Only human

Borglum, Solon H., Anatomy, pencil, no date, Smithsonian American Art Museum (Smithsonian Open Access).

“I forgot to reactivate my device,” I confessed to the roomful of chaplains. I was embarrassed. We were adjusting to new pager tech, and I had failed to reboot after being away, which meant that I had missed a message. Because I missed a message, another chaplain had to follow up, and I felt bad about creating work for her.

Most of the chaplains in the room were senior to me, with fancier credentials and more official clout. Even my peer cohort would be assessing my performance soon, for our year-end evaluations. I wanted everyone present to consider me a worthy colleague, and I dreaded their disapproval.

If you’re thinking, “I’m sure chaplains are more enlightened than that,” then you are correct. Without exception, their response was to accept my learning curve and offer grace for the mistake. (Chaplains really are fantastic.) 

Then, one offered a gentle reminder that the work is bigger than me, a core tenet of the chaplain ethos: “You’re only human.”

“I know, and I hate it.” I laughed, but it was another confession—and a more serious one. This too was met with kindness and calm.

The story has some age now, but I think of it often. I know I’m not alone in battling perfectionism. How many of us maintain superhuman standards for ourselves, while being perfectly reasonable about others? How many easily offer kindness and acceptance to others, but struggle with self-compassion?

On a bad day, I take this as more evidence of how flawed I am. I mean, really?! Am I so arrogant that I think I can transcend the straightforward limits of our species? I worry that the harshness I direct inwards may somehow radiate out and hurt others, which is exactly what I don’t want. (Hellooooo, shame spiral!)

AND YET.

On a good day, I remember that I am human. I really feel it, deep in my bones, and I accept it. Embrace it even. I laugh at myself for being absurdly earnest, and I love the part of me that cares to the Nth degree. I know that these mistakes of perfectionism, too, are only human. 

Then I whisper a gentle reminder of my own: “You’re only human. Onwards.”

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If you like this message, you might also enjoy “Just the Way You Are,” on the power of radical acceptance, and “How to Do Less than 110%,” for tangible support.