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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 132

Not Every Fall Is a Failure

Last Saturday, I was with a group of friends on a bike trip in Southern Utah. The canyons there are gorgeous. Near the end of the trail, I lost control of my bike and wrecked. I injured my leg. My doctor calls it a hamstring strain. After x-rays and ultrasound images, it was determined that the injury wasn’t a tear or a break, just a pulled muscle and strain on the associated tendons and ligaments.

This was my first time having a pulled hamstring. I was unaware of how painful it could be. My friends offered me Advil and suggested that, in my situation, I could take more than the recommended daily dose. It was difficult to just walk, let alone sit, stand, drive, or even lie down. I gained a new appreciation for others who go through this type of challenge.

When the time came for me to return to Idaho, driving seemed daunting, since pushing on the pedals increased the pain in my right leg. Again, friends came to my aid and drove me most of the way home. Another friend encouraged me to try using my left foot on the pedals. Although awkward, this worked well, and I navigated the last leg of the trip without incident.

Since returning, I’ve experienced care and help from my doctor, physical therapist, massage therapist, family members, and a priesthood blessing.

This whole ordeal has caused a lot of pain, inconvenience, worry, and stress. And while I know that others have it a lot worse, my point isn’t to compare my struggles with others.

Previous versions of myself would have reacted to this challenge with negative thoughts:

What did I do to deserve this?
Is this a punishment for not keeping the commandments with enough exactness?
How am I supposed to function optimally with this adversity?

Fortunately, I’m receiving greater understanding of the purpose of suffering/affliction.

Last Saturday’s bike wreck has stayed with me, not just because of the physical pain, but because of what it revealed about an old pattern in me. As I’ve reflected on the experience, I’ve noticed how quickly my mind wants to move toward perfectionistic interpretations. Even something as simple and human as losing control of a bike can start to feel like a personal failure, or worse, a spiritual one.

There’s a version of me that tries to make sense of pain by assigning blame.

What did I do wrong?
Why wasn’t I more careful?
Shouldn’t I be better than this by now?

That line of thinking can subtly shift into something even heavier:

Is this somehow a reflection of my standing with God?
Am I falling short in ways that are now catching up to me?

Perfectionism has a way of turning everyday adversity into a verdict on our worth or righteousness.

But this experience has given me a chance to see things differently. The reality is, I was on a beautiful trail, doing something good with good people, and an accident happened. Not everything painful is a consequence. Not every setback is a sign that something is wrong with me spiritually. Sometimes, it’s just part of living in a mortal body in a fallen world.

What has stood out to me even more than the injury itself is the outpouring of support that followed. Friends stepping in without hesitation. Creative solutions, like learning to drive with my left foot. Skilled professionals helping me heal. Family offering care. A priesthood blessing bringing peace. When I step back, I see that this experience wasn’t evidence of God’s disapproval; it was actually filled with evidence of His awareness of me. His help didn’t come by preventing the fall, but by surrounding me with grace afterward.

I’m learning that a more gospel-centered way to approach challenges isn’t to ask, “What did I do to deserve this?” but rather, “What is God showing me through this?” or “How is He supporting me in this?” The scriptures don’t teach that we earn a pain-free life through exactness. They teach that the Savior will be with us in our afflictions. That’s a very different lens.

Perfectionism says I should always be functioning at 100%, always in control, always improving without interruption. The gospel teaches something more merciful and truer: that growth often comes through limitation, that weakness is part of the plan, and that Christ meets us in those very places, not once we’ve overcome them.

This experience has reminded me that I don’t need to turn every hardship into a self-evaluation. I can let it be what it is: a hard thing, and then look for God’s hand within it. Instead of measuring myself against an unrealistic standard of constant optimal performance, I can receive help, adapt, and trust that the Lord is more interested in my reliance on Him than in my ability to avoid every misstep.

I’m still healing, physically and otherwise. But I’m grateful for what this has softened in me. Maybe the real “progress” isn’t in avoiding falls altogether, but in learning how to receive grace more readily when they happen.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 131

Battling with Perfectionism

I don’t often see other blogs written by perfectionists. But I did read an article in which the author described her battle with it and how she found healing through Christ. In the January 2026 Liahona, Maddy Poll writes: 

For most of my life, I was an outstanding student and dutiful daughter. I prided myself on my ability to balance work, school, and family.

