thought to my body or my hair or my general outward appearance. I was literally just a girl, and it was awesome. I think around fourth grade is when things started to change. I began to dress more androgynous, which felt very comfortable and authentic for me, but as a result I was bullied. I do think that little girls have a little more leniency in their gender presentation, at least from my experience. I could experiment with masculinity as a little girl without being accused of being a dyke. But my queer boy friends growing up could not experiment with femininity without being called a fag. I didn’t get that kind of harassment. But I got the message that I was physically unappealing to look at because of my failure to comply with gender norms, and that was a problem. I remember wearing my favorite big brown fluffy sweatshirt to school—it made me feel like a bear—and being told that I “looked homeless”. I chopped all my hair off in fifth grade and was asked if I was “turning into a boy”—transphobia in 2009, what a concept.
Kids don’t know what to do with this information. I certainly didn’t. I was too young to understand that I did not need to obey the gender police and I did not understand that I don’t need other people’s permission to be who I am. So, I did what any nine-year old girl would do and changed myself to fit the mold. The next several years were a very turbulent relationship with my appearance and my body. Sometimes I found freedom and liberation in experimenting with gender and finding new ways to feel authentically like myself. Other times, I was confused and distrusted my own preferences. I was wrong—the world told me so. I developed an eating disorder in an effort to be thinner, I grew my hair out, started wearing makeup, shopped at Aeropostale and Pacsun. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re thirteen, I thought.
In high school and college, I got a little more adventurous with my self-expression, but still tried to stay within the parameters of what I believed it meant to be conventionally attractive. I had a period of time where I worked for REI and wore athleisure a lot, another period where I wore socks and sandals quite a bit, another era where I had long pink hair—all incredibly different ways of communicating queerness haha. I have gradually become more adventurous in my style and appearance, thanks in large part to living in San Francisco for three years and being surrounded by the subersive culture there—a deeply formative experience for me.
I have had several style moments where I really felt like I was growing into myself. Like when I got t bright red corduroy overalls at a vintage store in San Francisco. I felt on top of the world in those things—they were so comfortable and non-restrictive, and I loved walking around looking like a human strawberry. I discovered my love for button-up shirts during this time too, and started experimenting with clothes marketed as men’s clothes. I got a white pair of coveralls that made me feel like a lesbian mechanic, and loafers of various kinds that were giving grandma. I also started growing into my body, allowing it to become soft and strong and everything that it was ever supposed to be. My eating disorder was a reflection of my inner wars. I believe that embracing my personal style was a very important part of my healing from my eating disorder in helping me accept myself and the way I show up in the world.
As a 27 year old queer femme who is no longer at war with herself in the same ways I used to be, I’ve discovered, and re-discovered, a lot about myself. I still enjoy playing with masculinity and femininity as I had when I was a child. Sometimes I want to put on a dress, and other times I want to put on overalls. I’m not afraid of other people’s opinions anymore, because other people’s opinions suck. The gender police sometimes rear their head still and I don’t even give them the time of day. I see my style choices as a middle finger to compulsive gender normativity. Be weird! Get silly! Getting dressed should be fun and a celebration of yourself. You don’t need to buy expensive brands. You need to accept that being who you are in this world is the most beautiful gift that you could possibly give it. I know that’s cheesy, but it’s also mf true.
This year I’m excited to push my style boundaries a little. I just got aviators that make me look like an old man. I’d love to get a pair of coveralls again like I had in the past. Maybe I’ll even fuck around and a get a fluffy brown sweatshirt, idk.
bye, idaho, you beautiful sexy b*tch
I fucking love Idaho. Is it one of the most, if not the most, politically problematic states? Yes. But is it also the most beautiful, lively, quirky, unique, scenic, place that I’ve ever been? Absolutely.
I realized that I have been here 4 years—ages 23 to 27—and I have gained a tremendous amount of insight into what it means to be a person on this planet in those four years. So, I decided to make a list of the most impactful things I’ve learned. Here it is.
Sometimes all you need to feel better is a stroll in the woods and a cup of coffee.
