maybe my perfectionism is not the enemy

i have called myself a perfectionist for as long as i can remember.

usually with equal parts pride and exhaustion.

i notice details.

i care about how things are presented.

i rewrite sentences that were perfectly fine the first time.

i will move something three pixels because i can somehow feel that it is wrong.

i like doing things properly.

and if i am being completely truthful, sometimes “doing things properly” quietly becomes “doing things perfectly so nobody can find a reason to be disappointed in me.”

that is where the gift starts becoming heavy.

for a long time, i thought the solution was to become less particular.

care less.

lower my standards.

stop wanting things to be excellent.

but i do not actually think god is asking me to become indifferent.

i think he is teaching me how to separate excellence from fear.

there are qualities underneath my perfectionism that i genuinely believe are gifts.

i care deeply.

i am attentive.

i see possibilities.

i want to steward what i have been given well.

when someone trusts me with something, i want to honour that trust.

when i create something, i want it to be beautiful.

when i love someone, i want them to feel loved intentionally.

when i work, i want my work to reflect care.

none of those things are bad.

the problem begins when excellence stops being an offering and becomes a measurement of my worth.

when a mistake becomes evidence that i am inadequate.

when rest feels irresponsible.

when “i can make this better” becomes “this cannot be seen until it is flawless.”

when i am so afraid of doing something imperfectly that i delay doing it at all.

that does not feel like freedom.

and god is not forming me for fear.

there is something almost funny about being a perfectionist while following jesus.

because christianity requires me to regularly admit that i am not perfect.

not theoretically.

actually.

i need mercy.

i need confession.

i need grace.

i need god.

there is no version of the spiritual life where i eventually become so organized and disciplined that dependence on him becomes unnecessary.

which is deeply inconvenient for the part of me that would love a colour-coded five-step plan for holiness.

apparently, “trust me” is the plan.

and maybe that is exactly what my perfectionism needs.

not destruction.

redemption.

i do not need god to remove my eye for detail.

i need him to teach me when something is already enough.

i do not need to lose my standards.

i need to remember that standards are supposed to guide me, not punish me.

i do not need to stop striving for excellence.

i need to ask who the excellence is for.

if i make something beautiful because i love creating, that can glorify god.

if i work diligently because i want to steward my gifts well, that can glorify god.

if i prepare carefully because people deserve my best, that can glorify god.

but if i am chasing perfection because i am terrified that anything less will make me unworthy, then i have forgotten the gospel entirely.

my worth was never waiting at the end of a perfectly completed to-do list.

it was given to me.

i am loved before the project is finished.

before the room is clean.

before the career works out.

before i become consistent.

before i finally “get it together.”

i am the daughter before i am the achiever.

that changes everything.

these days, i am trying to ask a different question when i catch myself obsessing over whether something is good enough.

not:

is this perfect?

but:

have i offered this faithfully?

sometimes faithfulness will mean revising it one more time.

sometimes faithfulness will mean pressing publish.

sometimes it will mean doing excellent work.

sometimes it will mean closing the laptop and going to bed.

discernment is annoying like that.

but it is also freeing.

i do not think god gave me a heart that cares deeply so i could spend my life being tortured by everything that could be better.

i think he gave me that heart so i could notice what matters and tend to it well.

so i am learning to let him keep the gift while healing the fear attached to it.

high standards, surrendered.

attention to detail, surrendered.

ambition, surrendered.

the desire to create beautiful things, surrendered.

not because these parts of me are too much.

because they become most beautiful when they are placed back into the hands of the one who gave them to me.

maybe becoming less of a perfectionist does not mean becoming less excellent.

maybe it means becoming more free.

and maybe freedom is what allows excellence to finally become an offering.

ad maiorem dei gloriam.