I struggled with anxiety behind the scenes but didn’t want anyone to realize how close I was to falling apart. This perfectionism hit an unbearable height during my junior year of college.

I was drowning in my course load. My grades weren’t as good as they were in high school. I was taking on extra hours at work. My Church calling slipped through the cracks.

I felt like a complete and total failure.

On top of that, I was too afraid to ask for help. I couldn’t admit—to myself, to others, and to God—that my life had gotten so far out of my control.

Elder Vern P. Stanfill of the Seventy once warned: “Perfectionism requires an impossible, self-inflicted standard that compares us to others. This causes guilt and anxiety and can make us want to withdraw and isolate ourselves.” And I was learning that lesson the hard way.

I believed I should’ve been able to handle everything that was put in my path. When I didn’t, I felt all-consuming guilt that kept me from turning to my Heavenly Father when I needed Him most.

I couldn’t progress in any area of my life.

But hope wasn’t lost. As Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Through spiritual transformation in Jesus Christ, we can escape debilitating perfectionism.”

She then explains how “embracing the second chance” was significant in her growth: 

Perfectionism completely undermines the purpose of mortality. If we’re sent to earth to learn to be like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ (see Alma 12:24), how can we expect to already be like Them? If we were truly perfect, we wouldn’t need a Savior or His infinite Atonement.

The Savior doesn’t abandon us, even when we feel insufficient or imperfect. As President Russell M. Nelson shared, “The Savior suffered ‘pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind’ [Alma 7:11] so that He can comfort us, heal us, rescue us in times of need.”

I’ve learned that Christ wants us to turn to Him now, no matter how unprepared we feel. As we strengthen that relationship, He will help us overcome our imperfections.

I’d be lying if I said I don’t still grapple with perfectionism. But now I catch myself feeling “warm inside” whenever I give my best effort to the Lord, no matter how imperfect.

If you feel your efforts as a disciple, student, employee, friend, or family member aren’t enough, know that you aren’t a lost cause. You can heal by focusing on the Savior. Perfectionism may be a thief of progress, but the Savior is the key to peace.

Turn to Him, and you will see progress in your life.

You can read the entire article here. 

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 130

Turning 70 Without Turning on Myself

I turned 70 this month. I won’t pretend that number didn’t give me pause. Birthdays like this tend to invite thoughts of years lived, mistakes made, blessings received, and questions still unanswered.

One thing has become clearer to me. If I want these later years to be peaceful and meaningful, I have to be careful not to turn my old perfectionism inward and let it rob me of joy. I don’t want to spend my time sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, watching cars drive up and down the road, and yelling at the neighbor kids to stay off the lawn.  

For many of us in the Church, perfectionism doesn’t always look harsh or self-centered. Sometimes it comes out more subtly. It sounds like: I should be stronger than this by now. I should have more faith. I shouldn’t still be struggling with my body, my energy, or my emotions.

We know the scripture about becoming “perfect in Christ,” but somewhere along the way, some of us learned to interpret that as being hard on ourselves until we finally get it right.

Aging has a way of revealing how unkind that approach really is. Our bodies slow down. Energy comes and goes. Old regrets sometimes resurface. And if we’re not careful, we start treating these natural parts of aging as personal failures rather than normal parts of mortality.

One of the most freeing realizations I’ve had is this: aging is not a performance review. It’s not a test to see whether we exercised enough, served enough, or overcame everything we thought we should have overcome by now. Mortality doesn’t work that way. The gospel teaches us that growth is lifelong. And also, that weakness is not evidence that I’m a disappointment to God. “I give unto men weakness,” the Lord says, not as punishment, but as an invitation to humility and grace.

When we’re younger, much of life is about building careers, families, testimonies, and callings. Later life invites a different kind of discipleship. Less proving. More receiving. Receiving help. Receiving rest. Receiving the fact that slowing down doesn’t mean we’re sliding backward spiritually. I’ve noticed that people who seem to age with the most peace are not those who cling tightly to who they used to be, but those who allow themselves to become who they are now, without shame.

One of the quiet tasks of aging is learning to put down the internal checklist. The one that keeps track of 1) what I should still be able to do, 2) what others my age seem to be doing better, and 3) what I wish I had done differently.

For my birthday, my wife gave me a mug. On the outside, it says “Man of wisdom.” I hope that’s who I’m becoming. 

