EMBRACING IMPERFECTIONISM

It’s safe to say, I was a geek at school. It’s a chicken and egg thing. I don’t know which came first: the expectation of faultless behaviour or my desperate attempts to be exemplary. I still feel the pressure now: people expect me to always have the answer, and I expect myself to never let anyone down. Having principles is essential, but rigid, unrealistically high standards can become a prison. And I’m finally breaking free.

Since childhood, I’ve been plagued by a painful internal dichotomy: the need for order versus the tendency for chaos. I know now that it’s the interplay between ADHD and autism, between expectation (as a “geek”, as a female, as the child of a working-class family) and actual capacity (which I really struggle to admit is inhibited by neurodivergence, but that’s the truth).

I became proficient in cultivating the air of someone who had all their shit together, and somehow managed to get away with being constantly late, messy, not doing homework or revision, forgetting my PE kit, deadlines, classes and school equipment. I dodged culpability through a carefully devised combination of believable excuses, niceness and a consistently high standard of work. I had to make up for my other deficits. It became: mess on the inside, immaculate on the outside. The more people expected perfection from me, the harder I had to try to fool them.

When I started sixth form, I cracked. It was my first experience of depression – although I now suspect it was autistic burnout. I recovered, somehow. Then, university degree in hand, I entered the workforce. I lasted five years before my next bout of burnout, which lasted a further five years and I’m still not sure I’m recovered, to be honest. I know that my only chance of being at peace it to let go of the perfectionism, embrace that I’m a bit fucked up (but so is literally everyone else), and do things my own way. It feels like I have to reinvent to wheel.

So far, this looks like radical self-acceptance, that doesn’t mean blindly accepting and loving every part of myself; I don’t think that will ever be possible. What’s radical is surrendering to the idea that I am what I am and I simply cannot bend myself into another shape. Finding out I’m autistic and have ADHD was the key, really. The realisation that my brain is built this way, it’s not that there’s some fixable character flaw.

The single greatest tool for practising imperfection (i.e. externalising my internal fuck-up-ery that I’ve been trying to conceal for years) has been creating art. You can literally see the trajectory in my work from “serious jewellery business owner” to “this is chaos and it actually looks good – fuck I think I might be an artist”.

My first collection, the BAR collection is the embodiment of imposed order and perfection. Straight lines, precise measurements, mirror-clean surfaces (pictured above). My second collection, developed a year or so later, is the PULS collection (sketches below): fused metal over which I have limited control, unpredictable shapes, uneven texture. A physical representation of the two sides of myself that have been at war my whole life. I strive for perfection, but I am utterly incapable of achieving it.

 

And you know what? Both collections are beautiful. They're both loved by so many customers. They appeal to different people. And I adore them both equally. (Yes, this is a metaphor.)