Dating a perfectionist
If my coffee isn't the color of “khaki,” it's going back to the barista.
I run exactly 10 miles because odd numbers drive me insane.
And I constantly found myself fighting this short temper, rambling off petty improvements, making demands and trying to shape him into what I thought was the perfect man. I'm the kind of person who always shows up early for an event, will drive an hour to your work just to bring you lunch if you're hungry, walk your dog, answer your text immediately and always go above and beyond what's expected. But, I had to learn the hard way that these kinds of expectations — or 1,000-pound expectations, as I liked to call them — are like handing your boyfriend an anvil and tossing him off a boat. And, I'm pretty sure that has to be the most horrible feeling in the world.“Nothing I do is ever good enough for you,” he would say.
Naïvely, I would reply, “I just expect to be treated a certain way.”I cringe just thinking about it.
It infests every facet of your life like a disease, distorts your thinking and expels rational expectations about everything and, even more disastrously, everyone. And ultimately, it's how I lost a perfectly good guy. The whole concept of finding someone who's perfect for you, rather than just perfect, could never find its way into my rationale.
(Yeah, I'm that person.)A quality like this is totally intoxicating and completely exhausting. It was this thinking, this concept, that everything in my life could be shaped into something better — something perfect — that left me feeling endlessly disappointed and alone.
We overanalyze the actions of our boyfriends, our husbands and our “it's complicated” hookups from Tinder because we're looking for a deeper meaning in something so simple.
Somewhere along the way, I thought I was defined by the way I was being treated, that my happiness was completely controlled by those around me rather than myself. Maybe, we don't know what we have until it's gone — until we can't taste it, touch it or feel it anymore.I concluded something as simple as a forgotten “good morning” text meant I wasn't loved and wasn't important. But even though I lost a perfectly good guy, I managed to find an even better self. Sure, he fit the credentials just by looking at him.But, I literally don't think there was a single thing wrong with him physically; he was tall, dark, handsome and strong with dimples included. But casting that aside, I expected his actions to be as perfect as he was (and as perfect as I perceived myself to be.)They weren't. So, it grated on him, and he stopped being so nice to me. It turned into this vicious cycle of who could act more careless, who would or wouldn't text first, would be the first to move one inch closer on the couch during “Game of Thrones.”And, of course, it was never me.Because in his defense, he was the most loyal, amazing, devoted and sweetest person I had ever met. And it was so, so selfish.“You need to send me flowers, the right flowers.”“You should have tried harder on that exam.”“Why are you cutting the Brussels sprouts that way?
I hate the Brussels sprouts cut that way.”Literally, I critiqued his Brussels sprout cutting skills when I should have been happy he was just cooking dinner for me. Looking back, I probably would have dumped my snarky ass, too.