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Perfectionism | CoDA Weekly Reading

Ever since rounding up to one year of being in CoDA, this April, I thought that it might be a good idea to "celebrate" with writing something for others to read. I have been putting it off. My perfectionism wouldn't let me write. "Writing is an obsession for you", I told myself, "be careful". Today, which is a random day, like any other, I am finally able to give space to another voice, saying: "Give these worries into divinity. Let higher power exist where perfectionism resides."

I am scared to write about my experience in CoDA so far, because perfectionism demands that I have a sensible story to tell. Something that inspires others. If I cannot be sure that I am being inspiring and helpful for others, I need to just shut up. That is a belief that I carried with me most of my life. It is still following me, running after me, with its little feet, yelling: "Wait! Danger!". And if I turn around and look at it, I realize that it is actually just extremely scared. That it needs to be picked up, to be held. That it desperately needs my compassion. That little, young whirl of chaos, called perfectionism - it’s been helping me to survive all these years. I am here because of it. Long live the paradox.

To find compassion for my perfectionism, when that perfectionism seems to be responsible for all my addictions and compulsions, is an ongoing journey. And I feel it is being dramatically bettered through my CoDA journey, specifically through sharing in meetings. It took me forever to start speaking there. Paradoxically so, my profession played in talking a lot, but to share about myself had been impossible. In the meetings, there is no possibility to craft beautiful language, give thought through arguments or to play a part that has constructed credibility and is being presented by a well-trained voice in front of a specific audience. 

In the meetings, there are people sharing vulnerably, imperfectly and rawly about their deepest issues, fears and memories. They are so scared to share, and they do it anyway. They are some of the most courageous people I have ever encountered in my life. And they didn't demand anything of me. They didn't ask me to perform. They were just there, week after week, struggling themselves, daring to celebrate their recoveries, daring to take space, giving space, holding it for one another and being held by something altogether, that I couldn't quite put my finger on. 

All this and my deep desperation and longing for a different life, let me relax into listening so much that I was finally able to start speaking. My heart jumped out of every edge of my body, but I said two or three sentences. My head had no recalling of it right after. But I had shared. About myself, being just me. Week after week my shares grew in length, my heart rate normalized. I can feel parts of my body now, when I share. I sometimes, just for a few seconds, dare to open my eyes and take in the room while sharing. 

Many parts within me know now: I have all the time. It is ok to be what I am right now, in this moment and still be allowed to speak. I have trust now that CoDA is my crucial tool to learn to speak my truth fully, to become able to say all that I couldn't for all these years. As real as my struggles remain to be, I see the miraculous change happening in front of my eyes, in real time and mostly, within my body, as she is showing my consciousness how alive she has been all along.

Claudia R.06.10.2025