When “just so” becomes too much—and how to loosen its grip

Recently, I spent some time with my aunt, and she told a story about me that I’ve heard before—but this time, it landed differently.

I was about three years old. I was sitting on the stairs with a box of animal crackers. She came and sat next to me and asked if she could have one. I didn’t simply reach in and hand her a cracker. I carefully opened the box. Pulled out one cracker. Carefully closed the box. Then handed her the cracker.  When she asked for a second one, I repeated the exact process.

Meticulous. Even then. There was something in me that needed things to be just so. That box had to be closed before I did anything else. It’s a sweet story. But it’s also revealing. Because that streak—the one that needs order, precision, completeness—has followed me my entire life.

The Shape of My Perfectionism

I’ve always had a particular way of doing things. Things belong in specific places.
Papers are aligned. Details are double-checked. Emails are edited (and re-edited).
School assignments are done “right.” Work projects are thorough. Nothing is halfway.

From the outside, this has looked like competence. Achievement. Attention to detail. Professionalism. And in many ways, it has served me well. But what I’m coming to understand, especially in this MyPeacein50 season, is that my perfectionism isn’t just about standards. It’s about self-worth. Even as a three-year-old on the stairs, there was something in me that believed:

If I do it right, I am right.
If it is perfect, I am okay.
If I am meticulous, I am worthy.

Perfection wasn’t just a preference. It was protection. And it is exhausting.

What Perfectionism Really Is

We often think of perfectionism as simply “having high standards.” But perfectionism is different.

High standards say:
“I want to do this well.”

Perfectionism says:
“I must do this flawlessly—or I am not enough.”

At its core, perfectionism is fear. Fear of failure. Fear of criticism. Fear of being seen as inadequate. Fear of not being loved. It’s the belief that if we can control the details, the outcomes, the presentation, the performance—then we can control how we are perceived. And if we can control how we are perceived, we can secure our worth. Perfectionism whispers:

You are only as good as your output.
You are only as worthy as your performance.
You are only safe if nothing is out of place.

It looks disciplined. But it often feels tight.

How We Develop Perfectionism

Perfectionism rarely appears out of nowhere. It grows in environments where:

• Love felt conditional
• Achievement was praised more than effort
• Mistakes were criticized or magnified
• Emotional expression felt unsafe
• Chaos made control feel stabilizing

Sometimes no one explicitly tells us we need to be perfect. We simply learn that being “good” keeps things steady. Being “easy” keeps things calm. Being “excellent” earns approval. As children, we are exquisitely attuned to what maintains connection.

If meticulousness earns smiles…
If achievement earns praise…
If compliance reduces conflict…

Our nervous system takes note. And over time, perfection becomes strategy. For me, I can see how attention to detail and doing things “right” created stability. It brought positive feedback. It made adults comfortable. It kept things orderly. But what began as adaptive became identity. I didn’t just do things meticulously. I became the meticulous one.

And slowly, my worth fused with my output.

The Cost of “Just So”

Perfectionism has a hidden cost. It steals rest. It makes it difficult to enjoy accomplishment, because there is always something that could be better. It turns minor mistakes into major indictments. It makes delegation hard. It makes spontaneity uncomfortable. It keeps us from beginning things we care about because what if we can’t do them perfectly? And perhaps most insidious of all, it disconnects us from ourselves. Because when our worth is tied to performance, we stop asking:

What do I feel?
What do I need?
What do I actually want?

Instead, we ask:

What will be impressive?
What will be correct?
What will prevent criticism?

Perfectionism promises safety. But it often delivers chronic tension. And at midlife, especially in this MyPeacein50 journey, I’ve realized something sobering:

I am tired.

Tired of everything having to be immaculate.
Tired of no corners being allowed to soften.
Tired of my nervous system equating “less than perfect” with “less than worthy.”

The Turning Point: Decoupling Worth from Meticulousness

One of the quiet revelations of this season is that my perfectionism is not an inherent personality trait. It is a belief system. And belief systems can be examined. The belief I’ve carried, often unconsciously, is:

If I am meticulous, I am valuable.

But what if that isn’t true?

What if my worth isn’t dependent on the way I format a document? Or how quickly I respond? Or whether every detail is airtight? What if my worth is intrinsic?

