Seeing perfectionism for what it really is
There’s a line from my private journal that keeps returning to me:
“Perfectionism is often fear wearing a confident mask.”
It didn’t feel like a clever observation. It felt like an uncomfortable truth I had avoided naming for years.
For the longest time, I believed my habits were just part of who I was – the overthinking, the hesitation to speak, the constant refining and polishing.
I treated each of these as separate traits, mildly frustrating, but harmless.
But recently, I realised they were all symptoms of the same root:
a quiet fear of being judged and a deeper fear of being seen as a failure.
The blind spots I didn’t see
If someone had asked me earlier whether I was a perfectionist, I would’ve said, “No, I just like doing things well.” I always believed my drive for high-quality work came from ambition, from wanting to do things well, from what I used to call ‘excellence.’ Only later I realised much of it was perfectionism in disguise.
But then I started noticing patterns I couldn’t ignore.
The hesitation to speak.
In meetings, I often wait for the “perfect” point. The smartest comment, the sharpest question.
While I wait, the moment passes.
Not because I lack clarity, but because my mind races through all the doubts at once:
“Is this point strong enough?”
“Do I understand this well enough?”
“Let me refine it once more.”
“Others are making better points; I’ll speak at the end.”
By the time I feel ready, the conversation has moved on. It isn’t silence; its perfectionism holding my voice back.
The instinct to critique.
I see what’s not working faster than what is.
It helps in many situations, but it can also be overwhelming for people around me.
What I intend as “helpful critique” can easily land as “nothing is ever good enough.”
The over-polishing.
Decks. Memos. Emails.
I keep refining long after the value stops changing.
At that point, it’s no longer high standards; its fear disguised as thoroughness.
The need for control.
Perfect vacations.
Perfect events.
Perfect outcomes.
What begins as planning quietly turns into pressure, on me and on anyone involved.
Spontaneity disappears, replaced by an anxiety that things must go exactly right.
All of it points back to one thing: a fear of not being enough if something goes wrong.
The moment that broke the pattern
The realisation didn’t come from work. It came from my daughter.
I began noticing how much pressure she puts on herself, not because anyone pushes her, but because she genuinely wants to do well.
Letting go is hard for her. When something doesn’t work out, she blames herself immediately, even when it isn’t her fault.
And slowly, uncomfortably, I realised she was learning this from me.
I’ve always told her:
“Give your best.”
“Aim high.”
“Push yourself.”
All healthy intentions, until I saw how she was interpreting them.
Somewhere along the way, without meaning to, I had been teaching her that mistakes were unacceptable, standards were everything, and worth is tied to performance.
One day, after she got upset over something small, I told her:
“You did your best, and that is what matters the most.”
And in that moment, I wondered why it was so easy to say this to her…….
and so hard to say it to myself.
That realisation changed me more than any book, feedback, or leadership workshop ever did.
What perfectionism really costs
Perfectionism doesn’t show its cost immediately.
It works slowly, shaping how you think, how you show up, and how you relate to people, often without you realising it.
For me, the cost wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t burnout or breakdown. It was quieter, and in some ways harder to notice.
It made me second-guess myself constantly.
Not in dramatic ways, just a quiet doubt that every thought needed polishing before it could be spoken.
Over time, that hesitation becomes a habit – a muscle you train without meaning to.
It made me focus on what could go wrong.
My mind always went to the gaps, the risks, the flaws.
Useful in some situations but exhausting in life.
You start solving problems that don’t exist yet, and miss the moments right in front of you.
It made me over-responsible for outcomes I didn’t fully control.
Whether it was a project, a meeting, a vacation, or an event, I felt accountable not just for my part, but for everything.
If something went off-track, even slightly, I internalised it as:
“I should have planned better.”
“I could have prevented this.”
What looks like responsibility quietly becomes pressure.
It reduced my ability to enjoy the process.
When perfection becomes the standard, joy becomes conditional.
Everything even the things you love gets evaluated and improved.
You forget what it feels like to simply show up and experience something without rating it.
It changed how people experienced me.
This part took the longest to understand.
What felt like thoroughness to me sometimes felt like pressure to others.
What felt like high standards sometimes landed as “nothing I do is good enough.”
Not because I intended it, but because perfectionism spills into tone and reactions you don’t notice.
It made risk feel unsafe.
If failure feels personal, experimentation naturally drops.
You become careful instead of curious, prepared instead of present.
It quietly narrowed who I allowed myself to be.
Perfectionism doesn’t just make you work harder, it makes you hold back the parts of yourself that feel uncertain or incomplete.
It hides your voice, your questions, your real opinions, and sometimes even your joy.
The hardest truth?
All of this was happening unconsciously.
I didn’t decide to be this way. No one does.
Perfectionism isn’t a strategy; it’s an adaptation you build over years to avoid judgment or not feeling “enough.”
By the time you notice it, it has already shaped parts of your identity.
Excellence isn’t the enemy, perfectionism is. Excellence expands you; perfectionism shrinks you.
And the people closest to you often feel the impact before you do.
How I’m unlearning it – a simple framework that helps
Awareness alone wasn’t enough for me.
I needed something practical, a way to interrupt the pattern before it took over. This is what has genuinely helped.
1. Time: Create guardrails & boundaries
Open timelines feed perfectionism. So, I now set limits:
– “Two iterations, stop after that.”
– “One hour of prep, no more.”
– “Close this today.”
Boundaries reduce anxiety and remind me that “done” is better than “endlessly improved.”
2. Psychological safety: A place where I can be myself
I ask myself: “Where can I be imperfect and still be, okay?”
Sometimes it’s a colleague I trust, a family member or just my journal.
Psychological safety isn’t just a team concept, it’s an internal practice.
3. Movement & breaks: Interrupting the overthinking loop
Running helps me breaks the cycle of overthinking and resets my mind.
Your version may be reading, music, walking, cooking – anything that brings you back to yourself.
The point isn’t the activity; it is the interruption.
4. Practicing impulsiveness: The “How bad can it be?” test
When I feel myself freezing or overthinking, I ask: “How bad can it really be if I do this?”
Most of the time, the answer is: not bad at all. Often, it leads to clarity I wouldn’t have found otherwise.
Impulsiveness, in small, thoughtful ways breaks the perfectionism paralysis.
5. Choosing authenticity over approval
Authenticity is the part I struggle with the most, because it’s not a switch but a slow unlearning.
For me, it shows up in small, uncomfortable choices
– saying something even when it isn’t the smartest point in the room
– sending a draft before I feel fully ready
– admitting when I don’t have an answer
– letting someone else’s way be good enough, even if it isn’t how I would do it
These moments still create a knot in the stomach, but each time I choose them, I feel a little lighter.
Authenticity isn’t the opposite of ambition. It’s what stops ambition from turning into pressure.
A quiet closing
I used to think perfectionism helped me succeed. Now I see it differently:
It wasn’t helping me grow, it was pulling me away from myself.
And without realising it, I was passing that pattern on to my daughter.
Today, I’m learning to tell myself what I tell her so easily:
“You did your best, and that is what matters the most.”
Good enough isn’t mediocrity. Good enough is human.
And often, it’s exactly what allows us to breathe, grow, and lead with ease.
Written by Vibhor Jain © 2025 | Originally published at mindspringlife.com