But shouldn't I be perfect first?

I place a photo of an iris here as a distraction, hoping that maybe you'll look at it instead of reading words about how imperfect I am.  I didn't realize the truth of this until the image was already on the page, and it dawned on me that I was saying nothing about an iris in this post.  What does an iris have to do with perfectionism as a troubling and troublesome by-product of white feminism?  

Maybe I should explain what's really going on.  I have been part of a group of folks at my university who are interested in catalyzing learning about, and action against, white feminism. White feminism is feminism enacted in service of white supremacy – often unknowingly, but always dangerously.  In other words, white feminism is about feminism applied solely to gender-based inequality.  It doesn’t take intersectionality into account, or the ways that social identities overlap in systems of oppression.  White feminism essentially erases the identities of Indigenous women, women of color, queer women, disabled women, trans women, and many others.  It’s dangerous because it ultimately ignores and reinforces ongoing violence against all people who identify as women and who are not white or who experience other intersectionalities.  

Our group arranged for Regina Jackson and Saira Rao, the authors of White Women: Everything You Already Know About Your Own Racism and How to Do Better, to join us (a broader group of mostly white women from the university) in a workshop conversation about how we might disinvest from white feminism and do better, both individually and collectively.  The session was all we hoped it would be: fierce, uncompromising, and bookended with concrete calls to action.  I had the privilege of facilitating a debrief conversation amongst participants after the workshop portion of our session was complete.  As I listened to others digest and make sense of the work to be done, it occurred to me that maybe by occupying the role of facilitator I was enabling myself to back up from doing the same kind of sense-making.  I got to press pause on doing the heavy lifting.  

So, I decided to do the heavy lifting here on my blog.  I know that white feminism is unconsciously expressed in insidious ways and I need to dig into how this expresses in myself.  Interestingly, I had a conversation about my own relentless bent toward perfectionism with my colleagues just prior to Regina and Saira's presentation.  Perfectionism is one of the toxic indicators of white feminism in action; Regina and Saira allude to this in the first chapter of their book, titled "Your Quest for Perfection is Killing Us.  And You."  This is not unique to white women in academia.  Our white-fem pursuit of perfection extends to every career path and permeates every aspect of a white woman's existence.  As Emily Erickson eloquently stated: "Perfectionism constrains all behavior... [it] stops us from showing all of our humanness. Instead, perfectionism demands that we show only the flawless versions of ourselves. The parts that don’t conform to the dominant culture’s norms are kept hidden. The problem is... the dominant culture is infused with white supremacy."   

We want to be able to express it perfectly when we speak out against racism.  We want to teach it perfectly when we talk to our kids.  We want to live it perfectly so that we might not be judged by others.  Further, we want to be perfect AND nice.  As a consequence, we remain mute and we default to indifference.  

I have bowed to perfectionism for soooooo long without problematizing it one bit.  I have been thinking about decolonization and racial justice and reforming higher education for years, if not decades.  But it has remained mostly that--thinking.  I have gotten involved with projects and research and writing about these things as a very quiet, almost silent, collaborator, fervently hoping that no one notices my imperfectness.  I have wanted to be a perfect ally (which is impossible), and I have missed many opportunities to make a difference through action as a result.  Now, I have to catch myself falling towards perfectionism's sister, guilt.  I have to refuse to go there because guilt is self indulgent and utterly useless in this case.  So, I post a photo of a beautiful iris and I know now that it was to distract myself, and perhaps to distract you from noticing my struggle.    

Fortunately, I have found a cognitive way to push back against perfectionism (my brain typically needs convincing before the rest of me follows).  I now ask: Who does perfectionism serve?  It certainly doesn't serve me.  Or my family.  Or my friends and colleagues.  It doesn't serve anyone Indigenous, or people of color, or queer people, or disabled people.  It doesn't serve any of the communities I belong to.  Perfectionism only serves "those people and ideas that already hold power in our culture" (Erickson, 2020); in other words, it serves colonialism, patriarchy, and white supremacy.  

We must stop this.  I must stop this.  There is no more time or space for perfection.