An A- Felt Like the End of the World
At 26, I genuinely thought my life was over. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, and looking back, I can laugh and see the absurdity. But in that moment, it genuinely felt over, and the A- was a massive threat.
Let me paint the picture: I was standing in the hallway outside my graduate professor’s office, sobbing, full-body panic taking over. My heart pounded like a drum. It was hard to catch my breath. My professor kept asking, “What do you need?”
And all I could say was, “Please, I didn’t know the questionnaire was due. Please don’t let it drop my grade.”
I repeated this multiple times. Hoping she would hear it, hoping she would walk right through that door and change my grade to an A. Hoping she would recognize what a good student I was, how timely I was, how smart I was, how on top of things I was.
I was the type of girl who read everything. Every little piece of content I would read, even if it didn’t relate to me. So the fact that I missed this last questionnaire was shocking to me. And I was hoping she would see that.
That one final questionnaire, the one thing I didn’t read, would bump me down to an A-.
An A-.
And I was falling apart.
In that moment, it felt like the worst thing in the world, not because it was, but because it touched the part of me that equated my whole worth with being seen as perfect. Which in turn would mean I was lovable and would be accepted.
My carefully curated image of being the “good one”, the “smart one”, the “together one” in that moment was threatened. That someone might see the flaw. That I might not be seen as capable or exceptional. My nervous system could not handle this crack, and so I literally cracked.
The Performance That Kept Me Safe
Perfectionism had a grip on me that ran deeper than behavior. It wasn’t just a pattern, it was my identity. It made me feel safe. Capable. Protected. Like I could control how the world saw me.
Even now, more than a decade later, that same fear still whispers:
Will they still love me if they see the flaws?
Will they stay?
Will they think less of me?
What will they think if I don’t have it all together?
Letting go of perfectionism is one of the most vulnerable things we can do. Because when you stop performing, things get real.
And you have to feel all the things you’ve been trying not to feel.
Why We Fear Being Seen as Flawed
This fear of being seen as flawed rarely starts in adulthood. It usually begins much earlier, often in childhood.
Maybe you grew up with a critical parent, or in a home where love felt conditional. Maybe you were bullied for something that made you different. Or you experienced some rupture that left you feeling “less than.”
And perfectionism stepped in as protection.
It whispered:
If I’m perfect, they won’t leave.
If I’m perfect, they’ll love me.
If I’m perfect, I’ll be safe.
It makes sense. The strategy is intelligent. It’s your nervous system doing its best to keep you safe.
But that same strategy, over time, starts to backfire. What once protected you now isolates you. Because you’re no longer performing just for them, you’re performing for survival.
The Loneliness of Perfection
Perfectionism might make you feel safe, but it also keeps you lonely. You can’t be deeply seen if you’re always curating your image. You can’t be truly known if you’re hiding behind performance.
And the ache of not being known, not being loved as you are, cuts deeper than any external failure ever could.
Because at its core, perfectionism isn’t about standards. It’s about fear.
Fear of rejection. Fear of shame. Fear of being found unworthy.
Reframing Perfectionism: From Identity to Strategy
Here’s what changed everything for me:
Perfectionism isn’t who you are. It’s something you learned to do.
It’s a strategy, a brilliant one, at the time. But it’s not your essence. It’s not your truth.
When I began to see perfectionism not as a character trait, but as a coping mechanism, something softened.
You’re not broken.
You just have a well-worn path your nervous system learned to follow.
And new paths can be built.
Let that land. Because this reframe is powerful:
All relationships are a risk. But perfectionism doesn’t remove that risk; it just keeps you distant. It trades connection for control. And that trade eventually becomes too costly.
Rebuilding Safety Without Perfection
Letting go of perfectionism isn’t about becoming reckless. It’s about becoming whole. It’s about expanding your tolerance for being seen, not just in your success, but in your humanity.
So, where do we begin?
We begin with tiny acts of imperfection.
Yes, really.
We begin by gently allowing life to be just a little less polished, and noticing that we survive it.
Try This:
- Leave the dishes undone overnight.
- Show up to a meeting without over-preparing.
- Send the email with a small typo or a text message with no period… gasp, I know… But do it anyway.
- Wear the wrinkled shirt.
And then notice:
What does your body feel? What does your mind say? What stories get activated?
This isn’t about proving something. It’s about building nervous system capacity. It’s about observing, not judging. Because every time you allow yourself to be seen in your imperfection, and the world doesn’t collapse, something rewires.
You begin to trust that love is possible without the performance.
The Subtle Signs It’s Still Running You
Sometimes, we think we’ve “gotten over” perfectionism, but it just becomes more subtle:
- Overthinking how we word a text message.
- Replaying a conversation to make sure we didn’t say the wrong thing.
- Only posting online when everything feels polished.
- Feeling anxious after a vulnerable share.
Notice these not as failures, but as breadcrumbs. They point to places that still feel unsafe.
Instead of shaming yourself, ask:
- What part of me felt threatened here?
- What was I trying to protect?
- What did I need in that moment?
These questions open a door. They invite compassion. They help you meet the perfectionist parts of you with curiosity instead of critique.
Where Can You Be Imperfect and Still Loved?
This is the real work:
To find the places, the people, and the practices that allow you to be messy and still be loved.
Because healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in relationship. In safe connection. In being seen and not shamed.
So ask yourself gently:
- Who in my life has seen me cry, stumble, or struggle, and stayed?
- Where do I feel safe enough to not have it all together?
- What spaces let me breathe?
These are sacred spaces. And if you don’t yet have them, you can create them slowly. Start with one person. One practice. One moment.
A Closing Reflection
You don’t have to perform to be loved. You don’t have to perfect yourself to be worthy.
Your imperfections aren’t liabilities, they’re invitations. Invitations to deeper connection. To greater freedom. To real belonging.
And yes, it’s scary. Of course it is. But there is life on the other side of perfectionism.
So just for today, let one thing be imperfect. And watch what softens.
Journal Prompt:
Where in my life am I still performing? And what might it feel like to let that mask down, just a little?
If this landed for you, you might also like:
When Doing Becomes Your Worth: Unhooking From The Inner Critic’s Loop
Or simply share this with someone who might need to hear it. Sometimes, that’s how healing starts… with a quiet “me too.”
