Searching for Perfection

My sister, Laura, is my best friend in the whole world. She was seven when I was born and very much resented the fact that my birth caused a chain of events that involved her and I sharing a room. For a big chunk of her life I was the annoying little sister that clung to her like a second skin and never seemed to leave her and her friends alone. As I grew older, we became closer, bonding over our shared love of clothing, fun and simply being in each other’s presence.

As nice as it was to have my best friend sleep in the bunk right under mine, it also became difficult for me not to compare myself to her. I started to see Laura as my competition, rather than my sister. Having such a big age difference meant that when my skin was getting bad, hers was starting to clear, or when she was getting hips and breasts, I was still as flat as a board. I felt like I was drowning trying to keep up to her.

Although we’re sisters, our appearances are far from similar.

She has these doe-like, strikingly clear blue eyes that are beautifully contrasted by her long, dark eyelashes. I have small, boring, brown eyes.

She has this little constellation of freckles littered across her face. I have a few on my nose.

She has a small ski-slope nose. I have the stereotypical large Italian nose.

It’s not just her physical appearance that differs from mine, it’s also her personality.

She’s selfless, kind and insanely intelligent. I’m loud and selfish and I tend to say the wrong things at the wrong times.

My family isn’t blind to these differences either. When my parents are disappointed in me, they often compare me to my Laura, saying, “why can’t you be more like your sister,” or “Laura never did that when she was younger.” I know that they aren’t doing it from a place of resentment or spite, rather love and concern. They see how successful my sister is and want me to learn from her example. Nevertheless, their words are like a knife in the heart because it makes me believe that Laura’s perfect and I’m not.

The event that really changed my perspective about perfection unfortunately came at the expense of my sister. Earlier in the year, Laura discovered that her boyfriend of five years had been cheating on her for months. When I first heard, my feelings were grief and anger, but for a fleeting moment, they turned to a mix of happiness and relief. For once, Laura wasn’t the perfect one; the one that did everything right. She’d always done everything according to her plan: university, boyfriend, teacher’s college, dog, teacher, and so on. Now here she was, with no boyfriend, no apartment, no job, no dog and certainly, no plan. This perfect life that she’d built for herself crumbled faster than anyone ever imagined it could. I feel so guilty for feeling any of this because she’s my sister and I love her more than life itself, but once my relief dissipated, I felt the chains of expectations that perfection had wrapped around my life loosen. In the days that followed my sister arriving home, I started to realize that the more time I spent searching for perfection, the unhappier I became. When my biggest wish was to be as perfect as my sister, I wasn’t happy because I was constantly living the shadow of her achievements.

I would like to say that this realization changed my life instantly and with no bumps in the road, but I would be lying to myself. I still have my slip-ups every once and awhile. I still find myself scrolling through social media thinking about how I wish my legs were that strong or my skin that nice. I still catch myself looking at my sister and thinking about all the things I’ve convinced myself that she has and I don’t. I still have times when I wish I was prettier, smarter or kinder. I still occasionally feel sad and unworthy. When I feel myself slipping into my old, destructive habits, I say something that I love about myself to act as a sort of grounding tactic. I understand now that my sister isn’t perfect and neither am I. Knowing this has allowed me to become more confident and slowly learn to see the good in myself, rather than the bad.