Labeled bottles in a labeled drawer in a labeled cupboard....that is how my life used to be. For nearly twenty - five years I constantly battled with everybody around me, in my desperate quest towards perfection.

The children, the personnel, in fact even strangers would be "corrected" if I deemed their appearance or behavior inappropriate. I certainly lived up to the definition of a perfectionist: "somebody who takes great pains..and then give them to others!"

I could not eat, read, write or relax in a room where something (to my subjective mind) was out of order. I had very little hobbies, apart from making long lists of things that had to be done and endlessly packing and repacking, cupboards. Not to mention the constant moving around of furniture. Every now and then I would decide that a room could look "better" and changed the furniture around. The results? Irritated people, chipped furniture and never ending backache....

The cure? For me, it came in the form of a six-foot-two hunk, who patiently and gently extracted the root of my perfectionism -my general sense of insecurity.

Only after living with Leon for a number of months (trying to change him, his ways, his children) did I realize that perfectionism is actually the manifestation of a deep sense of insecurity that turns the sufferer into a control freak. I, and I alone, "have to" make the world a better place!

I realized that the only way I ever had a sense of security, was when I was in control of people and things. The moment I could not find anything (quick hands on approach), change anything or anybody, I became angry (in a suppressed way and most of the time with a smile)and tried harder.

Harder to lift my own standards and those of the people around me, harder to get ten out of ten for everything. Sometimes, only sometimes (and very fleetingly) did it dawn on me that I was expecting the impossible from myself and others.

Leon taught me that I am an acceptable person in my own right, with limited liability. I cannot accept responsibility for half the world and their problems. The mere fact that somebody mislaid a pair of scissors in our home or left the milk outside the fridge (again, ) should not evoke anger explosions, rushed searches or apologies from me.

My advice to you? Do a bit of soul searching. Maybe you too feel insecure and find comfort and security in "trying" to make things "better" all the time. Get to the root of you insecurity. Did somebody, somewhere disappoint you? Do you feel you have to prove yourself all the time?

The world, after all is not going to come to an end, if you and I stop our constant interfering, intervening, marking, labeling, moving around and complaining. It may only end up being more cluttered, dirtier and in a worse state of chaos, but it would certainly be a happier place!

Now, a the age of nearly 44, I have realized that my name is Ingrid. Only Ingrid. Is yours still Atlas?

Learn more about this author, Ingrid Du Plessis.
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