Page 43 of Maid of Dishonor

Ah. That…did sort of happen. And his words slip into place in my mind, triggering my understanding. That’s what was bothering me about my conversation with my mom—the fact that Carter told me the same things. The fact that I ignored him. My heart sinks at the realization.

“So tell me, Samantha. How is it fair that you talk the talk but you don’t walk the walk?” And where he sounds smug now, his voice is more serious as he goes on, “You constantly try to be perfect to make up for what happened. And the fact is, you can’t. It’s done. It’s in the past. And it’s holding you captive.”

I swallow. “You’re not a therapist, Carter.”

“No, I’m not. But I know you. I know you inside and out. And I know how hard you work just to atone for a situation that wasn’t even your fault. And yet if someone came to you for advice, you would never tell them that they need to be perfect. You would never tell them that what happened was their fault. You would tell them that their progress matters, that their efforts are enough. You would tell them to let go of what happened and keep moving forward.”

Where before his voice was an embrace, now it’s a burr in my shoe, a little nudge I can’t ignore. Because he’s right.

I sigh. “I—yeah, maybe,” I say, uncomfortable. “It’s not something I can just turn off, though.”

“It’s okay,” he says. He sounds far too cheerful. “I’ve been prepared for this conversation for a long time. Can you promise me something?”

More discomfort swirls inside me. I always keep my promises—always. If I make him a promise, I’m locked in.

“What kind of promise?” I say, shifting where I sit.

“Promise me that you’ll look for ways to stop living in the past. And promise me you’ll read and implement the article I’m emailing you right”—he pauses, and I hear some shuffling and clattering and clicking in the background—“right now.”

I hesitate, frowning. “Did you seriously have stuff ready to go?”

“Absolutely. I’ve just never gotten this far in this conversation before. You always get annoyed. Now promise me, Sam. Please.”

“I—it’s—” I exhale roughly. “Fine. Yes. I promise.”

“Are you sure? You’re going to commit to this promise? Don’t say it otherwise.”

“Yeah,” I say, suddenly tired. “I’m sure.” I wouldn’t be promising if I didn’t know he was right, but it’s still scary—still daunting to think about.

“Great.”

After that I make my excuses—none of which he believes, I’m sure, but he has mercy and doesn’t call my bluff—and hang up. Then I look down at my bag of chocolate chips, which I realize I’m now cradling against my chest, the same way a child holds a favorite stuffed animal or blanket.

Great. My chocolate chips are my security blankie. I resolve on the spot to never tell Carter about this.

I open the bag and pop a few in my mouth before reluctantly opening my email. Sure enough, there’s an email from Carter with nothing but a link in the body. Sighing, I click on it.

It leads to a page on overcoming perfectionism, posted by what looks like a counseling center in Washington. I scan the professional-looking heading, the clean, simple, logo, and then scroll down to the actual article itself, skipping the intro and finding the first heading.

I promised him. And, to be fair, I guess I’m also sort of interested.

“Identify your irrational beliefs,” I read under my breath. “Why do you feel driven to be perfect? Is this a rational drive? Make note of these thoughts, and then reevaluate your standards. Find out what normal standards are, and make sure the standards you hold yourself to are realistic.” I pause to grab another handful of chocolate chips.

Because I’m alone, I feel no shame in continuing to read out loud, even though I’m still chewing. “Make a list of worst-case scenarios. For each of these scenarios, make a plan of action. What will you do if you don’t get a perfect score on that test? What will happen if you aren’t perfect? Formulate a strategy to move forward if things go as poorly as they can possibly go. More importantly, consider if falling short of perfect would actually be as bad as it seems.”

Huh. That’s…interesting.

More chocolate chips, more talking with food in my mouth. “Focus on the positive,” I continue. “Instead of focusing on how you fall short, focus on what you’re doing well. In addition, try to keep yourself rooted in the present rather than in the past or the future. You will feel less pressure to be perfect if you’re not worrying about what could happen or about what has already happened.”

After this comes a wrap-up paragraph, which I skim, and then I sit back on the couch.

All right. So…my irrational beliefs. What are they?

Carter’s voice echoes in my head:I know how hard you work just to atone for a situation that wasn’t even your fault.

Okay. So maybe I sort of do that sometimes. A little bit. Maybe. But it’s not wrong to want to make things right.

Only…

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