How chasing flawlessness nearly broke me—and what I discovered on the other side
I used to rewrite emails seven times before sending them.
Not important ones. Regular ones. “Thanks for lunch” messages. Meeting confirmations. Even replies to my mom asking if I’d be home for dinner.
I’d type, delete, retype. Check for typos. Read it aloud. Wonder if the tone was too casual or too formal. Hit send, then immediately want to recall it because I thought of a better way to phrase something.
Thirty years of this. Thirty years of treating every interaction like a performance review.
Then last Tuesday, I sent an email with a typo in the subject line.
And nothing happened.
The Perfectionist’s Paradox
Dr. Brené Brown’s research on perfectionism reveals a stunning truth: perfectionism isn’t about high standards. It’s about fear.
Her studies of over 13,000 people found that perfectionists are 250% more likely to experience anxiety disorders and have significantly higher rates of depression, eating disorders, and suicide ideation.
I was living proof of those statistics.
My apartment looked like a magazine spread, but I couldn’t relax in it. Every pillow had to be perfectly positioned. Books arranged by height and color. Not because I loved the aesthetic—because I was terrified someone might think I was messy.
My work presentations were flawless. Colleagues called them “inspiring” and “thorough.” What they didn’t see were the 3 AM sessions where I practiced transitions between slides. The backup slides for backup slides. The physical nausea before every meeting.
I once spent four hours writing a birthday card.
Four hours. For my nephew’s sixth birthday.
Because what if the message wasn’t meaningful enough? What if my handwriting looked rushed? What if I picked the wrong card entirely?
The Weight of Invisible Standards
The thing about perfectionism is how exhausting it is.
Research from York University shows that perfectionist students take 25% longer to complete assignments than their peers—not because they’re slower learners, but because they get stuck in revision cycles.
I lived in permanent revision mode.
I’d arrive at restaurants fifteen minutes early, then sit in my car adjusting my appearance. Check my teeth. Fix my hair. Practice conversation starters. Enter exactly on time, never early enough to seem desperate, never late enough to seem rude.
Grocery shopping took forever because I analyzed every apple for bruises. Picked up items, put them back, picked them up again. The checkout line filled me with dread—what if I forgot something? What if my card got declined? What if I took too long and people got annoyed?
Friends started calling me “reliable” and “organized.” They had no idea these were survival mechanisms, not personality traits.
I wasn’t reliable. I was terrified of disappointing anyone.
The Breaking Point
It started with a work presentation that went “wrong.”
I’d prepared for three weeks. Knew every slide by heart. Anticipated every possible question. Had contingency plans for technical failures.
Five minutes in, someone asked about a data point I hadn’t included.
Not a criticism. Just curiosity. A simple question about quarterly trends.
I froze.
Not because I didn’t know the answer—I did. But because it wasn’t in my script. It meant the presentation wasn’t perfect. It meant I’d missed something.
I stammered through a response, face burning. Spent the rest of the meeting convinced everyone thought I was incompetent.
My boss pulled me aside afterward. “Great presentation,” she said. “Really thorough analysis.”
I stared at her. “But I didn’t have that quarterly data ready.”
She looked confused. “So? You answered the question. That’s what good presenters do—they adapt.”
Adapt. A word that had never been in my vocabulary.
The Research on Recovery
Stanford psychologist Dr. Carol Dweck’s work on growth mindset shows that people who embrace imperfection learn faster and perform better in the long run.
Her studies reveal that students who view mistakes as learning opportunities score 23% higher on tests than those who fear being wrong.
But here’s what the research doesn’t capture: how scary it is to let go of the thing that’s been keeping you safe.
Perfectionism was my armor. Without it, I felt exposed.
The first time I sent an email without rereading it, my hands shook.
The first time I left dishes in the sink overnight, I couldn’t sleep.
The first time I showed up to dinner with messy hair, I almost turned around and went home.
But something interesting started happening.
The Unexpected Freedom
My relationships got better.
Real conversations replaced performed ones. When I stopped trying to say the perfect thing, I started saying true things.
My friend Sarah noticed first. “You seem more… I don’t know, present lately,” she said over coffee.
I realized I’d been so focused on managing my image that I’d forgotten to actually listen to people.
Work became easier too. Not because the standards lowered, but because I stopped recreating everything from scratch. I built on previous work instead of starting over every time.
Dr. Kristin Neff’s research on self-compassion shows that people who treat themselves kindly bounce back from setbacks 40% faster than self-critics.
I started treating mistakes like data instead of disasters.
Learning to Fail Forward
Last month, I submitted a report with a calculation error.
Old me would have spiraled. Would have stayed up all night rechecking every number. Would have written a three-paragraph apology email explaining exactly how it happened and what I’d do to prevent it in the future.
Instead, I sent a two-line correction: “Found an error in table 3. Here’s the updated version.”
My colleague replied: “Thanks for catching that.”
That’s it. No judgment. No career-ending consequences. Just a simple mistake, simply corrected.
The University of Pennsylvania’s research on resilience found that people who view setbacks as temporary and specific (rather than permanent and pervasive) recover faster and perform better over time.
Perfectionism taught me that one mistake meant I was a failure. Recovery taught me that mistakes mean I’m human.
The Real Work
I still catch myself starting to rewrite emails.
Sometimes I still arrive early and sit in my car. Sometimes I still practice conversations in the shower.
But now I notice when it’s happening. And I have a choice.
Dr. Judson Brewer’s neuroscience research shows that mindfulness—simply noticing our patterns without judgment—creates new neural pathways. We can literally rewire our brains.
The path isn’t about becoming careless or lowering standards. It’s about distinguishing between excellence and perfection.
Excellence says: “I want to do good work.” Perfection says: “I can’t make any mistakes.”
Excellence is sustainable. Perfection is exhausting.
What Changed Everything
Six months ago, I started an experiment.
Every day, I’d intentionally do something imperfectly. Send an email with casual language. Leave the bed unmade. Wear mismatched socks.
Small things. But they added up.
The world didn’t end. People didn’t stop respecting me. If anything, they seemed more comfortable around me.
Research from the University of Texas shows that people who display minor flaws are actually more likeable than those who appear perfect. They call it the “pratfall effect.”
Turns out, my imperfections weren’t bugs—they were features.
The Question That Changes Everything
Now when I feel that familiar perfectionist tension, I ask myself one question:
“What would happen if this wasn’t perfect?”
Usually, the honest answer is: “Nothing terrible.”
Sometimes it’s: “It might actually be better.”
Last week, I published a blog post with a formatting error. Three people commented to point it out, but fifteen others shared the content because it resonated with them.
The error didn’t diminish the message. If anything, it made it more human.
Living in the Imperfect
I won’t pretend everything is easy now.
Some days, the perfectionist voice still wins. I still over-prepare for simple conversations. Still check restaurant reviews five times before making a reservation.
But I sleep better. Laugh more. Create faster.
Most importantly, I’ve stopped treating life like a test I might fail.
Harvard researcher Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar found that people who accept their imperfections report 31% higher life satisfaction and significantly better relationships.
The irony of perfectionism is that it prevents us from experiencing the very things we’re trying to achieve: connection, success, contentment.
When I stopped trying to be perfect, I finally became good enough.
And good enough, it turns out, is more than enough.