Creating authentic queer friendships is so important and healing and should be protected and prioritized at all costs.
I don’t want to work 40 hours a week anymore, because I need ample time for frolicking and reading and being a human.
If they don’t treat you with respect, they can gtfo of your life.
It is really fun to play with femininity and masculinity and gender expression in general.
I want a really simple life. There’s only a few things that really, truly matter to me.
Eating good food is so important and essential and if you’re craving a burger you should probably eat a burger.
My peace and mental well-being is more important than any relationship I could possibly be in.
Literally who cares what anyone thinks, besides, everyone is too busy thinking about themselves and worrying about what people think of them.
People will disapprove of you in this life and it’s very important that you allow them to.
Community is the most powerful tool that we have against fascism.
I’m a little autistic/on the spectrum.
Do not get close to a moose.
Just because you love them, that doesn’t mean you should be with them.
Writing is really vulnerable and scary which means that I should do it more.
I actually quite enjoy myself and my own company.
I need to have at least two cat children at all times.
Karaoke is really fun.
Don’t date someone whose friends treat you like shit.
Everyone knows I’m queer just by acknowledging my presence, apparently.
Literally just do whatever the fuck you want.
Idaho dive bars kick ass.
I love people, even though I am often afraid of them.
Health insurance is your friend.
Beware used car salesmen.
Clogs are a good idea.
Yarn is really cool.
It’s okay to feel hot :)
Trust your mf gut.
Life is really scary and uncertain and in that uncertainty, even still, we can build a home for ourselves
my 2026 spring reading bucket list
It is almost spring and I am excited to read in the park, in my home with the windows open, by a body of water, or wherever else I feel like reading as the season changes. My reading list is usually pretty reflective of the kind of mindset I am in at any given season—what ideas I want to explore, what themes are spinning around in my head, etc. I have a running reading list on Pinterest but these are some of the more recent ones that have caught my attention that I can’t wait to read/listen to this spring.
The House That Joy Built: How to Harness the Pleasure and Joy of Creativity by Holly Ringland
Goodreads synopsis: “The House That Joy Built is about how to give ourselves permission to be creative. It explores all the big fears that can block our creativity, and the permission we can meet those fears with – not simply to create, but to revel in the life-changing wonder and joy of doing so.
It offers a jump-start for anyone whose desire to create is ruled by fear. For those who yearn to write, or find creativity in other ways – gardeners, sculptors, florists, songwriters, dancers, cooks, painters – anyone who wants to make something but doesn't because they're afraid. Afraid of feeling vulnerable, of criticism and judgement from others, of not being good enough, of not having enough, of having 'bad ideas', of being 'too much'.
In lyrical, inspirational prose, Holly Ringland examines her own sometimes difficult journey to a successful writing career and offers a wealth of encouragement for anyone who wants to unlock their imagination. This audiobook is an empowering clarion call to overcome doubt and experience the joy and freedom of creating.”
This book speaks to me right now because I have been finding so much joy and empowerment in creating lately, but for so long I was embarassed to create, and sometimes still am. I find the practice of creating very liberating, especially when not used solely for monetary purposes, because it’s a such a grounding, human thing to do. I want to create more this spring so this seems like a good place to start.
Single: Living a Complete Life on Your Own Terms by Nicola Slawson
Goodreads synopsis: “In Living a Complete Life on Your Own Terms, leading journalist and advocate for singles Nicola Slawson shares her insights and experience from a decade of single life. Taking an open and honest look at the challenges of singledom, but just as keenly celebrating its joys and opportunities, the book will bring companionship, insight, succour and inspiration to its readers.
Around 40 per cent of UK adults are single at any one time. Far from being a transitional state between relationships, singledom can offer freedom, self-discovery and self-determination. At the same time, there are challenges, from social to economic. How do you handle cancer treatment if you are alone? Who do you call if you're stranded out late at night? If you don't find the right person to have a baby with, should you become a parent alone?
Nicola explores being single in a world designed for couples, and how to make the most of life in the face of stigma and misunderstanding. If you are newly single, long-term single, avowedly single, reluctantly so, considering leaving your current relationship or just wondering what to say to your aunt when she asks if you'll ever get married - this book is for you.