As I step into this new decade, my goal is not to age flawlessly or even impressively. My goal is to age faithfully. To trust that the Lord is far more interested in my heart than in my productivity.

If perfectionism once pushed me forward, I no longer want it driving the rest of the journey. There is a quieter strength available now, one rooted in humility, compassion, and trust in Christ.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 129

The Enabling Power of Repentance 

Last month, Elder Karl D. Hirst, General Authority Seventy, spoke at a BYU-Idaho Devotional. His talk was about repentance, which, for me, is linked to perfectionism. I’ve written about that connection in previous blog posts. 

For most of my life, I’ve had a pretty specific relationship with repentance. In my mind, it was mostly about clearing guilt, coming clean, and trying to avoid sinning in the future. But listening to this talk, I had a surprising realization. Repentance isn’t just about cleansing. It’s about changing into a better version of myself, even when I haven’t “messed up.” 

One of the most powerful ideas I heard is that imperfection and weakness are not proof of failure; they’re proof that we’re capable of growth. They’re part of the plan, not a distraction from it. Perfectionism often convinces me that flaws disqualify me. The gospel teaches that flaws prepare me. They make space for Christ’s grace.

Repentance literally means a change of heart and mind, a shift toward God, toward goodness, and toward better thinking and living. Nothing about that definition says repentance is only about sin. It’s about change. That means I can repent when I’m emotionally dysregulated, when I want more patience or optimism, and when I want deeper faith. I don’t need to wait for a big mistake to invite Christ into my life. His enabling power is accessed the same way as His cleansing power, through turning to Him. 

One of the most reassuring truths I heard was this: “Being weak does not mean we are Satan’s, it means we are capable of growth. Our weakness is God’s opportunity. Perfection will take care of itself if we will seek the Lord’s power in our progress and our participation.”

Perfectionism says, “You should have already arrived.” God says, “You are on your way.” Those are very different views.

The most hopeful insight I took away is this: Repenting and rejoicing are much closer than I realized. When I repent and turn toward Christ, I am also turning toward joy. In other words, repentance isn’t a depressing reminder of how far I fall short. It’s a pathway to the happiness and wholeness He wants to give me.

That’s a beautiful way to think about progress. Baby steps still count. Small improvements matter. Even patience in the process is part of the journey. Growth happens gradually, but consistently. He wants me to turn to Him, to use repentance as a tool for transformation, not just correction.

This is possible not because I’m capable enough or disciplined enough, but because the Savior’s grace is enough. That’s the kind of hope I want to carry forward. Not just the hope of being forgiven, but the hope of becoming something new.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 128

When Good Intentions Breed Perfectionism

It seems many of us, as parents, want the best for our children. We want them to succeed in school, in activities, in callings, in life. We want them to become the people Heavenly Father created them to be. But sometimes, in our zeal to help them succeed—or in our own need for validation—we may unintentionally sow the seeds of something dangerous: toxic perfectionism.

As was recently described in a Y Magazine article entitled “The Perfect Problem,” parents who hold high, inflexible expectations and who respond to unmet standards with criticism or disappointment—and sometimes even withdraw love, affection, or emotional closeness—can contribute to a mindset in their children that equates worth with flawless performance. 

Children are perceptive. As one researcher quoted in that article put it, they are “very sensitive to any parental fear. A sense that Mom’s afraid I’m not enough … I’m insufficient—children are going to be sensitive to that, because their safety as a person depends on the security of that relationship.” 

When that becomes the “soil” in which a child’s identity grows, mistakes and developmental missteps can start to feel existential—not just as “I messed up this time,” but “I’m not good enough,” “I don’t belong,” or even, “God can’t love me if I’m not perfect.” 

In the context of a family, this is especially poignant. Our faith teaches us to “be ye therefore perfect” (Matt. 5:48). Yet we also know, through the gospel of Jesus Christ, that perfection is ultimately a gift of grace, not the result of flawless performance. 

Thus, without healthy grounding in grace and identity in Christ, a home that unintentionally elevates performance—grades, callings well done, “righteous living,” temple attendance, activity in the Church—can become a breeding ground for perfectionism that undermines spiritual and emotional well-being.

It’s not just anecdotal or spiritual concern; psychological research confirms that children often pick up perfectionistic tendencies from their parents and their parenting style.

