Did you, like me, grow up hearing this phrase from parents and teachers, “as long as you do your best, that’s all I ask”? I remember hearing this over and over through my childhood and honestly I never understood what it meant—what was my best?

In my late thirties as I sat in one of my college classes (obviously a non-traditional student) a very sweet professor probably in her late seventies, was discussing an upcoming exam or project when she, as she walked down the aisle, made the “just do your best” statement. She was just inches from me when she said it and I looked up at her and asked, “How do you know when you’ve done your best?” I’ve never forgotten the look on her face although I don’t recall her comment if any, but hearing myself ask the question began my journey of figuring out why I couldn’t personally define it—recognize it for myself.

The dictionary defines the word best as 1) better than all others in quality or value; 2) most skillful, talented or successful. And therein may be why I struggled with the “do your best” idiom. I believe for most of my life I considered my best meant I had to “outshine, out do, be more, do more” the list goes on. Of course, I simply wasn’t talented or brilliant enough to do that—I wasn’t perfect. As crazy as that sounds, I think I equated doing my best with perfection…an unattainable goal.

I began searching deep and praying hard after my confession to my professor that day. I knew there was something driving me to always crave to be the perfect student, wife, mother, friend, daughter, but of course I couldn’t live up to that goal and a sense of failure pervaded over me. But why? From where did this self-imposed, unrealistic mindset derive?

Sifting through my earliest memories from childhood I realized there was a spirit of comparison in my home. I have to stop here and say that my mother did the best she knew how to do and she loved me with all her heart. This is not mother-bashing. This is simply a journey that upon taking, opened my eyes and allowed for some much needed revelation and healing. I’m sharing just a few of these memories not as a poor me, blah, blah, blah but rather to shed light on how, in part, becoming an approval addict can germinate from some very small seeds.

As crazy as it sounds, even though I was an only child I found myself being compared to other girls. Usually girls in our extended family. One cousin in particular (we’ll call her Holly) who is exactly 4 years to the day older than myself, was my mother’s usual choice. Holly’s mother would brag to my mom about how Holly was so helpful around the house. She cleaned off the table after dinner and did the dishes. Holly made straight A’s in school, yada, yada, yada. Year after year I heard what a wonderful, helpful daughter Holly was but of course I also heard in my heart, “why aren’t you more like Holly.” A little later, probably when I was 12 or so, my maternal grandmother began comparing me to another female cousin. This time it wasn’t about how she helped her mother or her grades in school but her height! Every time we were together at my grandmother’s home, she insisted we stand back to back so she could see how much taller this girl was than myself. Trivial sounding isn’t it? It sure didn’t feel trivial to me at the time. It was yet again another reminder that I wasn’t measuring up—this time literally! It was around this time I began the active cycle of comparing my weaknesses to other’s strengths and my flaws to what I perceived as perfections in others. To add insult to injury, someone called me fat in the sixth grade. That seed fueled a lifelong self-image issue and eating disorder.

So by the age of 14 I found myself obsessed with staying thin and making straight A’s in school—two things I believed I could control. I ate very little and would weigh every morning to make sure I had not gained an ounce. I weighed every night several times before going to bed. I’d stay up and exercise and weigh myself until I felt confident of the next morning’s reading on the scale. Combine this activity with the volumes of material I would memorize for tests. I couldn’t risk not making A’s because in my mind, A’s were the only acceptable outcome. I aced tests in every subject—not because I learned the material but because I could picture in my mind the page in the textbook or in my notes, read the answers in my mind’s eye and simply transcribe them to the test. I can recall one of my biggest fears was the teacher losing my test paper. I feared that 10 seconds after turning in my test, I could not have passed the same test again. I had downloaded the information…it was gone. I retained very little because I was only putting it in my short term memory. You see, learning wasn’t the goal. Perfection was the goal. And an “A” or a “100” on a paper or test was proof of perfection—sort of.

The irony of the story is that whenever I would receive awards or accolades regarding my grades, I would always feel slightly undeserving. I knew I wasn’t necessarily smart, just able to memorize tons of information long enough to regurgitate it on a test. I found no deep personal sense of achievement. I didn’t know if I was doing my best or not. I performed…period.

My whole life felt like a performance. I can tell you many times I was labeled as appearing arrogant when actually I was struggling with low self-esteem and the posture I took was one of defense not superiority.

For an approval addict like myself, perfection was defined by someone else’s validation. My best was not an inward sense of giving it my all regardless of the outcome. My best was an outward-seeking endeavor to receive acknowledgment and acceptance.

Funny thing about living your life this way—no one on this earth can provide the inner sense of peace and calmness that comes from knowing deep down that you have done all you can do to the very best of your ability—you simply must lay it down and know it is what it is. And probably most importantly—that’s okay.

The journey has been a long one but I’ve learned to accept myself as God’s masterpiece (Eph. 2:10). I don’t necessarily feel like a work of art every day but I’ve learned to accept that I’m a work in progress and will always be a work in progress and that’s much better than expecting myself to be perfect. Because perfect is a cruel illusion that the enemy will gladly use to rob, steal and destroy (John 10:10). We are all dealing with past and current hurts that run the gambit from insignificant to devastating. That’s why we need a Savior. That’s why we need the Cross. That’s why we need Jesus. Amen.

C. Deni Johnson