Chapters cover all aspects of single life, from dating apps to navigating friendships when it feels like everyone is coupling up except you, and from parenting after divorce to the rise of incels in society. Along the way, Nicola interviews the key single voices of her generation, as well as the lives of iconic singles of the past. With thorough research, lived experience and wry humour, this book is an essential guide to living a complete life on your own terms.”
My interest in this book is pretty self-explanatory—I’m single. I am not someone who intends to be single forever or is attached to the idea of being single, but I’m also not attached to the idea of being coupled. Something my twenties have taught me so far is that you have to be able to have a complete and fulfilling life by yourself, for yourself. For that reason, I’m really trying to lean into this era of singledom and learn more about myself, what makes me happy, what I want for my life, etc. This book essentially seems like meditations on the single condition in this day and age, which I think will really help guide me on my journey of embracing singledom and finding fulfillment in myself.
On Wholeness: Anishinaabe Pathways to Embodiment and Collective Liberation by Quill Christie-Peters
Goodreads synopsis: “A brilliant exploration of the body as a site of settler colonial impact, centring embodied wholeness as the pathway to our collective liberation.
This fierce and enlightening book explores a new way of understanding settler colonialism through the intimate lens of how it impacts the body. We start in the place before birth, before time, and before form, swirling like smoke with our ancestors in the great beyond. But we are born into bodies that are contorted, eroded, and shaped by the settler colonial environment. In lyrical and vulnerable prose, Anishinaabeg visual artist Quill Christie-Peters shares her experiences of colonial disembodiment through gendered violence and her father’s legacy as a survivor of residential school.
Despite colonial violence, the Anishinaabeg perspective sees the body extending to encompass ancestors, homelands, spirit relations, and animal kin. Dancing with the wild smoke swirling within, Quill explores the themes of childbirth, parenting, creative practice, pleasure, and expansive responsibility to chart a pathway to wholeness. An integral part of Indigenous resurgence and resistance, wholeness is also the pathway to liberation for all people.”
I know very little about indigenous philosophy and perspectives. I love philosophy and minored in it in college, but sadly, I learned very little outside of the white European androcentric lens that introductory philosophy courses always tend to center. I am a theory girly and love sociology, philosophy, race and gender studies, and any of the intersections thereof. I think it is always valuable to learn from others whose philosophies and perspectives you know little about. This is one of those books—I know nothing about the Anishinaabe people (the indigenous people of the Great Lakes region). I even had to look up who they were when I found this book. I see this as a great learning opportunity and a way for me to continue the lifelong work of educating oneself about systems of oppression. I have also been very interested in the ways systems of oppression affect the physical body, so the synopsis really drew me in.
Loved One by Aisha Muharrar
Goodreads synopsis: “When Julia’s first-love-turned-best-friend Gabe, a musician with a cultish following, dies unexpectedly at age twenty-nine, Julia launches herself into an intercontinental quest to recover the possessions he left with friends and acquaintances across the world. Along the way she encounters Elizabeth, Gabe’s effortlessly perfect and endlessly cool ex-girlfriend. Now Julia can’t stop talking to, thinking about, and googling Elizabeth. As the two women struggle to reconcile their respective claims on Gabe’s memory, can they find their way from rivalry to friendship?”
I already know I’m gonna cry! I love fiction, and I especially love fiction that deals with themes like grief, love, loss, memory, and complex relationships—particularly between women. I also was drawn in by the “intercontinental quest” bit—I love a good quest.
Careering by Daisy Buchanan
Goodreads synopsis: “Imogen has always dreamed of writing for a magazine. Infinite internships later, she dreams of any job. Writing her blog around double shifts at the pub is neither fulfilling her creatively nor paying the bills.
Harri might just be Imogen's fairy godmother. She's moving from the glossy pages of Panache magazine to launch a fierce feminist site, The Know. And she thinks Imogen's most outrageous sexual content will help generate the clicks she needs. But Imogen's fairy-tale ending soon sours as she finds herself putting more and more of herself into writing for a company that doesn't care if she sinks or swims.
