Balancing Perfectionism vs. “Good Enough”

How excellence loses its magic when it costs your peace

There’s a quiet exhaustion that comes from always trying to be exceptional.
Not just good - but flawless, impressive, “worth noticing.”

We live in a culture that rewards performance over presence. We’re told that excellence is the goal, but what they don’t tell you is that chasing it often leaves you disconnected - from joy, from rest, from yourself.

The Trap of Always Trying to Prove

For most of my life, I thought striving was the same as self-respect. If I could just get it right - the work, the relationship, the version of me I showed to the world - then I’d finally exhale.

But perfectionism is a moving target. Every time you think you’ve arrived, it shifts a little further away.

It’s sneaky, because it often disguises itself as ambition. But beneath that drive to “do better” is usually something softer - a quiet fear of not being enough as you are.

The Case for “Good Enough”

Lately, I’ve been experimenting with what “good enough” actually feels like.
Not in a lazy or dismissive way - but as an act of self-trust.

“Good enough” means:

• I can stop editing that email for the fourth time.

• I can post the thing even if it’s not perfectly phrased.

• I can rest even if my to-do list isn’t done.

It’s choosing progress over paralysis. Presence over performance.

Reframing Excellence

What if excellence isn’t about flawlessness - but about wholeness?
What if “doing your best” includes knowing when to stop?

I’m starting to believe that real excellence is quiet. It’s the kind that leaves space for joy, curiosity, and imperfection.

Your Turn

Where do you feel the tug between perfection and “enough”?
What would it look like to soften that edge, even a little?

Because sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn’t to push harder - it’s to say:

This version, right here, is already worthy.

I hope my rambling words bring you a little comfort, or a bit of joy. I truly aspire to hold you in a safe space — even if just for a moment.

I’m curious — do you prefer longer reflections, or shorter pieces like this one? Just hit reply and let me know.

Sending a little calm and care across the screen,

Yours truly,
Loriana