Whitewashing OCD
I just finished painting the smaller of two tiny bedrooms room in my new old house. I had intended to paint everything white, as has long been my habit, but when I got to the paint store, I found 693 shades of white, such as Twinkling Lights, Frost, Night Blooming Jasmine, Moonlit Beach, Simply White, and—wait for it—White, which actually looks a little gray compared to the others.
While trying to choose among these shades of plain, I found myself veering ever so slightly into green/yellow hues—just barely over the white line, so to speak. I mean, compared to the entire rack of rainbow colors, these were still basically white. I wound up with Flowery walls and Night Blooming Jasmine trim.
This means the OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) in me is forever finding blemishes where the two colors meet. Should I open a whole new gallon of “Flowery” to get the 22 drops of paint needed to cover my mistakes? Now I understand why I historically painted everything one shade of white. Furthermore, it is now abundantly clear to me that a person with OCD should not be painting rooms adorned with crown molding. At least not if the trim color is different from the walls or ceiling.
In addition to activating my OCD, this paint job had me spending a couple days reclined with a heating pad. Eight hours of brushing semi-gloss on woodwork put my elbow out of commission for more than 24 hours, and masking the molding along the ceiling did a number on my spine. Thank heaven I decided I was too frail to paint the ceiling itself. (It’s some old, faded shade of white—maybe “Bumpkin Dust” or “Bathtub Ring,” so it blends acceptably.)
I had been so smug about the previous paint job—the one I inherited when I bought the house. Disdainful of the sloppy way their bold dark (hideous) colors met the white woodwork, I judged them viciously for their lack of attention to detail. I would show them how a paint job ought to look—even though, of course, they would never see it.
But my paint job is no better than theirs—merely less jarring because the colors I chose are calmer.
In addition to painting, I pulled up the nasty smelly stained hairy carpet in the tiny room, to find wood floors beneath. Hallelujah! Alas, the wood is spattered with colors from the previous paint job.
The OCD in me wants to remove every spot with citrus solvent (a non-toxic alternative to mineral spirits that smells like oranges) or sand the floors and tung oil them for days. But I’ve decided to just clean up the edges a bit and cover the rest with a rug. At least for the time being. This is difficult for someone inflicted with the mental instability of perfectionism.
Years ago, I had professional help to alter my perception of perfectionism. Turns out perfect is not something to strive for. It’s a figment of the imagination. Impossible to obtain. Good Enough should be the goal. And I think maybe an arthritic, OCD, old lady with less than perfect vision can probably live with something even a notch below good enough. How about just—okay?
So, I’m working hard to be okay with my imperfect home improvement effort. Perhaps when I get started on the next hideously painted room with scary carpeting, I’ll forget these newly minted flaws. Maybe I won’t have to whitewash my OCD and can dwell in walls of nature’s rainbow: Powdery Mildew, Storm Cloud, and Yellow Snow.