November 16, 2025
Perfection has always been one of those illusions we pretend not to believe in, even though we keep chasing it like a dog chasing a car. And if Freud was right, and on this particular day, I think he was, the people who look the most polished are often the ones wrestling with the loudest inner battles.
I’ve known people who seem put together to an almost suspicious degree. Their clothes always match, their calendars are color-coded, their shoes somehow avoid dirt even on rainy days. They seem calm, composed, in control, the kind of people who look like they haven’t had a truly chaotic day since the Bush administration.
But here’s the catch: the more perfect someone appears on the surface, the more pressure they’re usually under below it. And I don’t mean everyday stress. I mean full-blown wrestling matches with thoughts, fears, insecurities, and memories they’re desperately trying to keep in check. Perfection is the armor they wear because they’re terrified of what happens if someone sees the cracks.
And if I’m being honest? I get it. I’ve had days where the only thing holding me together was the fact that the outside looked fine. You’ve had those days too, where the “everything’s good” mask was really just duct tape and denial. Sometimes we clean the house not because we care what it looks like, but because chaos on the outside feels like a threat to the chaos we’re already juggling inside.
But what if the point isn’t to hide our demons? What if the point is to build a life where they don’t have so much space to run the show?
And here’s the kicker: the people who allow themselves to be imperfect — messy, complicated, unpolished, often carry fewer demons because they aren’t stuffing everything into a box and slapping a fake smile on top of it. There’s a weird peace in admitting you don’t have it together. And an even deeper peace in realizing no one else truly does either.
Maybe today can be the day you let something be a little less perfect. Leave the dish in the sink. Let the text reply sit for a minute. Let the timeline breathe. Let yourself breathe.
There’s strength in the cracks. And freedom in the truth.
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