In a study of 119 children (average age about 11.7) and their parents, researchers found that children’s levels of perfectionism often mirrored their parents’. This supports what is called the “Social Learning Model.” 

The same study showed that parenting style matters: when children perceived their parents as authoritarian—rigid rules, high expectations, controlling or overly critical—they were more likely to develop maladaptive/perfectionistic patterns (worry, harsh self-criticism, fear of failure) rather than the healthy striving toward excellence that might be positive. 

Additional research suggests that more positive parenting—warmth, responsiveness, acceptance—is associated with healthier child adjustment. In fact, parents with “positive perfectionism” (high standards + healthy attitudes) tend to report more acceptance in their child-rearing. In contrast “negative perfectionism” (self-criticism, fear of failure) correlates with more criticism or permissiveness in parenting. 

In other words: it’s not just what you expect, it’s how you expect it, how you respond when expectations are unmet, and whether love, acceptance, and identity are tied to performance.

As people of faith, we have a unique vantage. On the one hand, we believe in personal growth, striving to become more like the Savior, improving ourselves spiritually, mentally, physically, and in service. Those are good and worthy goals. On the other hand, our doctrine teaches humility, reliance on the Atonement, grace, mercy, and repentance—recognizing our mortal weaknesses and the need for divine help.

Thus, when parenting, the gospel invites us not only to encourage growth but also to foster a secure identity rooted in God’s love, not in performance metrics.

When our children learn that their worth is unchanging because they are beloved sons or daughters of Heavenly Parents, and that growth is a process, not a demand for perfection, we help inoculate them against the toxic perfectionism described in both the Y Magazine article and psychological research.

Here are practical principles, some do’s and don’ts for helping children develop healthy striving instead of perfectionism:

Do: Emphasize growth, not just results.

Encourage children to set goals, but talk with them about flexibility. Let them help define the goal, why it matters to them, not just to you. Let them see progress, even if slow. This aligns with the guidance from BYU researchers: ask “What are you learning?” instead of always “What grade did you get?” Celebrate effort, incremental improvement, and personal growth, not just top performance.

Do: Separate identity from performance.

Repeatedly reassure children that their worth is not defined by grades, talents, callings, or how many “boxes they check.” Teach them (and model yourself) that making mistakes does not make you less beloved, less worthy, or unworthy of love and forgiveness.

Do: Respond with love, empathy, and support, especially when they fail.

When a child doesn’t meet expectations or fails, respond with patience, kindness, and encouragement. Let them know you still love them, regardless of the outcome. This helps prevent a perfection-oriented mindset where mistakes equal worthlessness. Use failures as opportunities to talk about learning, growth, and reliance on Christ, repentance, and grace.

Do: Cultivate an atmosphere of security, not conditional love.

Be mindful of the emotions children read. Anxiety, fear, or disappointment from parents can communicate a sense of “If you fail, I’m afraid you’re not enough.” Parents who recognize this can help preserve a child’s sense of identity and worth. Help children understand they are children of God, loved and valuable, no matter their accomplishments.

Don’t: Tie love or approval to results.

Avoid sending messages like “I’ll be proud of you only if you succeed,” or “You’d better get straight A’s or you’ll disappoint me.” Those can create emotional insecurity that breeds perfectionism. Don’t withdraw emotional support, affection, or closeness in response to failure or unmet expectations.

Don’t: Make unrealistic or inflexible expectations the norm.

Avoid placing rigid “shoulds” on children, for example: “You must be the best,” or “You must follow this path because I want you to.” That restricts their freedom to discover their own talents and divine potential. The Y Magazine article warns that high, inflexible expectations “restrict their ability to choose their path and develop their innate talents.” Don’t treat mistakes as identity failures. Resist the all-or-nothing mindset that equates anything less than “perfect” with “worthless.”

Don’t: Confuse healthy goals with toxic perfectionism.

Having high standards isn’t wrong, but expecting perfection, punishing mistakes, or defining self-worth by achievements is where it becomes harmful. Don’t ignore signs of distress: anxiety over failure, panic at getting less-than-perfect results, or excessive fear about disappointing parents. These can be early indicators of perfectionistic patterns. 

As members of the Church, we know that mortal life is a process. We are commanded to “be perfect,” but that commandment is given in the context of love, mercy, and repentance, not as a demand for human perfection. True perfection comes through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. 