Neither woman is aware of the crucial thing they have in common. Harri, at the other end of her career, has also been bitten and betrayed by the industry she has given herself to. Will she wake up to the way she's being exploited before her protégé realizes that not everything is copy? Can either woman reconcile their love for work with the fact that work will never love them back?”
More women-centered fiction! I have been thinking a lot about my relationship to work lately and on a larger scale, women’s relationships to work in overall. I also was once an aspiring writer and gave that dream up to have more stability in my life, so I think when I first read the synopsis I thought ‘This could have been me.’ But also, it is me, and it is you, because we live in capitalism and have to grapple with the difficulties that come with working in a system that, frankly, doesn’t care about us. We are all exploited under capitalism, but I find the way that women, especially female creatives, are exploited to be extremely sneaky and evil. These are just the things on my mind as I type in March 2026 and have just paid my taxes and worked a 68 hour work week! Ahhhh.
That is my reading list for spring 2026. If I get around to all of them as I plan to, I’ll do a part 2 with a review of all five books. Happy almost-spring solstice!
Feminist dread—what it is, how I cope
Trigger warning: sexual violence.
I’ve had existential dread. I know existential dread. But this feels different.
The specific flavor of dread I have been experiencing the past few months is what I have decided to call feminist dread.
I had my feminist awakening in my late teens and early 20s as I was unpacking the belief systems I had internalized in my conservative middle-class suburban upbringing. I didn’t want to be a housewife. I didn’t want to be a Christian. I didn’t want to have a life in which my greatest accomplishments were being attractive, making money, and making babies. I wanted to have a life that I was proud of—but I had no idea what that actually meant.
That was my first instance of feminist dread. More like an appetizer of what was to come. Fast forward about 8 years.
Since then, I have been assaulted more than a couple times. I have been in abusive relationships with manipulative men. I have been made to feel small and worthless and objectified. Those things I can handle. These things I can overcome. Women are waging invisible wars every single day and winning despite the odds. I am resilient—not because I want to be, but because I have to be.
However, it’s the scope of this blatant and disgusting violence that plagues me—truly, haunts me. There are women being exploited by billionaires—little girls being exploited by billionaires. There are executives, politicians, and moguls of all kinds preying upon women and femmes. And no one. fucking. cares.
No one. Fucking. Cares.
It’s almost like I had fallen asleep after my first feminist awakening. I did the work, I learned the things, I unpacked the belief systems. And then I kind of subconsciously retired from my feminist awareness. And then BOOM. I’m reminded that the world was made by men for men, and that as long as manmade systems persist and they are occupied by men and catered towards men, violence against women will persist as well.
I walk around the world now as if it were a ghost town. I see a woman and wonder if she’s okay, if anyone has hurt her, what invisible wars she is waging today, what she needs, what she wants. I feel like I have been jolted awake. I don’t want to be jolted awake again—I want to remain vigilant. But still, I must continue to find joy and purpose and meaning in this life, and the task feels impossible. How can violence and joy co-exist? How can I experience happiness while carrying this anxiety? To be honest with you, I have no actual clue. But, I have a few ideas of what to try and where I want to start.
I am only going to talk about my experience. I have no idea how anyone else copes with feminist dread—that is their journey and theirs alone.
Going back to basics
Eating. Showering. Moving. Getting out of bed. Taking breaks. Drinking water. Breathing in. Breathing out. Setting boundaries, and not breaking them.
Getting angry
I am fucking pissed. I. Am. Fucking. Pissed. I am not going to pretend like I’m not. I’m not going to water myself down. I am not going to be quiet or still or silent. I am going to make some noise. I am going to let this rage galvanize me into actionable changes in my own life that create safe spaces for the women I encounter and care for. If I can help women feel safe in my presence, I feel like I’ve done my part. If I can stand up for women whom I do not know and will never meet by speaking out against the things that threaten women all over the world, I feel like I’m acting in alignment with my values.
