The Teaching on Perfectionism That Changed My Life

I was born into a family of perfectionists.

My dad, a carpenter, lived by “measure twice, cut once”—and so did we. In a house of high achievers, every moment was measured, every win compared, and anything short of 100% felt like failure.

That framework is expressed to me by high performers around the world. Within this worldview, rest looks suspicious. Life’s goalposts are constantly on the move: once we hit the mark, we raise it higher and higher. No matter how much we accomplish, we tell ourselves we’re one step shy of accomplishing enough.

This sort of perfectionism is a familiar pattern for many of my coaching clients—based on the lie that we must reach flawlessness before we deserve rest, kindness, or love.

Sometimes, chasing that mirage keeps us from living an authentic life.

In this post, I’ll name both the lure and the lies of perfectionism—and the simple teaching that redefined “perfect” for me and made room for a more peace-filled, authentic life.

The Human Math of Perfection

From a human lens, perfection is measurement—symmetry, sleek lines, higher percentages, always the next metric. When we learn it this way, “perfect” quickly turns into comparison: be better, faster, more.

That mindset can fuel real strengths. It creates drive, precision, and clear focus. Measurement-based rigor keeps planes in the air, bridges standing, reactors safe, and surgeons steady. It absolutely has a place.

But self-measurement and comparing ourselves to others can be overused. Past the point of helpfulness, comparison starts grading us.

Research links frequent comparison of ourselves with others with higher rates of depression and anxiety, and with lower self-esteem.

The standard of perfection becomes unrealistic, the self-talk grows harsh, and our worth shrinks into just another number we fear we’re missing.

And we feel it.

The more we measure ourselves against others, the louder the inner critic—and the smaller life becomes. When “I’m a perfectionist” hardens into identity, measurement stops serving our lives and starts running them.

How I See This Show Up in Coaching Sessions

Many clients arrive to their first coaching sessions gripping perfection’s promises with white knuckles. “I can’t let go—it’s taken me far,” they say—and they’re right. They know exactly where precision belongs and how high the bar should be.

But the tallying never stops. The scoreboard in their heads keeps running. Burnout signs creep in. Overthinking takes the wheel. Balance starts to feel like fiction.

This is usually where my clients and I meet. They still believe perfection is both possible—and required—to be worthy, which makes self-compassion feel off-limits for them. They ask for help to be more productive, “more perfect,” and—almost in the same breath—for relief from the inner critic that won’t let up. Measurement has turned their worth into a moving target, even while a deeper part of them longs for rest, ease, and solid ground.

Does any of that feel familiar as you read this?

Resistance Check: “But I Still Want an Extraordinary Life”

If you lean toward perfectionism, even the idea of change can create tension. Many perfectionists worry that accepting imperfection will tank their results or erase their identity. The quiet question underneath is, “Who am I if I’m not chasing perfect?”

But self-acceptance isn’t abandoning achievement—or yourself. It’s how progress becomes sustainable. Real progress comes from knowing what you do well, owning what you don’t, and trying, learning, and adjusting as you go.

We can keep high standards and bold goals while letting go of the myth that extraordinariness requires flawlessness.

Your greatness grows from the imperfect, learning, resilient you.

The truth? From the outside, others’ achievements can look easy and pristine, but the path rarely is. Humans create beautiful, exacting things by doing the messy work—and at every step, we remain beautifully, imperfectly human.

Another Lens on Perfection

If extraordinariness isn’t a spotless metric, and can’t always be measured with a ruler, how do we recognize it? Often, the body knows first—a quiet awe, a caught breath. Which brings me to the moment that changed everything for me.

My life changed the day I heard spiritual teacher Richard Rohr describe how nature and the universe teach us about perfection.

He spoke of a century-old sycamore in his backyard and how it still takes his breath away. I know that feeling, too. Mountains, stars, newborn babies—all inspire a recognition of a kind of perfection the soul knows without a ruler.

Dr. Richard described how his tree has lived. Its branches are bent. Some have broken. And yet they carry undeniable beauty—awe, wonder, meaning—and yes, perfection beyond measurement and symmetry. Sometimes this recognition even feels spiritual: a sudden sense of greater truth while belonging to something much larger than yourself.

Rohr’s invitation to release performance-based, measurement-based perfection for a more spacious wholeness has stayed with me ever since. I see it in nature and in the faces of people I love—even alongside the “bent and broken branches.”

I’m in awe of the beauty of bent branches now, and I define perfection in a new way.

The Perfection I Practice Now

I strive for a meaningful, balanced life. I value accuracy when it matters, and I still know how to measure with precision. But I’m not defined by getting everything right or lining life up in perfect order. What matters more to me now is how I walk the road—in the presence of imperfection. It’s okay if I stumble—I’m human—and there’s a quiet, perfect beauty in the choice to get back up.

My worth isn’t a GPA or a wall of certificates—though I still set goals and earn credentials.

My worth shows up in how I treat people, the love I share, my awe for the universe, and the moments that take my breath away.

I can rest without guilt. I can offer genuine self-compassion and love this imperfect, fully alive life.

This view isn’t new. Our bodies know these truths already. It’s written into nature and echoed by ancient wisdom traditions. Perfection can be a rough, jagged mountain. It can be the client who, in grief, rises to claim their power. It can be a tree with broken branches that still turns toward the light. And, paradoxically, imperfection co-exists with perfection within each of these examples.

Since embracing this, I’m more peaceful and joyful. I still “measure twice, cut once” when needed, but I now measure life by wonder, compassion, congruence—and by the moments that make me whisper, wow.

A Gentle Invitation

What if you loosened your grip on metric-perfection today? Where might awe, honesty, or aliveness be inviting you into a different kind of “perfect”—one your nervous system can trust and your heart can recognize?

Here’s to trading flawless for fully alive.