The need to be perfect
I was raised by parents who were, shall we say, less than loving people. They made it very clear, through their actions, that I could only have love when I earned it through performance. Mistakes weren’t tolerated. Excellence was the only acceptable outcome, and when, time and again, I failed to meet their standards, they withheld what a child most needs.
Coming into my conversion study later in life, that parental pressure is still present, even though my parents are long gone. It’s me doing it, me saying, “If you can’t do this exactly right, you will be spurned.”
This clearly isn’t going to happen, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking it. Every time I fumble with the siddur, every time I miss a service, every time I say something foolish and nervous, I wait for the hammer to come down. It’s to Rabbi S’s credit that I haven’t already run away from this to hide for another twenty-five years.
I want this to be right. I waited a long time before the urge to complete this journey became too much to ignore, and that brought me to the rabbi’s doorstep. But as much as I desire things to move ahead smoothly, I need to remember that life is messy, mistakes are made, and good people do not turn others away for those errors.
I’m not being judged here. I’m being helped forward. That’s hard to remember sometimes.