If we, as parents, anchor our children in that truth—that their worth is inherent, as children of Heavenly Parents; that their identity is secure in divine love; that mistakes are opportunities to learn, repent, and grow—we help them develop healthy striving, not soul-crushing perfectionism.

When we model humility (by admitting our own mistakes), repentance, reliance on Christ, empathy, and unconditional love, we teach them, not just by words, but with our lives, that they are precious, divine, and eternally loved, no matter their earthly performance.

In doing so, we help them grow into resilient, faithful disciples, not inflexible perfectionists.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 127

New Beginnings

For October, I usually promote a General Conference talk that speaks to the perfectionist part of me. This time, I’ve chosen Elder Kearon’s Jesus Christ and Your New Beginning. Here are some of my favorite parts:

Jesus “went about doing good.” He conversed with the social outcasts, He touched the diseased and unclean, He brought comfort to the weary, He taught liberating truth, and He called sinners to repentance. To each leper, blind man, and adulterous woman; to the lame, the deaf, and the dumb; to every grieving mother, desperate father, and mourning widow; to the condemned, the shamed, and the suffering; to the dead in body and the dead in spirit, what He did was offer a new beginning.

Everything He said and did provided a new beginning for each of those He healed, blessed, taught, and relieved of sin. He didn’t withdraw from them, and He certainly won’t withdraw from you.

The Saviour’s words to these individuals were brief, but with them He painted vast new horizons of forgiveness, healing, restoration, peace, and eternal life. And the glorious news is He offers the same new beginning to you and to me. All of us can have a new beginning through, and because of, Jesus Christ. Even you. New beginnings are at the heart of the Father’s plan for His children. This is the church of new beginnings! This is the church of fresh starts!

With commitment and rejoicing in a new life in Christ, we can become “a new creature,” where old things pass away and all things become new. What reprieve does that kind of new dawn bring to a soul who keeps trying, through continuing to choose faith in our Redeemer’s power to heal and restore, despite the crushing setbacks of living in a fallen world?

With every covenant we make and every effort we give to keep it, we can receive “a new heart” and a fuller measure of “a new spirit.” Little by little, the more we invite His goodness into our hearts and cast out the self-defeating voices in our heads, we become His people because we truly make Him our God. Jesus so keenly wants to be our King and our Shepherd and our Prince of Peace, and we can choose to make Him so in our own hearts and minds.

Do you need a new beginning? Can you make a fresh start, even you? Think about the people the Saviour ministered to—the people He taught, healed, raised, forgave, and restored. Was He selecting them from a particular economic class or background? Was He distinguishing between the righteous and the sinful? Was He singling people out because they were more deserving or more loved? No.

What does this mean for you and for me? His goodness and mercy and loving-kindness know no bounds. New beginnings are at the heart of the Father’s plan! Fresh starts are the mission of the Son! New dawns, new chapters, and new chances are the simple core of the gospel’s good news!

And new beginnings are for more than just our sins and mistakes. Through the goodness and grace of the Saviour, we can have fresh starts that propel change in old mindsets, bad habits, grumpy dispositions, negative attitudes, feelings of powerlessness, and tendencies to blame others and avoid personal responsibility. You can actually change things about yourself that have been wearing you down for years. You can start again through the might of the Master of new beginnings. He never tires of giving new beginnings to us.

He hasn’t put a roadblock in front of you. He hasn’t set a limit on your second chances. You press on. You keep striving. You seek help from those around you. And you trust in the new beginning that is there for you every time you turn back to your Father in sincerity of heart. Leave deliberate sinning, casual repeats, and prideful rebellion behind you, where they belong. You don’t have to be who you’ve been before. Embrace your fresh start, your second or third or fourth—or hundredth—chance, offered to you through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ.

I love the thought of new beginnings, unfettered by past mistakes and failures. I love the message of Lamentations 3:22-23 – “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.”

Take three minutes and listen to this song by Micah Tyler. 

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 126

Don’t go it alone

One of the most powerful lessons I’ve learned about overcoming perfectionism is that we don’t have to do it alone. Perfectionism thrives in isolation. When we get stuck in our own heads, worrying about every mistake or every possible shortcoming, our perspective gets distorted. The pressure feels heavier, the hill we’re climbing seems steeper, and the burden feels too much to carry.

