Making My Bed, And Lying In It
On Olivia Rodrigo's song "making the bed" and climbing out of perfectionism
“You’ve made your bed, now lie in it” is a phrase I think we’re all at least somewhat familiar with. Whether it’s been said to you or simply heard in passing, it has most likely made it’s way to all our ears in some form or another. Although not overly used anymore, it’s now even made it’s way to the center of Olivia Rodrigo’s song “making the bed”.
Admittedly, the reference to this phrase didn’t quite click with me at first. I can’t tell you how many times I listened to that song before realizing the connection. I think I was scream singing along when it finally clicked, causing me to abruptly stop everything I was doing as I listened more intently.
At first listen, I actually assumed it was a self-love ballad. The way she belts “But it’s me who’s been making the bed” after recounting all the ways she’s dissatisfied with her life made me think she was reminding herself that, through it all, she’s the one who puts in the effort to “make the bed”. She’s the one who who gets up every day despite it all. So when the phrase “you’ve made your bed, now lie in it” flashed through my mind as I sang along, cross legged on my couch as I typed away on my laptop, what I originally mistook for pleas of recognition turned into quiet resignations.
It no longer sounded like she was begging for others to see the work she puts into just “making the bed”, but slowly and quietly allowing herself to accept that she and she alone is the one that has made her life what it is—for better or worse.
At the very beginning of the song, it starts off with guitar static that grows louder and louder until Rodrigo’s voice cuts in, interrupting with the first set of lyrics:
Want it, so I got it, did it, so it’s done
Another thing I ruined I used to do for fun
Another piece of plastic I could just throw away
Another conversation with nothing good to say
I thought it, so I said it, took it ‘cause I can
Another day pretendin’ I’m older than I am
Another perfect moment that doesn’t feel like mine
Another thing I forced to be a sign
While I don’t know for certain whether or not Rodrigo wrote this song about perfectionism, so much of it reminds me of what it’s like to be a perfectionist. Her descriptions of an inability to enjoy success/”a perfect moment”, feeling like every conversation needs to be perfect, and the pressure to succeed at everything you do, reminds me of my perfectionist tendencies.
As I mentioned in my previous post, as a junior in high school, I took a college level US history class. The year before that, I also took an honors humanities class. While I enjoyed this class so much that it partly fueled my decision to study the humanities in college, it was also one of the first places I felt inadequate. It was in this class that I first felt I might not be as smart as I thought I was.
In my other English/humanities based classes before this, I was always one of the few students who knew what was going on, and that actually cared to do the reading. But in this class, I was surrounded by other students who loved to read just as much as I did, and always went above and beyond on their assignments. It felt like I had to work harder than everyone else just to keep up. I berated myself for falling a few points short time and again to join the students with the highest test scores and, eventually, I convinced myself that this was just how it was going to be for me. I believed that, if wanted something, I was always going to have to work harder than everyone else to get it.
When you’re a perfectionist, you’re often given the responsibility of completing tasks. Sometimes you even take them on on your own because you and everyone else know that you’ll not only get it done, you’ll do it right. You convince yourself that the insane amounts of effort you put into simple tasks are normal, if not necessary for receiving the desired outcome. And this is simply seen as competency. You’re applauded for your ability to flawlessly perform any and all tasks, further reinforcing the idea that the sleepless nights and hours bent over a computer screen are perfectly acceptable. But that perfect track record eventually starts to feel like a shadow you catch in the corner of your eye, creeping so slowly along the walls you barely realize it’s even moving until it’s already spread onto the ceiling, looming over your head with nowhere to run.
I’ve had moments where I felt it might be better if I failed, just so I could get it over with. I was so utterly consumed with dread over the possibility of failure that I sometimes wished I could welcome it with open arms, falling deep into it’s embrace and finally stand still. I wished I could be someone else. Someone who isn’t constantly running to keep up with my self-imposed expectations of perfection.
Well, sometimes I feel like I don’t wanna be where I am
Gettin’ drunk at a club with my fair-weather friends
Push away all the people who know me the best
But it’s me who’s been making the bed
I’m so tired of bein’ the girl that I am
Every good thing has turned into something I dread
And I’m playin’ the victim so well in my head
But it’s me who’s been making the bed
Me who’s been making the bed
Pull the sheets over my head
Making the bed
If someone asked me to tell them about a time I fell into tears over a bad grade, a less than perfect assignment, or a mistake made on a test, I would be able to recount at least three incidents with perfect clarity, but there are others—quite a few others—that have begun to fade. I was always falling apart over the prospect of receiving anything less than an A, and even chose to opt out of receiving a grade altogether a few times—choosing, instead, the Pass/No Pass option—simply to spare myself the potential heartache.
I constantly twisted myself into knots trying to maintain my high GPA, especially at university where I was once again surrounded by other students with similar interests and the desire to go above and beyond. It was like I was transported back to my AP and honors classes. Everyone I knew was either juggling more classes than humanly possible or somehow double majoring and minoring, all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA.
So, when graduation finally rolled around, I found myself incapable of actually feeling proud of myself. The happiness came and went, rolling in and out and then quickly evaporating like an early autumn fog burned away by the lingering summer heat.
A person who is a perfectionist isn’t always at the top of their class. They are a lot of the time, but not always. A person can be successful, make great accomplishments and still not be a perfectionist. There is absolutely no correlation between perfectionism and success because someone who agonizes over doing everything perfectly isn’t usually concerned with the actual work, but rather the illusion of perfection.
For me, graduating with honors was simply another notch on my belt. I did it because I wanted it, ‘cause I could, not because I was actually invested in the work that came along with it. At least, not always, which is probably why it stung to receive the second highest honors. I told myself it didn’t matter, that it was more than enough to have graduated with honors at all. But as I sat in that plastic folding chair, watching everyone else’s names and honors flash across the screen, my stomach turned in shame at the thought of everyone else seeing that I once again fell short. I found myself obsessing over what I didn’t do instead of allowing myself to feel proud of what I did.