Building intergenerational community
Something I realized when my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and began to unravel her life for me as she never had before, is that violence against women has always existed. My mother, grandmother, great grandmother, cousin, friend, neighbor, co-worker have likely all experienced sexual violence. I can never know the ins-and-outs of the violence that runs through my lineage, but I can remember the sobering words of my grandmother and look outwards at the women around me and beyond me. Remember: waging invisible wars. All of them.
Being disobedient
I don’t want want to be obedient in a man-made world. Because if the world is man-made, that means the rules were created by men. If the rules were created by men, then that means we live in patriarchy, and patriarchy is inherently violent and oppressive towards women. Political violence is still violence. I don’t actually totally know what being disobedient will look like in my life. At the moment it is more of a consciousness that I carry within me—a willingness to interrogate everything that I have ever taken at face value as “the way things are”. But I am open to being actively disobedient as well. I will disobey anything that requires me to exploit myself or others or be complicit in the kind of gendered violence that is being perpetuated and ignored by our government. I’m jumping ship—I am my own government now.
Practicing self-compassion
Sometimes I feel like a piece of shit for sitting at home and knitting my freaking sweater vest while women everywhere are being tortured and violated. It almost feels like intrusive thoughts—I see the images, I hear the screams. But I know that I have to do what I have to do in order to get through this moment and continue fighting for the things that I believe in. If that requires sleeping more than usual, taking a mental health day from work, being alone more than usual, or crying in the car to Adrianne Lenker—so be it. Now more than ever I have to give myself permission to grieve, feel, and heal. I am too soft for this cruel world, so I must create my own moments of softness to compensate and carry on.
One last thing before I end this rather somber coming-out-of-blog-retirement post—if you are a man, I urge you to take action. Call out your shitty male friends that objectify and belittle women. Educate yourself—read feminist books. And for the love of freaking god, do not harm women. Remember—your mother, grandmother, great grandmother, cousin, friend, neighbor, co-worker have likely all experienced sexual violence. A threat to women somewhere is a threat to women anywhere.
My favorite spaces in my 1900s schoolhouse attic apartment
I live in an attic apartment in a house built in the 1900s. It was originally a Swedish school, as some of the first settlers of the town I live in were Swedish. After the school closed, it was renovated into apartments in the 1970s. Legend has it, Ernest Hemingway stayed in the schoolhouse when visiting town years ago (this according to my elderly neighbors across the street). I like to think he stayed in the attic, but honestly, who knows. Sometimes when I hear weird sounds coming from the walls or footsteps in the hallway I ask, “Ernest, is that you?” Although if anyone is haunting the schoolhouse, it’s probably a little Swedish kid named Bjorn.
I am proud of my living situation even if it is a cheap rental, dusty, cracked, and falling apart at the seams. I love my home because it feels like me. My friends live downstairs. My neighbors are friendly. I can see the silhouette of pine-covered hills off in the distance from my window. There is a purple Victorian home on my street that hosts fiddle concerts on their porch in the summers. I feel safe and at peace here, and to me, that is a very rare, magical, and beautiful thing. I want to share some of my favorite spaces with you. Each of my favorite spaces is a little part of me.
My living room
My living room is small. it consists of a navy blue velvet couch I got on Facebook marketplace, a rug, a small coffee table, and a bookshelf. I love this shelf. It is right in front of my baseboard heater (not touching, don’t worry Mom) so it warms the cat bed on the shelf. This makes for a very cozy cat nap spot for Midnight during the colder months. I have a stack of favorite books, a candle, and the decorative wheat I got when I lived in San Francisco. I had no idea back then that I’d eventually move to the breadbasket of the United States and the wheat would become more symbolic than decorative. I have several puzzles, most of which were gifted to me by my puzzle-obsessed mom. I have a thrifted piece of art next to the puzzles, and a basket with my knitting supplies next to that. I quite literally have all of my favorite things in this space. If I was a cat, I’d sleep here too.
2. The reading nook
Something felt missing when I moved into my apartment. So, I got a big comfy armchair from my neighbor and set it up in the corner. That was it—a reading nook. But really, it’s an all-purpose nook. I surf the internet. I take naps. I read, eat, knit, listen to music, daydream, et cetera. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend getting on the Big Comfy Chair Train. I also have a print above the chair by one of my favorite artists, Mary Finlayson aka Painted Mary.