Interestingly, this isn’t just a metaphor—it’s something science has actually studied. In the NIH article, “Social Support and the Perception of Geographical Slant,” researchers found that people literally see physical challenges—like the steepness of a hill—as less daunting when they are with a supportive friend. Just the presence of someone they trusted and felt connected to made the climb seem easier.

That research resonates so much with perfectionism. When we’re alone with our unrealistic standards and inner critics, everything feels like a mountain we can’t climb. But when we bring safe, supportive people into the process—whether that’s a spouse, a trusted friend, or a group of fellow strugglers—we feel lighter. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like we’re carrying the burden by ourselves.

From a gospel perspective, this principle runs deep. God designed us to live in community, to “bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8). Christ Himself promised, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). In other words, connection with others is not just emotionally helpful—it invites the Spirit and brings the Savior’s healing presence into our lives.

For those of us wrestling with perfectionism, this matters. Perfectionism often whispers that we’re not good enough, that we have to earn love, and that we’ll never measure up. But connection with others provides a powerful countervoice. A supportive friend or loved one reminds us that we are valued as we are, not just for what we achieve. And when we combine that with gospel truths—that our worth is infinite as sons and daughters of God, and that Christ’s grace is sufficient even when we fall short—we begin to loosen perfectionism’s grip.

I believe one of the adversary’s tactics is to keep us isolated, because in isolation, perfectionism has the upper hand. But as soon as we step into connection—whether through trusted relationships, ward communities, or even small acts of vulnerability—light begins to shine into the darkness. Just as in that NIH study, the hill before us feels less overwhelming when someone is walking beside us.

So if you’re struggling with perfectionism, don’t try to conquer it alone. Reach out. Let someone into your journey. Share the load, and allow the Savior to be part of your relationships. With social support and the grace of Christ, the path forward becomes not only possible but filled with hope.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 125

Perfectionism and Belonging

I recently spent several days with a friend and his relatives at a family get-together in another state. Knowing that they were members of a different religion and that I would likely be the only LDS person there gave me some anxiety. Would I feel “other” and like I didn’t fit in? Would I feel excluded? 

It turned out that my fears were unfounded. They welcomed me warmly and I quickly felt a sense of belonging. Since returning from the trip, I’ve been exploring why I felt that insecurity about how I would be received. I’ve made some connections with my perfectionism. 

As a child, I sometimes felt that I didn’t fit in with the other kids my age — at school, at church, and in the neighborhood. Those feelings planted some seeds that grew into perfectionism later on. Here are some ways that can happen. 

A sense of deficiency. When a child feels “different” or “not enough” compared to his peers, it can create a faulty core belief: “Something is wrong with me.” Perfectionism became a way to try to fix that sense of deficiency by proving my worth through achievements and performance.

Conditional belonging. Kids have a strong need for belonging. When I felt like I wasn’t accepted just as I was, I concluded, “If I can be perfect, then they’ll let me in.” That turns belonging into something conditional, based on what I do, not who I am.

Fear of rejection. Exclusion can make rejection feel painful. Perfectionism became a shield. “If I never make a mistake, I won’t give anyone a reason to reject me.”

Comparing myself to others. Being on the outside can make a child very aware of differences. That comparison carried into adulthood, increasing the pressure to be “better” in order to measure up. 

Those childhood experiences of exclusion left me feeling “not enough.” Perfectionism grows out of the hope that by being flawless, I can finally secure the acceptance and belonging that I felt was missing.

A healing piece of this journey was learning that belonging doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from understanding my divine nature as a son of God, and trusting that He is pleased with me, just as I am. 

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 124

Adaptive vs. Maladaptive Perfectionism

I’ve noticed something lately about perfectionism—sometimes it helps me, but other times it feels like it’s taking me down unproductive roads. Turns out, psychologists actually break perfectionism into two types: adaptive and maladaptive. Knowing the difference has helped me make peace with my own tendencies, and I want to share a bit of what I’ve been learning.

Adaptive perfectionism is the kind of perfectionism that pushes us to do our best. It’s about high personal standards, striving for excellence, and wanting to grow. I think of this as the healthy type. It’s what makes an artist keep refining their craft or a student commit to continuing learning. It’s about goals, effort, and improvement. And when it’s balanced, it can feel good. There’s satisfaction in finishing something and knowing you gave it your best shot, not to prove something to the world, but because it matters to you.

