Perfection Takes a Walk (Revision)

Brit Sumyk

Perfection Takes a Walk

Throughout my life I have been afraid of failure, and would much rather sacrifice my mental sanity than fail in the never-ending quest for perfection.  In my junior year at St. Ignatius College Prep, this character trait would catch up with me and put me through personal hell.

It was the day before the start of my junior year of high school, and I was sixteen years old.  My friends and I were gathered in my friend Liza’s backyard, a large green and flowery haven that my group and I called home for the past seventy warm, summer days.  In the center of the yard was a huge, blue trampoline—the kind that my mother always tried to discourage me from playing on.  Being my stubborn self, I performed a back flip with no issues, and continued on with my frolicking.  I woke up the next morning for the first day of school—my outfit had been laid out from the night before, and I could smell my mom cooking my favorite breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.  I stood up, winced, and knew that something was out of place.  I went through my usual routine, received some Ibuprofen from my mom, and went to carpool with my best friend Margaret. 

            We were juniors.  This was a monumental year for the class of 2008, because it was the last year our grades would be sent to prospective colleges.  College visits were starting to take precedence, Junior Prom was fast approaching, and our class finally received our class rings.  It was a year of opportunity, and my perfectionism was thrown into overdrive.

After struggling through one and a half days of class, I was forced to pay the dean’s office a visit.  The nurse called my parents to come pick me up for excruciating back pain.   

I was scared of the failure.  “What is wrong with me, and why can’t I make it though even one week of class without something happening?” I would wonder.  I tried to block it from my mind.  I always hated missing school, because it put me so far behind.  When I was behind on my work, I did not have the luxury of time to allow me to complete assignments with debilitating perfection. 

Two weeks into the school year, and I had missed 7 out of ten school days because of a trampoline.  To provide myself with more time to complete my work, I stayed up all night, every night, and drank Red Bull and Starbucks frappuccinos to make that humanly possible.

My back pain progressively worsened, and I went through various MRIs and CT scans in order to discover the problem.  That day in the doctor’s office when we thought we had the answer was one of the most difficult days of my life.

“Sally, your daughter has a herniated disc.  The disc in her lower back has been flattened out, and is pushing on the near tissue and muscle, causing the pain.  She needs to stop horseback riding, and needs to stay home for at least a week to rest.”

I heard these words come out of Dr. Giri’s mouth and my eyes immediately welled up with tears.  I felt scared, alone, helpless, imperfect, like my life was spiraling out of control, and I wanted to vomit.  Not only did I have a chronic, lifetime ailment that would probably continue to cause lots of pain and never allow me to have a normal life, I would have to stop riding horses, which is my biggest passion.  On top of that, I would have to miss more school, which in my mind equated to me sleeping less and working harder. 

Sleeping less and working harder is exactly what I did.  When it became humanly impossible to carry on that way, I freaked out.  Anxiety took over me.  I had panic attacks on such a frequent basis, I almost had to go to the hospital because during one of them I could not stop hyperventilating.  Everything was spinning out of control.  I was not doing well in my classes, which was not something I was ever used to.   My parents never put a great amount of pressure on me—as long as I tried my best, the result was acceptable.  For me though, I was disappointed in any sort of failure or loss.  In my mind I figured that as long as I put in enough time and effort, perfection was possible. 

The stress and sacrifices I made in regards to my health showed: at the end of the first semester, I had missed 67 days of school, and by spring break of second semester I had missed 50 days of school.  My family and Mr. Conroy, the Vice Principle of Academics, decided that it was in my best interests to drop the second semester of my junior year of high school.

My world collapsed.  I was told that I may not be able to graduate with my class in May of 2008.  “I can’t allow this to happen,” I thought, “another failure cannot happen.”  The next two months, I pulled myself together, worked and scheduled myself responsibly and successfully, and at the cessation of senior year, walked at my high school graduation. 

“Pomp and Circumstance” playing in the background, maroon cap and gown on, class ring on, family in the stands watching, and diploma in hand, I proudly shook the school president’s and the principle’s hands, waved, got my picture taken, and sat down with my friends.  I could see my family cheering me on from the stands, huge smiles and looks of pride on their faces.  I had done it.  Hearing my name called and walking across the stage caused me to shed my need for perfection.  I knew that if I continued to go about my life that way, this would only happen again.  My back was better, I had been accepted into all of the colleges I had applied to, and was ready to begin a new chapter in my life.  It was one of the most accomplished and inspired days of my life, and was when I realized how much I had grown up and grown out of in two years to make me a happier person.