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erfectionism is basically trying to win a popularity contest with imaginary judges. You know the type—they’re in your head, sipping coffee, giving side-eye, and saying, “Meh, could be better.” So we filter everything through the question: “Will they like it?” And then work ourselves silly chasing this mirage of approval. Spoiler alert: it’s like chasing your tail—exhausting and a little ridiculous. Stagnation sets in.

Here’s the kicker: the people we’re so afraid of displeasing? Half of them don’t even exist. The rest probably didn’t even notice the thing we’re sweating over. Yet, we convince ourselves that their approval is a referendum on our worth. They don’t like it? Welp, guess I’m a failure. Not good enough. Time to pack it in. We hand over our power like it’s a clearance sale.

And what do we do to fix it? Oh, just work until we’re blue in the face, trying to feed the ravenous beast that is perfectionism. The problem? The beast is always hungry. Always. It’s like trying to fill a bottomless pit with a teaspoon.

But imagine this: What if you just threw their hands up and said, “You know what? Screw it. This is where it’s at right now, and I like it. Your opinion? Eh, not my problem.” Mic drop.

The real kicker? The “they” we’re so desperate to impress is just a mishmash of people—friends, parents, teachers, random strangers, and yes, probably your childhood piano teacher who had way too many opinions. Some are alive, some aren’t, and some only live in your head rent-free.

So here’s the big question you keep asking: Am I worthy?
And maybe the better question: Who the heck are you even trying to impress?