What happens when there's nothing left to prove?
🤲 On the slow-release of performative perfectionism as a resident of the Isles of Authenticity
Listen to a version of this column on the “Poetry in Eden” podcast, episode #35, available on Spotify and Apple podcasts. That version is also attached here for easy listening.
“Poetry in Eden,” my poetry book and audiobook, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Audible, Spotify, and more.
Want to stay connected? Follow me at www.feliciaiyamu.com
🎭 “Don’t You Care About Fitting In?” 🎭
Every once in awhile, I take a break from social media for a month or two. I never was a fan of it, and I find it is the root of the unattainable perfectionism plaguing our society today (but more on that later).
The 2001 song by Daft Punk — harder, better, faster, stronger — was more of a prophecy than a club hit. The lengths we will go to be “better” than the next person is dizzying. But, I observe this more than I participate in it. In fact, I realized, at some point, I opted out of the expectations circus.
If you know me personally, you know dance has become my passion again for the past year. I go to class 2-3x per week. Not only is it a physical challenge, it is a mental challenge.
It took me 6 months to defeat the voice inside my head comparing myself to the other dancers, feeling frustrated when I could not catch the choreography, or feeling a mess as my natural hair frizzed or my ‘look’ came undone. (Actually, there are not many girls who look like me in the intermediate to advanced classes, but that is a whole other story. . .)
The magic of dance is when we move out of the mind, into the body, and arrive on beat. Dancers who manage to do this have nothing to prove. They just move to feel and this is an act of beauty and freedom.
The other day, a boy stumbling through the moves stumbled into me. He apologized profusely as I finally took his hand firmly and said, “Don’t worry.” He seemed to find his footing after that, and after class he found me.
He said, “I love this style of dance, but I never feel connected to the teacher. But, you, you feel authentic.”
I nodded, thinking how disconnected I felt from the teacher as well.
More unsmiling girls filed out of the class. I was in my own world, but he looked at me again. He said, “Don’t you care about fitting in?”
“Fitting in?” I asked. “I have not thought about fitting in in decades.” I giggled and held his hand again.
And that’s when it hit me. . .other people are thinking about fitting in.
I have been marching to the beat of my own drum for so long that I'm not sure what I would even be fitting into. I feel so much gratitude for everything and everyone already in my life, and I want to stay consistent by simply being myself.
Yet, Don’t you care about fitting in? began to echo in my head for weeks. . .
✨ Actually, the Secret Ingredient is Authenticity ✨
My coach is a 70-something man who lives tucked away in the south of England. He is thoughtful, content, twice married, surrounded by the warmth of children and grandchildren.
His life isn’t flashy. In fact, it’s the simplicity of it that moves me most. There's a kind of gentle wisdom that clings to him. He has nothing left to prove.
He doesn’t want social media. Actually, he might dislike it altogether. He fears the constant grasping for likes, the performative perfectionism, the dopamine highs and existential lows of a validation-hungry generation. It’s not judgment, just observation. He’s seen enough life to know when we’re chasing ghosts. . .
He pushes me to trust my instincts, that refined and intelligent part of us shaped over hundreds of millions of years, and to simply be myself.
The other morning, I found myself mid-spiral. I was questioning everything, doubting myself the way one does when the mind’s been stretched a bit too thin. I turned to him, voice barely above a whisper,
“Do you have any feedback for me?”
We had spent the morning talking about authenticity: the rare magic of people who live it, breathe it, are it. People who don't just perform realness, but are real.
He looked at me with that easy smile and said, “I thought I just gave it to you.”
I said nothing, but my silence must have said everything.
So he continued, “Out of the hundreds of clients I’ve had over the years, I hardly remember most of them. I could look through my notes, sure. . .but I know I’ll always remember you.”
A pause. My breath caught in my chest. “Why?” I asked.
“Because you have such a joie de vivre. You’ve been through so much, and still, you forge forward with a burning heart. I have to root for you. You’re really special.”
Something cracked in me and bounced me back to reality.
I’m so good at seeing the special in others, I sometimes forget to recognize it in myself.
That moment and that kind of reflection burst my worry cloud. I felt it lift. The perfectionism that had its grip around my ribs loosened. And quietly, I cried.
“Thank you,” I said.
It wasn’t that I’d lost my authenticity. I’d just buried it once again under unnecessary existential worries and a to-do list. But there it was again, rising like warm steam on wet grass as the sun peaks over the horizon: soft, present, and undeniable.
🙏 What I Know to Be True: Beliefs 🙏
Instagram (more than TikTok) is feeding us an ideal. The ideal life, the ideal body, the ideal hair, the ideal skin, the ideal partner, the ideal children. . .in a constant furry scroll, our head spins off like a pin-top and distracted and detached from our souls, we lose our head in search of a fake reality.
We share our deepest dreams and fears with AI-robots when the people closest to us are scratching their heads about the discrepancies between what we say and what we do.
Botox, fillers, Ozempic, 3D lashes, plastic surgery, hair extensions, bad veneers, fitness, smoothies, makeup, luxury, anorexia, “best people” lists. . .while I am a fan of well-done beauty treatments, aesthetics, and achievement, I think we are getting lost in the sauce of vanity and running down a dead-end road of perfectionism. It is all unsustainable — literally and figuratively.
Actually, I am a recovering perfectionist. I used to work out 7 days a week, eat minimally, always have my hair, nails, makeup done. Was the best dressed and best performing at work. Knew the right thing to do and say at all times. And then I wanted to be myself. I started to become “unhinged.” And then I burnt out. I lost myself. I hit rock bottom so hard there was no bounce back. Just a slow crawl back to myself.
And I would not change a thing because from where I am standing, understanding life from all sides has brought me so much peace, compassion, and patience.
Here’s what I know to be true:
Money cannot buy peace. I’ve felt the loneliness at the top, where money replaces depth, self-acceptance, and lasting connection. It is the same feeling at the bottom, where survival-mode replaces depth, presence, and a stable confidence.
Some wounds stay. And that’s okay. When we choose to heal, we send ripples backward and forward through time. We heal our ancestors and our future selves. We stitch together a legacy with softness and intention.
Real joy lives within us. It always has. It always will. It is not something we chase. It is something we remember. It is something we choose. It is something that comes naturally when we know and embrace who we are.
Gratitude and love are the ultimate feelings. Always stop to say thank you to God, Spirit, the universe, whatever you believe in. When family, friends, husbands, wives help us to pause and remind us that we are already enough, this is the divine gift of consistent love.
So, what’s the real medicine? Presence. And, what’s the real gift? There’s only one you! That is f*cking beautiful. We can feel everything and still choose joy anyway. Cheers to the authentic you!
I adore this. Words so kindred with my heart. Glad to find you. Best wishes xx
What a list... first and second, I can confirm as absolutely true. Keep being yourself!💐