Perfecting the art of perfectionism

Perfectionism Isn’t a Flaw – It’s a Nervous System Strategy

Perfectionism is often misunderstood as ambition or a desire for excellence. But from a nervous system perspective, it’s usually something much deeper—a survival strategy.

Many of us have learned to equate being good, competent, or impressive with being safe. Our bodies internalised the message: “If I do it perfectly, I won’t be criticised, rejected, or hurt.” This survival intelligence lives in the amygdala, which scans for threat and stores relational and emotional memories. When a task feels high-stakes—even something small like writing an email—it can activate this circuitry.

In these moments, the nervous system often shifts into fight, freeze, or fawn. We might over-perform, over-prepare, or delay entirely. What looks like procrastination is often a protective pause: our body buying time to avoid perceived failure.

Perfectionism, then, isn’t a mindset flaw—it’s a nervous system response trying to keep us safe.

My Ongoing Dance with Perfectionism

I’ve spent a lot of years trying to get things “just right.” In writing, in relationships, in work. I’ve felt the pressure to be polished and prepared—to anticipate every possible outcome, to make it seamless, impressive, impeccable.

And yet, perfection always moves just out of reach. The more I chase it, the more it whispers, “Just a little more.”

A Nervous System Reframe of Perfectionism

Lately, I’ve been holding a quieter kind of wisdom—one carried by the wisdom of the squirrel.

To me, the squirrel reminds us that there are no mistakes. It doesn’t shame itself for forgetting where it buried a nut. It doesn’t spiral into self-doubt because it changed direction. It trusts that whatever it’s doing belongs to the rhythm of the moment. It adjusts, it plays, it moves. Without overthinking.

There’s a deep kind of intelligence in trusting the flow.

Helpful beliefs:

• There are no mistakes – only redirections

• Everything happens the way it needs to.

• I lovingly hold myself and others accountable, whilst also giving myself and others the space and opportunities to learn and grow.

• I enjoy learning from my mistakes.

Grounding Meditation: “Squirrel Spirit” (5–7 min)

Find a comfortable seat or lie down. Let your eyes gently close. Take a slow inhale through the nose… and sigh it out.

Feel the ground beneath you, holding your weight. Let your breath anchor you here.

Begin to imagine a quiet forest in late autumn. The air is crisp. Leaves rustle softly. There’s golden light between the trees.

Ahead of you, you notice a small squirrel. It’s darting playfully between branches, tail flicking, full of energy and purpose. You watch as it digs up an acorn… pauses… and then buries it somewhere else. It doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t overthink. It simply responds.

There’s no anxiety in its motion—only instinct and trust.

You breathe with the squirrel. You feel its rhythm in your own body.
You remember:

Not everything needs to be planned.
Not everything needs to be perfect.
Nothing is ever truly lost.
What you need will find you again.

Let this gentle creature remind you that you, too, can move. Can change. Can return.

Take another slow breath in… and out.

Place a hand on your chest or belly. Say quietly to yourself:
“I am allowed to trust the process.”
“I don’t need to be perfect to belong.”
“I am safe to move forward.”

When you're ready, begin to return. Wiggle your fingers. Feel the ground. Open your eyes softly.

Carry the squirrel's spirit with you today—playful, light, instinctive, free.

Reflection prompts to journal on:

• What does my perfectionism try to give me (control, certainty, approval, connection)?

• What would I do differently if I trusted that there are no mistakes—only learning?

• How can I meet my perfectionism with curiosity, like the squirrel?