Last Sunday I was asked to share about my battles with perfectionism. Here is my story as it was told.

My name is Tammy Junghans I am the wife of a pastor and mother of four. Isn’t it funny how as women, especially, we often identify ourselves in relation to relationships? Gerry has asked me to share my story as it relates to perfectionism this morning.

Often we hear the big ‘tidal wave’ type stories, at least those are the ones that are most popular. The stories that are shared are often about the greatness and awesomeness of God. I love these stories myself. My story, however, is more like a surging river or even a wave pool that gets turned on once in a while. My story is more about the gentle consistency of God. I’ve come to realize that my story is just as important as anyone else. We all have a story to tell.

I was raised in a wonderful home. My parents raised me in the Christian faith and loved me and I know that. Despite their love though I have always had a feeling of being not quite enough and yet a little too much. I never thought what I could do or accomplish would be good enough. I felt inadequate.

As a Christian teen I didn’t have a great self-esteem and looked to others for approval. I never felt like I was good enough. I never felt like I could get close enough to God. I felt alone, even though I was surrounded by people who loved me.

As a teen I sensed that God was calling me to marry a pastor. Odd I know, but God has called others to things odder than that. Knowing that, I sought out relationships with pastor’s wives. I wanted to know what I should ‘do’ in order to be good at the job. I took mental snap shots of the best things I could see about each pastor’s wife I knew. Then I posted them on my mental fridge for later reference.

When Greg and I were dating I was never really sure about our relationship. Even though we hit a rough spot that could have used a break I wasn’t willing to let him go for fear that he wouldn’t return. I needed him. At our second rough spot while dating I almost lost my mind when I found out I might not be good enough for him.

All of these things, coupled with my low self-esteem, my need for constant affirmation and inability to make choices on my own drove me to be the perfect girlfriend that would hopefully be the perfect wife.

Shortly after being married we accepted our first pastoral position. It was my first time living outside of my parents home. I was so lost. Poor Greg. I looked to him to fulfill all my needs – emotional, physical, spiritual, relational and otherwise. Who else could I trust? If I told anyone about any problem I was having I wouldn’t be acceptable and they might not think well of either of us.

Situation after situation verified my feelings as I beat myself up again and again and again. I questioned my value constantly.

Often I referred to those mental snapshots of a good pastor’s wife. A good Pastor’s wife is a musician, a great musician, leads worship and directs choirs. A good pastor’s wife is a Sunday school teacher and women’s ministry director. A good pastor’s wife has the church over to her home and is always ready for someone to drop by. A good pastor’s wife is never a hindrance to her husband. No pressure.

Two years after being married we found out we were going to have our first baby. What a thrill. Now I could have the perfect pregnancy, be the perfect mom and the perfect wife. Our baby died early on in the pregnancy and my dreams felt as though they were shattered. Again I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t even carry a baby. People tried to say the right thing, but everything I heard was like poison. Nothing felt like it would heal my grief. Three months after the miscarriage I was pregnant again. This time I was terrified.

Every twinge any little hint of anything ‘not normal’ and I was ready to go to the hospital. After going into pre-term labour around 26 weeks I was put on bed rest. I spiralled slowly into a depression. Greg had to go to work and I was left at home. I had people coming and dropping off meals. I had friends come to clean my house – how mortifying. Failure again.

There were a few days Greg would look around the room to see if there was anything I could get into or hurt myself with before he left. He was concerned.

Our first beautiful baby girl was born and what a joy she was, at least she was supposed to be, right? I didn’t see her as a joy though. Everything was a struggle.

You have no idea how hard this is for me to live through again. I had packaged this part of my life up and put it on a shelf never to opened again.

The day after she was born I was handing her off to anyone that would take her. “Here, you wanna hold her?” I just couldn’t ‘bond’ with this baby. Nursing was horrible and she wasn’t gaining weight. She was jaundice and had to go back in the hospital just as my parents were arriving. Didn’t the doctor understand that she needed to be in church with me on Sunday so everyone could see my perfect family? So I could show my parents, who were just in town for a few days, that I really could be a good pastor’s wife a good mom. What was wrong with me? Failure again.

Then the day came when the doctor asked me at follow-up appointment to take a little ‘test’. It was a depression test. Finally something I could succeed at. A high score! There was no way a Christian mom, especially a pastor’s wife could be depressed. I was in denial. I thought if I just thought about good things it would go away. I could handle this on my own. After a few weeks I really broke. I put my baby in her crib and closed the door. I called my husband to come home from work. I was afraid.

Greg came home and we went right to the doctor. She prescribed medication, which just the thought of made me a failure. I took it anyways.

We decided that counselling along with medication could help as well. A wonderful former pastor’s wife, Wilma, had recently become a counsellor and agreed to take me on. It was TOUGH. It was ROUGH. She gently helped me peel away the layers of expectations that had been set on me and that I had set on myself. She listened I cried. She listened I yelled. She prayed. We uncovered many wounds that God began to heal.

Do you know that when you burry your emotions they aren’t dead? Buried emotions are buried alive.

Do you know what a perfectionist is? It’s me, or at least it’s me in recovery. Here’s what a perfectionist can be defined as.

Extreme perfectionists are forever dissatisfied; they can never fulfill their own expectations so, in their own eyes, they are always failures. Chronic perfectionism is driven by deep-seated feelings of inferiority and self-hate, and by nature it reinforces a negative self-image. Performing tasks or fulfilling goals becomes intimidating and unpleasant, since the perfectionist knows deep down that the finished product will never meet his/her expectations. So the perfectionist might have problems with procrastination. Perfectionism, then, can become a double-edged sword - the perfectionist is driven by a desire to succeed, as well as a fear of failure, which leaves him/her paralyzed.

In all realms, striving for excellence can be beneficial and lead to a fulfilling professional and personal life. Accepting nothing less than excellence, on the other hand, can be emotionally scarring.

I’ve just given you a little snapshot of my life. Maybe you can identify and maybe you can’t. I can tell you honestly that my time with Wilma was invaluable and although I still will revert to old behaviours I know what my triggers are. I know I am not a failure. I know I will never be perfect. My goal now is not to reach for perfection, but progress.

Here’s a quote I love. No one is perfect. . . that’s why pencils have erasers.