Perfectionism and the Scales: When “Good Enough” Never Feels Enough

When even “good enough” feels like it needs one more edit

I’m sitting here on a Saturday, early afternoon, for what feels like the 50th time… staring at the same document I’ve been working on.

It’s already been edited.

Reviewed.

Seen by second and third sets of eyes.

And still — every time I open it, I ask for another edit.

A word here.

A word there.

A sentence softened.

A paragraph moved.

And I can feel myself doing that thing again…

Does this feel aligned?

But the truth is, this isn’t really about the document.

This is how I’ve lived my whole life.

Making changes until the last minute.

Second-guessing myself right before the finish line.

Asking the same quiet questions underneath everything:

Is it good enough?

Am I okay?

Will this be criticized?

What if there’s a mistake?

And what’s wild is — I can know I’m good at what I do and still feel this way.

The Typo That Tells a Story

One of my teachers intentionally left a typo in their work.

Not because they didn’t care — but because they did.

If someone noticed it and brought it up, the teacher paid attention not to the typo… but to how it was brought up.

Was it a gentle FYI?

Like: “Hey, just in case you want to fix it.”

Or was it sharp?

Corrective.

A little… charged?

“Don’t you proofread your work?”

And if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of that tone, you know it’s not really about the typo.

It’s about what mistakes came to mean.

For so many of us, mistakes meant something.

Shame.

Embarrassment.

Being talked to like you were careless.

Like you weren’t trying hard enough — even when you were trying the hardest.

The inner child who learned that mistakes weren’t met with curiosity or softness… but with criticism that quietly crushed self-esteem.

I had a boss years ago who harshly scolded me for leaving a typo in a document.

I still remember how upset I was.

I had worked for hours on that document. It was for a super-wealthy client, and I was reminded of that as if their wealth meant my humanity needed to disappear.

As if one typo meant I was careless.

Unprofessional.

Not enough.

And I remember thinking: Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how much I tried?

But I didn’t say it.

I swallowed it.

Like we do.

Perfectionism Isn’t Excellence — It’s Fear

I should probably say this here: I’m a Libra.

The scales.

Balance.

Weighing.

Measuring.

Considering every angle (and then considering the angles of the angles).

In my twenties, a friend once sent me an analysis of my Libraness (lol). It said something like:

Libras tend to research every possible scenario before making a decision.

At the time, it felt validating.

Oh. That’s why.

But looking back, it also explains the exhaustion.

I remember research papers in school and how miserable they were to write.

Not because I didn’t like learning — I actually did.

But I would cite everyone.

Everything.

Every possible source.

I needed enough evidence to support my thesis from every angle — just in case.

Just in case someone challenged it.

Just in case I missed something.

Just in case I was wrong.

It was thorough.

It was impressive.

And it was exhausting.

Because perfectionism isn’t really about loving excellence.

It’s about trying to stay safe.

Safe from criticism.

Safe from being exposed.

Safe from being the one who “missed something.”

Safe from that sinking feeling that one tiny mistake means the whole thing is ruined.

Perfectionism Lives in the Body

Perfectionism doesn’t just live in the mind.

It lives in the body.

In the tight chest before you hit “send.”

In the jaw you clench while rereading the same sentence for the tenth time.

In the fatigue that shows up before you even begin.

Your nervous system isn’t chasing mastery.

It’s chasing safety.

And at some point — often very early — it learned that being flawless might keep you loved, approved of, or left alone.

So you weigh.

You edit.

You research.

You balance endlessly.

Until nothing ever feels finished.

What If “Good Enough” Is a Form of Trust?

What if the work doesn’t need one more edit — it needs permission to exist?

What if a typo doesn’t mean failure — it just means you were human and tired and doing your best?

What if you don’t need to anticipate every possible critique to be worthy of sharing your voice?

The opposite of perfectionism isn’t laziness.

It’s trust.

Trust that your effort counts even if it isn’t flawless.

Trust that mistakes don’t erase your value.

Trust that you don’t have to earn your right to take up space.

And maybe — just maybe — the scales don’t need to be perfectly balanced all the time.

Maybe they can rest.

You are not a draft waiting for approval.

You are already enough — even with the typo.

A Gentle Pause (Karma Penguin–Style)

This isn’t a big practice or time-consuming thing.

It's just a moment to interrupt the spiral.

Try this the next time you feel stuck in “one more edit” mode:

1. Place one hand on your chest and one on your belly.

2. Inhale slowly through your nose for a count of 4.

3. Exhale through your mouth for a count of 6.

4. Ask yourself: “What am I afraid would happen if this were imperfect?”

5. Then add, quietly: “And would I actually survive that?”

6. Don’t fix the answer. Just notice it.

That noticing is enough.

You don’t need to force yourself out of perfectionism.

You just need to feel safe enough to loosen your grip.