Maladaptive perfectionism is a totally different experience. This is the side that shows up as harsh self-criticism, constant fear of failure, and feeling like nothing you do is ever enough. I’ve been there: you finish something and instead of feeling proud, you’re focused on the one tiny mistake or thinking about how someone else could’ve done it better. It’s exhausting, and honestly, it steals a lot of joy from life.

A study funded by the NIH (National Institutes of Health) confirmed what many of us already sense intuitively: maladaptive perfectionism is directly tied to anxiety, depression, and even burnout. What really hit me is that this kind of perfectionism isn’t about healthy ambition—it’s about fear. Fear of disappointing others, fear of being exposed as not good enough, fear of failure itself.

So, how do we work with this?

For me, the shift started when I realized I don’t have to get rid of all perfectionism—I just need to work on making sure it’s the adaptive kind, not the toxic kind. Here are a few things that have been helping:

Self-compassion over self-criticism. It sounds cliché, but it works. Instead of tearing myself down for what’s not perfect, I try to speak to myself the way I’d talk to a good friend.

Setting flexible standards. I still value quality, but I’ve stopped demanding flawlessness. Sometimes 80% is more than enough to get the job done.

Redefining success. I’ve started focusing more on effort, learning, and growth, not just the outcome.

Letting go of “all or nothing.” Progress is still progress, even if it’s messy or slower than I wanted.

At the end of the day, perfection isn’t the goal anymore. Growth is. Excellence is good, but perfection is an illusion.

If you struggle with perfectionism like I have, know this: you’re not alone. And you don’t have to perfect your way into being okay. You’re already okay, right here, right now—with or without the gold star.

As I’ve worked through my own perfectionistic tendencies, the gospel of Jesus Christ has brought me a kind of peace that no checklist or personal achievement ever could. The Savior never once said, “Be perfect now.” He said, “Come unto me.” That invitation isn’t just for the polished or the accomplished. It’s for the weary, the broken, and yes, even the ones stuck in self-doubt and never-ending to-do lists. I’ve come to believe that Jesus doesn’t require flawlessness; He asks for humility, faith, and a heart willing to grow.

Ether 12:27 that has become a lifeline for me: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness.” That verse used to feel like a reminder of how far I fall short. But now I see it as a reminder that weakness isn’t a disqualifier; it’s part of the path. The gospel flips perfectionism on its head. Instead of earning worth through performance, I’m learning to receive grace through relationship. It’s not about proving myself to God. It’s about trusting that I’m already loved and that His grace is sufficient as I continue the journey.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 123

Religious Addiction

When I read this post by Bethany Faden on Facebook, I could tell immediately that she was onto something. Rather than link to the post, I’m copying it here in its entirety and giving her full credit for it. 

Addiction, at its core, isn’t about pleasure-seeking. It’s about attachment substitution.

Most people associate addiction with substance abuse. But addiction can form around anything that provides relief from chronic dysregulation.

Religious addiction is not a rejection of God. It’s the misuse of religious structure in place of divine relationship.

It forms when spirituality becomes fused with emotional survival—when rituals aren’t a path to communion, but a way to numb shame, anxiety, or internal chaos.

This usually starts early, in homes or communities where emotional needs were suppressed or called selfish.

Where religious language moralized behavior but failed to validate pain. So kids adapt: they become spiritually high-performing—but relationally fragmented.

Their nervous systems learn: approval = safety, compliance = worthiness, silence = peace.

So they cling to the architecture of religion—not because they lack belief, but because belief alone never earned them the love they needed.

We must distinguish religious addiction from real discipleship.

Addiction is rigid, anxious, and externalized.

Discipleship is grounded, transformative, integrated.

One demands perfection to feel secure.

The other invites wholeness through grace.

This isn’t a call to leave religion—it’s a call to disentangle it from the wounds that distort its purpose.

Healing doesn’t mean abandoning spiritual practice. It means stopping the escape from the vulnerability that allows real transformation.

True faith doesn’t punish your humanity—it redeems it.

True religion doesn’t require your disappearance—it requires your presence.

If you’re compulsively striving, emotionally numb, or afraid you’re never “enough,” even in your devotion—it’s not a weak testimony.

It’s a nervous system that never felt safe in love.

And that, too, can be healed.

You don’t need to abandon the sacred to become whole.

Just let God meet the parts your performance was protecting.

That’s not apostasy.

That’s restoration.

And it’s holy.