This is not an easy shift. Because perfectionism doesn’t loosen its grip willingly. It tells me:

If you let this go, everything will unravel.

But that voice is protective, not prophetic. And I’m learning to gently challenge it. Letting go of perfectionism doesn’t mean abandoning excellence. It means softening rigidity. It means allowing humanity.

Here are some ways I’ve been experimenting with cracking the ice of perfectionism:

1. Leave Things Slightly Undone

This has been surprisingly powerful. Not sloppily undone. Just… not polished to a shine.

Send the email without one more edit.
Leave the throw blanket a little crooked.
Publish the post when it’s ready, not when it’s flawless.

Notice what happens. Notice that the world doesn’t collapse.

2. Check in With Energy, Not Obligation

Instead of asking, “What should I do next?” I’ve begun asking:

What actually gives me energy to do right now?

Perfectionism pushes productivity beyond capacity. Peace asks for alignment. Sometimes the most rebellious act for a perfectionist is stopping when you’re done enough.

3. Practice Visible Imperfection

This one is uncomfortable. Let someone see a draft. Admit you don’t know. Share something in process. Perfectionism thrives in secrecy. It softens in shared humanity.

4. Redefine “Right”

Who defined what “right” means? Was it a teacher? A parent? A cultural expectation? As adults, we get to re-evaluate those definitions. Right might now mean:

Sustainable.
Kind.
Aligned.
Enough.

5. Speak to the Younger Self on the Stairs

Sometimes I picture that three-year-old with her animal crackers. So careful. So precise. I don’t shame her. I thank her. She was doing the best she knew how to do. But I gently tell her:

You don’t have to close the box perfectly every time to be loved. You are worthy—even if the lid stays slightly open before you hand over the cookie.

Perfectionism and the Nervous System

Perfectionism is not just cognitive. It’s physiological. It is often a nervous system strategy to reduce uncertainty. If everything is controlled, there is less unpredictability. If there is less unpredictability, there is less perceived threat.

But rigidity is not the same as safety. True safety allows flexibility. True regulation allows room for mistakes. When I consciously let something be imperfect, I can feel the anxiety rise. My nervous system protests.

But when I stay with it, when I breathe and allow the “not perfect” moment to exist, I also feel something else:

Space. Relief. A widening.

It’s subtle, but it’s real.

What Letting Go Is Teaching Me

Letting go of perfectionism is not about becoming careless. It’s about becoming free.

Free to rest.
Free to try.
Free to fail.
Free to be seen as human.

It’s about decoupling my worth from my meticulousness. It’s about trusting that who I am is enough, even if the edges are uneven. And perhaps most importantly, it’s about conserving energy for what actually matters. Because perfectionism spends enormous amounts of energy on optics. Peace spends energy on alignment.

A Gentle Invitation

If you recognize yourself in this story, you are not alone. Perfectionism often develops in capable, thoughtful, conscientious people. It is rarely laziness. It is rarely apathy. It is often protection.

The question isn’t: How do I eliminate perfectionism entirely?

The question might be: Where can I soften it just a little? Where can I let the lid stay slightly open? Where can I remind myself that worth is not earned through flawlessness?

This is slow work. It’s layered. But it is possible. And it is worth it.

What I’m Loving This Week

Sound:
The hum of the dishwasher at night. There’s something deeply comforting about it. The steady, low rhythm in the background reminds me that something is being taken care of without my direct involvement. That not everything requires my attention, my effort, or my perfection.

Practice:
Consciously leaving things slightly undone. This is harder than it sounds. My instinct is to close every loop, tighten every corner, finish every task to completion. But lately, I’ve been practicing pausing and asking myself: Do I actually have the energy for this right now? Or am I pushing because perfectionism is uncomfortable with unfinished space?

Tool:
Setting a timer, and stopping when it ends. This has become a surprisingly powerful boundary with myself.

Quote:
“You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress simultaneously.” — Sophia Bush

Song:
Shake It Out — Florence + The Machine

There is something almost primal about this song. It speaks to the weight we carry, the regrets, the self-judgments, the identities we’ve outgrown—and the possibility of releasing them. The chorus feels like a nervous system exhale:

“It’s hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off.”