How Building a Shed Stimulates Growth
Perfectionism is born of a deep wounding that instilled a belief and a feeling that we are not lovable or worthy unless we are flawless
It’s not the shed so much as doing something you’ve never done before and that you lack the skills to do it like a pro.
I’ve watched countless YouTube videos on shed builds and on all the myriad sub-components such as foundations, sub-floors, framing, roofing, water catchment, etc. Yes, I love YouTube, when utilized for the purpose of learning something new, because people love to teach what they know. And many love to try and game the algorithm to garner views and comments to supplement their income. In either case, I’ll take it.
But . . .
There’s a big difference between watching a YouTube on how to build a shed and actually doing it.
Once I got knee deep in the process, I realized there were gaps in my recently acquired knowledge. An additional tool to purchase, more lumber to compensate for my math errors, and a seemingly endless string of mistakes.
As I began cutting the “bird’s mouth” notch in the roof rafters (a skill in itself) I burned two boards just trying to get the math and geometry right, and then figuring out how to work my saw in such a way as to cut a clean notch.
Third attempt a success, and then it was time to start nailing them in. But I forgot to slide the notches firmly into place before hammering the nails into the “hurricane ties,” thus leaving a 3/8-inch gap on both ends of the rafter. If this doesn’t make sense, it’s okay. Suffice to know that it’s all a new realm of skill.
After some amount of cursing myself and feeling my blood pressure rise I was able to forcefully beat the board into position and resolved not to make the same mistake again. And then on the very next board, I did it again. But the second time I couldn’t get the board to budge no matter how much pounding and cursing. So, I had no choice but to let it ride, which meant I had to shave the ends of all the other rafters to match the overhang.
I was literally pissed off at myself. I couldn’t believe that I could make such a mistake, or rather multiple mistakes. And I also know from all my years of healing work, and from unraveling the nature of my extreme perfectionism that this was just another opportunity for growth.
When Maria spills something in the kitchen and gets upset with herself I say, “I forgive myself,” as a prompt for her to repeat after me. But when I make a mistake, particularly one that means literally changing the dimensions of a roof we’re building, I can barely say it —
“I forgive myself.”
Perfectionism is born of a deep wounding that instilled a belief and a feeling that we are not lovable or worthy unless we are flawless. It happens before the age in which our brain development can discern between fair and unfair criticism. It happens because someone in our childhood carried the wound of not feeling lovable or worthy and took on the pathology of putting others down for just being a kid. “Hurt people, hurt people,” as the saying goes.
And so, it is up to us to heal the wound and break the cycle. So, go build a shed, or do something challenging that you’ve never done before. Go do something that you will likely fail at and practice patience, self-love, and self-forgiveness. Make it a practice, a yoga, and let’s break the cycle together.