Why You shouldn't Strive for Perfection

I have always striven for perfection. But I’ve wanted to be perfect at too many things. I’ve wanted straight As, to look perfect, to sound perfect, to have the best social life and the best home balance, to be wellness oriented and also the perfect party partner. So many things that contradict, so many things that are unfeasible. So many things that have not accounted for life’s daily imperfections and bumps in the road.

The problem with trying to be “perfect” is that humans are, by nature, extremely flawed.

When I convinced myself I was eating the “perfect” amount of food, down to the perfect number of grams of protein, carbs and fat— my life was super dull. The more “on a roll” I got with my perfectionism, the more I added to that “perfect” checklist. So not only was I eating the perfect amount, but I was following a perfect exercise regime, drinking 60oz of water per day, not drinking alcohol M-F and making my bed every morning. Exciting right? The amount of planning that goes into succeeding at that plan is exhausting— and I LOVE to plan.

The closer to achieving perfection that I got, the worse my anxieties became. So even though I was below my weight goal, I was crying if I made a small mistake at work. Although I was on a eating minimally and not drinking most days, I would leave parties early and miss out on time with my friends if I did have a few drinks, because my body couldn’t handle it. I was running miles and reaching my fitness goals but feeling deeply depressed afterward instead of accomplished.

I was a hamster on a wheel: the harder I tried to be perfect on the outside, the harder I looked for new flaws. Though my face was thinner, my nose was more prominent so I was obsessing over getting a nose job. When my legs got smaller, I found other things to hate and nitpick about my body. And even on the days I felt the most beautiful on the outside, I was convinced it was only because there was nothing to love on the inside.

Now, when I find myself creeping back into those obsessive thoughts, I think about the people that I’ve loved the most in the world. For me, the things that are imperfect about them make me love them so much harder: like their off-beat sense of humor, the unique way they view the world, or the things they’re passionate about that I learn from by being close to them. My love for them does not depend on their perfection, but the little imperfect pieces of them.

I’m extremely imperfect: my butt and my nose are too big, I leave every cabinet & drawer open when I leave a room, I get defensive way too fast, and I have a hard time letting people in when they are vulnerable (and that’s not all of them!) But that’s me, and I’m a lot happier embracing my physical “flaws”and working hard to improve the flaws that hurt the people around me, than focusing on trying to change myself on the outside and expect a perfect life in return.