3. My memory shelf
I have a circular shelf next to my reading nook that I dedicate to objects that bring back specific memories or are otherwise meaningful to me in some way. I have a postcard of San Francisco, given to me by my brother. I lived in San Francisco for about two and a half years, and it was a very formative and sacred time for me as I was growing into myself in my early twenties. I have palo santo which was gifted to me by the owner of a plant shop in San Francisco, as well as some Polaroids of my two cats, Midnight and Luna. Above that there is a card made by one of my very talented artist friends, and above that, there is a small book my mother gave me when I was going through a very difficult time a few years ago—You are Your Best Friend by Anisa Makhoul, another one of my favorite artists.
4. Plants, of course
Houseplants have brought me peace, joy, and happiness for years—hence the name of this blog. I have them all positioned by my windows so they can get a good dose of sunlight. I like having them in the kitchen so I can perform plant care while I cook. The cats have been attacking them a lot recently—more specifically, my kitten Luna has been attacking Mathilda the monstera and I really don’t appreciate it. But she is still looking majestic as ever despite the assaults. I am not a perfect plant parent and I don’t think I ever will be, but that is for another post.
5. My bathroom window
I’m not gonna pretend like I love my bathroom. It’s fine. It’s weird. But what else would you expect from an attic bathroom which was built in the 1900s and renovated in the 1970s. What I do love about it, however, is once again the windows that give my plants sunlight, as well as the mint green tile that covers the entire wall. It was one of those unique features of the apartment that I noticed upon touring it that gave it a kind of charm I couldn’t resist. The tiles are a pain in the ass to clean, but they’re cute so I put up with it.
6. My nightstand
I recently got a new lamp for my bedroom from Goodwill that has a texture on it that I can only describe as shell-like. It’s very 1970s—which is to say, it’s right up my alley. Along with my lamp, I have lotion, perfume, a journal I got in Portland, Oregon, and a small dish my mom gave me which holds several small items which have meaning to me. I have more decorative wheat on my nightstand in a pink vintage vase and an art print of intertwined hands above the nightstand. I also have several books on the bookshelf as well as bookends that are hand-me-downs from my late grandmother. I’m also pretty sure I have had this nightstand since I was a child. I’m almost positive about that one.
That’s really all I have to share about my little corner of the world in small-town Idaho. I live a really simple life, but I live a life with a lot of meaning and purpose. It’s a life I’m proud to live, even if I forget this from time to time. I don’t need anything fancy or flashy—I just want my favorite things, my cats, my plants, and a place that helps me feel at home within myself.
My November 2025 vision board
When I was a kid, I used to make collages and vision boards on a regular basis. It was my way of intentionally checking in with myself and asking, “What do I need right now? What do I want right now?” I feel like I’ve been in desperate need of check-ins with myself—I’ve been feeling disconnected from myself the past few months. Therefore, the vision board is back. Here’s what I need this month.
When I was a kid, I used to make collages and vision boards on a regular basis. It was my way of intentionally checking in with myself and asking, “What do I need right now? What do I want right now?” I feel like I’ve been in desperate need of check-ins with myself—I’ve been feeling disconnected from myself the past few months. Therefore, the vision board is back. Here’s what I need this month.
I need mugs of hot beverages—coffee, matcha, tea, hot chocolate, anything. It’s cold here in Idaho and it’s only going to get colder. I need bowls of warm, nourishing soup. I need cuddles with my two black cats Midnight and Luna. I need nature walks and drives through the vibrant fall foliage which has taken northern Idaho by storm this past month. I need books to curl up with when the rain (and soon, snow) comes pouring down. I need sweaters and sweater vests and loafers and hats. I need the soft glow of candlelight as I drink my morning coffee, or as I sip an evening glass of wine. Lastly, I added something that has been a bit of a mantra for me for quite some time:
“Good things happen. Love is real. We will be okay.”