And every night I wake up from this one recurrin’ dream
Where I’m drivin’ through the city and the brakes go out on me
I can’t stop at the red light, I can’t swerve off the road
I read somewhere it’s ‘cause my life feels so out of control
And I tell someone I love them just as a distraction
They tell me that they love me like I’m some tourist attraction
They’re changin’ my machinery and I just let it happen
I got the things I wanted, it’s just not what I imagined
As a high schooler, I agonized over where I was going to go to college and what I might want be. I told myself I was indifferent to it all. I was too evolved not to see how archaic it was to expect a teenager to choose what they wanted to do with the rest of their life. Even when I look back on this time, I feel little to nothing except maybe a lingering dread and something else. It feels much like standing on a cliffside, wanting to step closer to look over the edge but being too afraid to move your feet.
I tiptoed through the next few years of my life, too afraid to make a definitive decision, and when I did, I’d lie awake ruminating over all the things that could go wrong.
Perfectionists tend to shut down when things don’t go their way. They’ll procrastinate a simple task or put off doing something they always wanted to do in the fear it might not go as planned. They simply can’t handle rejection, failure, or even the possibility of it. It’s easier to shrink yourself. Make yourself quieter and more agreeable until you’re simply the shell of everything everyone else wants you to be. Perfectionists aren’t just hardworking, detail-oriented people. Their perfectionism bleeds over into the rest of their lives, making it impossible to make a single decision without worrying over whether it’s the “right” one.
Well, sometimes I feel like I don’t wanna be where I am
Gettin’ drunk at a club with my fair weather friends
Push away all the people who know me the best
But it’s me who’s been making the bed
I’m so tired of bein’ the girl that I am
Every good thing has turned into something I dread
And I’m playin’ the victim so well in my head
But it’s me who’s been making the bed
Me who’s been making the bed
Pull the sheets over my head
Making the bed
I recently listened to the episode “Escaping Perfectionism” from the podcast Hidden Brain in which psychologist Thomas Curran discusses his own perfectionism and how it’s affected his life. Toward the end of the episode Curran says “When I look and reflect on this journey and how difficult it’s been, and the sacrifices I’ve had to make, I sometimes question whether I might’ve been better off in my working class community with a job that gives me some sense of purpose. With a family, and a house, and a community. Maybe I would be happier.”
I’ve often wondered this exact same thing. Ever since I came back from my trip, I’ve been considering whether or not I want to continue writing. I’ve thought about the time and effort I’ll have to put in to make a career out of it and whether or not it’s worth it. Whether or not I’m up for the delayed-gratification of a successful career later in life rather than right now, and if I think I even have what it takes to get anywhere. And, for a brief moment, I thought about quitting.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t wanna be where I am
Countin’ all of the beautiful things I regret
But it’s me who’s been making the bed
Me who’s been making the bed
Pull the sheets over my head
Making the bed
On my way home from my trip to Japan a few weeks ago, my airplane was diverted to LA. I had been awake for nearly 48 hours (maybe more like 36 or so. I’m probably being a bit overdramatic) and finally got on the last plane home when—at 1 in the morning—the pilot said we couldn’t land because the fog was too thick. As we all meandered off the plane, a few of us began to make plans for what to do next while the rest stared off into space—I was one of the ones staring off, unblinking. I was tired, disheveled, and beginning to feel a layer of grime coating my skin from hours of sitting and napping on various airport chairs. But more than that, I missed my house, my family, and, of course, my pets. And yet, I felt I wasn’t supposed to go home yet.
I’m honestly not sure if I believe in the philosophy of “what’s meant to be, will be” or the other one having to do with the universe putting you in places, situations, etc. for a reason, whether we know what that reason is or not. But sometimes it feels that way.
I ended up at my aunt’s house, spending the next day with her before taking a train home. I slowed down and enjoyed the day instead of running to the next thing, the next task at hand. Unlike the plane rides to Japan and back, there were no movies to watch, no screen to stare at, and the Wifi sucked, so there was really nothing left for me to do except look out the window.
I watched the sunset in between buildings and RV parks. Finally, as we neared my stop, I watched it drift over the ocean as my life came back into focus along with all the decisions I’d made over the years—the good, the bad, the life-altering, and the decidedly unimpressive. Each one washed across my mind as I stared out the window and, for a moment, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to deal with the decisions I’d made and the ones I would have to make. I thought about all the time I’ve wasted trying to do everything just right, and how nothing has ever been as I expected or exactly how I wanted it to be. Maybe it would be easier if I started over. If I did something new.
But, as I watched the sun redden the sky as it settled under the waves like a child pulling the blankets up over their face, I realized, if I’d never done all the things I had, made all those decisions, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. I wouldn’t have gotten to watch the sunset over the ocean on a train, and, if everything had been leading up to that moment, then I’ll take it. I don’t think I want it any other way.
Before you go, please check out Olivia Rodrigo’s song “making the bed” if you haven’t already! It’s my absolute favorite off her new album and, obviously, very greatly inspired this post. I listened to it everyday while writing this piece, and it probably wouldn’t even exist without that song. So, give it a listen! If not just because it’s a good song, then at least to get the full experience of the piece! Thanks again for reading <3
What a great piece! I can especially relate to the feeling of going on a trip and dreading coming home knowing you’ll have to make some hard changes/decisions, as well as basically everything you said about pursuing writing and wondering what would happen if you had made different decisions in the past. Also love Olivia Rodrigo, her new album is a masterpiece and the first time I heard “making the bed” I cried