Breaking News: Perfection Is Cancelled (And I’m Not Mad About It)

Spoiler alert: I was stressed. Tired. And honestly? Kinda annoying. Even to myself.

There was a time when I thought everything I did had to be flawless. Like, if I wrote something, it had to be Shakespeare. If I wore something, it had to be Vogue-approved. If I started anything new, I had to be instantly amazing at it.

Spoiler alert: I was stressed. Tired. And honestly? Kinda annoying. Even to myself.

Now?

Now I’m besties with failure. Not in a “please ruin my life” way—but I finally get it: failing means I tried. And trying is way hotter than pretending I don’t care.

Perfection? C’est un piège. A trap. A soul-sucking, progress-blocking illusion that makes you think if it’s not immaculate, it’s not worth it.

But guess what? I’m over it. I’ve started choosing action over aesthetic. Messy effort over polished fear. I’ll take cringe over regret any day.

I used to freeze the second something felt too big or risky. Now I just laugh, roll my eyes at my dramatic inner monologue, and do it anyway.

Because done is better than perfect. And failed is better than never tried.

So here I am—still a little chaotic, still a little impatient—but no longer chained to the idea of perfection. If something flops, it flops. If it flies, amazing. Either way, I’m proud I showed up.

And that, my friend, is what growth looks like—with a side of sarcasm and maybe a little caffeine.