My parents loved me. They were kind and supportive and always in my corner. Given this, I’ve never understood the deep, unsettled feeling I’ve carried with me since I was a child.
My father grew up gay in a straight world and lived most of his life in the closet. Shame was his constant companion. So was perfectionism, a trait I’d always considered in a positive if somewhat obsessive light. But not anymore.
I recently learned the connection between shame and perfectionism, both my father’s and my own.
The Best Little Boy in the World, Andrew Tobias’ 1973 memoir, opened a window into the relationship between shame and perfectionism for me. He connected his own drive for perfection to his closeted homosexuality.
Tobias first published his book under the pen name, John Reid, because his parents didn’t know he was gay. John Reid is the “real” name of The Lone Ranger of radio, books and television. The Lone Ranger too was a masked man, a fictional one who fought injustice in the Wild West of the early 20th century.
Like Tobias, my father too strived hard as a child to be seen as a worthwhile boy. He was an early reader, well-spoken, polite, and comfortable around elders. He helped his mother cook, clean and mend. His teachers skipped him two grade levels, though it had the unfortunate side effect of increasing the bullying directed at him.
As a young soldier during World War II, his fastidious attention to detail and balanced payroll ledgers landed him the job of company clerk. His perfectionism and bookishness this time kept him out of harm’s way during four years of wartime.
As my father, I thought he excelled at everything he did. Our homes were beautifully detailed inside and out. The latest in furniture design, all arranged just so. Silk-screened wallpaper. Baccarat crystal. Tidiness and cleanliness.
Dramatic floral arrangements dotted with seed pods from the street trees. Not a weed in the garden. The only pool in the neighborhood (twice).
Elegant clothes for my mother and the four of us kids – and for himself. The latest hairdos, all styled by him.
From a young age, I too felt compelled to be perfect. (Perfectionism is not the same as the pursuit of excellence, which comes from a position of strength and self-esteem.) I strived to be perfect at everything – academics, sports, professional achievements, neatness – which meant I suffered from a sense of failure most of the time.
Where did this come from, I’ve wondered? After all, I don’t have to closet my (hetero) sexuality. I wasn’t shamed by society. I don’t think I was shamed by anybody.
I found the answer in an interview Oprah conducted of Dr. Brené Brown, author of Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead.
Dr. Brown studies shame, which she describes as “the intensely painful feeling that we are unworthy of love and belonging.” She writes about how parents and teachers often shame children.
I perked up when she mentioned perfectionism. She describes it as “a self-destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.”
I reminded myself that I wasn’t shamed. My teachers rarely (if ever) shamed me. Like my father, I was an ideal student. I finished my homework on time. I got good grades. I was generally well-behaved and polite.
I tried to remember even one occasion of my parents shaming me and came up empty.
Still, I fall prey to perfectionism, the behavior associated with shame. Dr. Brown provided me with an explanation: Children often absorb their parents’ shame.
“We cannot give our children what we ourselves don’t have,” she said.
Bingo!
I’m sad my father was shamed by homophobia. I’m sad I inherited his shame along with his big blue eyes and artistic nature.
According to Brené Brown, though, there is good news for those of us who are shame-filled perfectionists.
“Shame cannot survive being spoken,” she says.
Well, I can do something about that. With this post, I’m exposing my shame to the light. And I look forward to the day I embrace my imperfections with an open heart. My father wasn’t able to, so I’ll do it in his name.
Read more in Laura Hall’s My Dad’s Closet: A daughter’s memoir, coming eventually to a bookstore near you.
Stephanie says
Laura, am so moved by your posts, the courage it takes to put it out there. I haven’t mustered up the hutzpah to write about my family’s experience, having been sworn to secrecy. And while I love and have read Brene Brown’s work on shame/vulnerability, I cower at the idea of exposure. There are striking parallels, I look forward to reading more. Thank you.
Laura Hall says
Thank you for your heartfelt comments, Stephanie. I understand. It’s so hard, isn’t it? In my own experience, I began by opening the door to my family’s secret just a teensy bit. After that it became easier to open it wider, though I didn’t know where it would lead me. I don’t think we can ever really know. But it took me a long time to first nudge open that heavy door.
All the best,
Laura
Laura Kennedy says
What a wonderful post, Laura! This speaks to me so deeply. Thanks.
Laura Hall says
Thank you for sharing that with me, Laura.
Carol Cassara says
What a courageous post! oxoxo
Laura Hall says
Appreciate that, Carol. xo