Like a classic perfectionist I told myself that perfectionism assisted me. It gave me the edge needed to survive and thrive in spaces where I was doubted due to my race, class, and gender. It made me feel more resilient against charges of inferiority because I could prove that I was intelligent, hard working, and therefore deserving.
Of course, the great lie of perfectionism is similar to the lie of respectability politics. There is nothing you can do to ensure that you are universally respected. This is particularly true if you possess identities which are marginalized and oppressed.
For me perfectionism became an unhealthy coping mechanism for my feelings of self-doubt and low self esteem no doubt provoked by the constant onslaught of racist and sexist microaggressions. I began to commodify myself by believing that I would always be sure to have value as long as I was producing, making things, winning awards, and busy in a quantifiable manner.
Black women tend to celebrate their perfectionism as if it's a benefit instead of a dangerous character flaw that can potentially lead to anxiety and depression. In fact, my perfectionism made me feel like an authentic Black woman for a long time since I was parroting the behavior of the Black women around me.