Using creativity to process emotions, thoughts, and difficult-to-articulate unmet needs is something I turn to when I feel disconnected from myself. Whether that be through a collage, playlist, song, poem, or essay just depends on my mood. Thanks for peering into the inside of my brain and I encourage you to do the same. You never know what you’re gonna find in there.
{I made this collage using Shuffles by Pinterest but you could easily use Adobe Photoshop or Canva to do this project as well}.
In my perfectionist era
I thought it would be fitting for my first post to discuss something that I’m dying to discuss—cultural narratives around perfectionism. I recently started listening to the audiobook of The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control by Katherine Morgan Schafler and it has made me think about perfectionism in a way I have never thought of it before
I thought it would be fitting for my first post to discuss something that I’m dying to discuss—cultural narratives around perfectionism. I recently started listening to the audiobook of The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control by Katherine Morgan Schafler and it has made me think about perfectionism in a way I have never thought of it before.
I, like many people I know, identify as a perfectionist. I am a paper-readjuster, a compulsive counter cleaner, a re-reader of e-mails so I do not miss all the details. I cannot help it—I’ve been like this since I was a kid and was organizing my school clothes by color in my closet. I find peace in creating order out of disorder and balance out of chaos. But for the longest time, I beat myself up for my high standards—Why am I so obsessive about some things? Why can’t I be messier? Why can’t I care less? I thought being a perfectionist was what was causing all of my depression and self-criticism, but really, I think it was my inability to come to terms with myself and accept myself for who I am.
The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control talks about adaptive perfectionism and maladaptive perfectionism—the former being perfectionistic tendencies which benefit you and the latter being perfectionistic tendencies which harm you. I never thought about all the benefits my perfectionism might give me—high standards, ambition, drive, conscientousness, and punctuality—I only thought about all of the ways in which it was ruining my life. I thought the problem was me, but it was the way I was viewing myself. There is a cultural narrative that being a perfectionist is unhealthy, particularly for women. Men who are good at things are lauded as being great in their field, an upstanding guy, etc. For women, with the exception of the domestic sphere, being a perfectionist is seen as unhealthy and imbalanced. Why is that? Because women being really good at things and having ambitions and standards and drive is threatening. Ambition and drive do not have to be purely capitalistic pursuits—you can strive for improvement in nearly any area of your life. Yet all kinds of ambition in women are threatening because ambition goes hand-in-hand with self-empowerment, and women’s empowerment is the ultimate threat to patriarchy. We’re told to do self-care, rest more, do less—all of which I support wholeheartedly. These can certainly be empowering in their own way. But what about that fire inside of women that pushes them to excel—are we to squash that entirely in service of being “healthier” and more “balanced”? Or are we going to honor the parts of ourselves that yearn for more and hold space for them?
I am personally not in alignment with corporate feminism and don’t believe empowerment and capitalism are aligned either. But having goals, dreams, and visions of what we want our lives to ideally be like should not be treated as a crime. Instead of beating ourselves up for being perfectionists, we need to be gentler with ourselves and ensure that our perfectionism is serving us, not disserving us. It is also worth examining whether this perfectionism is really serving us or serving capitalism. Sometimes it does serve both, for example in the case of someone who gets a lot of meaning and satisfaction from their job. In other cases, the perfectionism can be completely maladaptive for us, but beneficial to those who derive profit from it. Wanting to do and be more is not inherently a bad thing—it’s the cultural narrative about it. The problem is not having high standards—it’s lack of self-compassion.
In the book, Schafler says ““You don’t heal by changing who you are; you heal by learning how to be yourself in the world.” That really stuck with me.
So, yeah, I am a perfectionist :) But I am a perfectionist about the things that matter to me, align with my values, and bring me joy in this world. And I am tired of apologizing for caring so much—because I care so much. Limiting my heart feels like a betrayal to myself. Let that thing love what it loves and feel what it feels and shoot for the fucking stars.
The latest thing I’ve enjoyed being a perfectionist about is my morning coffee—I need just the right roast, milk-to-coffee ratio, and amount of cinnamon. I’ll nail it someday.