It’s a bonus post!!

A lot of Little Kid Ellen activities didn’t make it on the original list, but I really think that this one deserves its very own spot.

This past week, I painted a ceramic sculpture. We have a paint-your-own-pottery place in town called Petroglyph Ceramic Lounge, and it follows a business structure that I’m sure you’re familiar with:

Tons of unpainted ceramic objects on display on shelves around the edges of the shop (vases, bowls, mugs, decor, boxes, literally anything and everything)
Paint and paint brushes abound
You paint your object…
…They fire it in a kiln
You pick it up a week later and hope that it comes out like you had planned because the unfired colors are very different than the fired colors.

Traveling back to Little Kid Ellen times, the ceramic shop of choice in my town was called the Snoop Shop.

The Snoop Shop, as I remember it, was on the outskirts of town, within a forested area, which was rare because I lived in the suburbs of Chicago and there aren’t really a lot of forests there. The floors were uneven, and there wasn’t a lot of sunlight that filtered through the tree cover and grimy windows. It was basically in a shack. A house that had seen better days.

But every time I went there, that shack was full of magic... for an 8-year-old. The items that you could choose from were mostly useless. Ceramic bunnies the size of an actual rabbit. A Tweety bird decorative plate. A peacock mask. A puppy dog paperweight with giant, sad eyes. Kid stuff. Fun stuff. Blank canvases with a little bit of guidance.

I was probably at the Snoop Shop 2–3 times a year for 3–4 years, attending different birthday parties or Girl Scout troop outings. In the beginning, I would go buck wild with my color choices, not giving a damn if chickens aren’t lime green or tennis shoes usually don’t have smiley faces all over them. It was fun to paint whatever popped into my head, and whatever popped into my head usually made me smile.

Glittery, goofy Ellen in the era of the Snoop Shop.

But at some point, my approach to painting ceramics changed. I would choose an object that called for precision and detail, usually something on the smaller side and not cartoon-based. A mug or a key/mail dish (even though I didn’t carry keys or receive any mail). I would tell myself that how it turned out mattered, that everyone cared if I could produce something truly spectacular, that my worth as a friend depended on me creating something that others found incredible, that only if it looked perfect would my family want to display it in our house.

🚩 Red flag 🚩

I started to spend 20–30 minutes just trying to figure out which piece I wanted to paint and then another 20–30 minutes planning out exactly how to paint it. With time slots at the shop usually just lasting 2 hours, I would waste up to half my time planning, setting myself up for failure when it came to the actual painting part.

I would be nowhere near done when time was up, everyone else having already finished their ugly (in my mind) pieces, and I would beg my mom to let me stay a little bit longer so that I could finish mine. She would give in for another 10 or 20 minutes, but it was never enough. I could never get the darn thing to look like how I had envisioned. I felt worthless because I couldn’t be perfect.

In other news: I recently read that perfectionism is a trauma response that stems from being humiliated for making mistakes.

Huh.

While it’s hard for me to pinpoint exact moments in my childhood where my mistakes were put on display, I do remember a few, generally. A parent making a big deal (maybe ironically) about getting an A- instead of and A+ on an assignment. A teacher saying, “no, that’s definitely not right,” in front of the whole class after you raised your hand, so confident in your answer. A boy breaking up with you in front of the entire class during recess (okay, that’s an exact moment I remember and you can read about it in my rollerskating post).

All these little moments add up. And they were being poured into a cauldron that was already bubbling with other perfectionism-in-the-making potion ingredients:

Only receiving love, validation, or celebration when I accomplished something
Being given unrealistic, high expectations for academic achievement
Black and white thinking on good vs. bad moral issues (read: Catholicism)
The need to be in control of everything because of past trauma when something hurt you that was out of your control
Dismissed feelings and emotions combined with praise for stoicism (“big girls don’t cry”)

I’ve been on quite a ride in the last couple of years, first identifying my perfectionist tendencies and people-pleasing habits. Once I could flag these moments in my life (apologizing for things I had nothing to do, not trying new things for fear of failure, not knowing when to say NO), I could then work on breaking those habits and becoming more selfish.

Yes, you heard that right. My goal was to become more selfish.

That might trigger something for you. And maybe you should sit with that for a minute and think about why being selfish grates on you.

Because it shouldn’t.

We are the main characters in our lives. We should put our needs before others. Many men do this naturally, but us women have a harder time with this.

I am not saying that we shouldn’t also care about other people, love other people, help other people. We don’t need to be mean or rude or bring people down to push ourselves up.

But yes, we should be making decisions with our own needs at the center. We should not be draining our tanks for the sakes of being helpful or kind or high-achieving. We should be prioritizing our own growth, evolution, happiness, joy, creativity, and TIME.

Ask me some time about the DISASTER that was trying to make a family crest. Do you see how un-centered that name is at the bottom?! Complete failure. (sarcasm)

So, I bet you’re thinking that this time around, when I went to a paint-your-own pottery shop, I went with my gut, had fun, and painted something totally off the cuff, not caring what anyone else thought about the finished project, right?

Oh, how I love you for believing that I could reverse decades of programming in just a couple years 😘

It didn’t quite happen that way.

I arrived a bit before my friend who had agreed to paint with me. I did spend about 20 minutes perusing all of the options for pieces to paint, and I did think to myself that I should pick something that I could make into something beautiful, something perfect.

A planting pot was my first choice. I have a ton of indoor plants, and I could make my own, customized pot for my home decor aesthetic. But instead of thinking about what that was, I immediately logged into Pinterest and searched for “planter pot diy designs.”

🚨EEEH!🚨

Not what we were supposed to be going for.

My friend arrived as I was trying to figure out if I could make a chevron pattern that looked hand-drawn but also delicate (the answer is — who cares). I wandered around the store as she decided what piece piqued her interest.

She landed on an angel statue.

It didn’t have a purpose. It didn’t hold anything. It was detailed and intricate, and there was no way she was going to be able to make it beautiful.

🚨EEEH!🚨

There I go again, placing my own expectations onto someone else, exactly like what had happened to me my entire life.

⏪ REWIND ⏪

Let’s start over.

My eyes were now looking for something that pre-perfectionism Ellen would have chosen. Something totally magical, not at all useful, and that could really show off my creativity and joy.

That’s right, folks. I chose an ice cream cone.

And I made it pink and blue BECAUSE I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT.

I added a pink-on-pink lattice, bright blue ice cream, multi-colored sprinkles, AND I finished it in under an hour. No need to overthink or overanalyze how it was going to turn out. I just painted.

And I. had. a. blast. My friend and I talked the whole time about our lives, reminiscing about being creative as kids and scheming about ways to be creative as adults, and we even had a doggo friend hang out with us the whole time and admire our painting skills. (He wasn’t actually that impressed.)

I didn’t care too much about what the colors would look like after they were fired, but I did 5 to 6 layers of paint to make sure they were as bright as possible. And I wanted as many colors as possible.

And, honestly, it turned out perfectly 😭

My perfectly pink and blue ice cream cone that now houses an orchid that I can’t seem to keep alive. Toss your expectations of perfection in the garbage! Learn to live for fun of it rather than the end of it!

So here’s the moral of the story: Who cares? The answer is no one, so just have fun and let go of expectations. 💙🍦