Untangling Perfection: A Journey to Grace

Ahh… yet another weekend, and here I am with a new reflection. Everyone’s childhood  pretty much shapes the adults we become, I guess most of my dear friends crossing their 30s and 40s would have figured that out by now.

I had a pretty amazing childhood. An awesome family, a good school, wonderful friends, and the best place to grow up. But even in all that goodness, there were a few pitfalls, little things that have somehow taken up a large chunk of my adulthood.

One of them? Perfectionism.

My mom was a staff nurse — smart, capable, and disciplined. She was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. Even the way she draped her saree was perfect,not a pleat out of place. She was loving but strict. We had rules, and I, of course, was the rule-breaker.

She pushed us to be perfect. Our studies were top priority, our clothes and manners had to be just right, and even our pocket money was accounted for down to the last paisa. Keeping the house clean wasn’t just important, it was non-negotiable.

While I now appreciate the discipline and responsibility she instilled, I also realize how that constant push for perfection shaped me in ways I’m still untangling.

When perfection becomes the standard, mistakes start feeling like failures. You learn to measure your worth by how well you perform and when you fall short, it feels personal. Like you’re not just getting something wrong… you are what’s wrong.

That belief stays with you. And without realizing it, you carry it into adulthood. Into your marriage. Into your parenting. Into the way you see yourself.

It shows up when I expect my husband to meet every need perfectly and handle situations just right. And when he doesn’t, frustration builds.

It shows up in my parenting, when I expect my son to always be focused, disciplined, and responsible. When his grades slip, that familiar fear kicks in — what if he falls behind? What if I’m not doing enough to help him reach his potential?

And then there’s the fear that my perfectionism, my emotional fallouts, my moments of frustration will leave lasting marks on my kids. What if, despite all my love and effort, they grow up carrying childhood trauma,because of me?

But here’s what I’m slowly beginning to understand: the fact that I worry about this means I’m not failing them. This fear comes from love and awareness, which is the first step toward change.

I’m learning that kids don’t need perfect parents. They need parents who take responsibility when they mess up. Parents who come back after the storm and say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I love you, and I’m working on being calmer.”

It’s not my occasional meltdowns that will shape them. It’s the safety they feel when I come back, hold them close, and remind them they are loved, even when I stumble.

Maybe I don’t have to get it right every time. Maybe it’s enough that I’m trying.

So these days, I’m trying to unlearn a little bit of that perfection.

I’m letting the house stay messy sometimes if it means more time playing with my kids. I’m reminding myself that my son’s worth isn’t measured by his grades, and neither is mine as a parent. I’m learning to give my husband grace when he forgets things. 

And most importantly, I’m learning to give that grace to myself  and love me even when I make mistakes.

It’s not easy. That voice in my head, the one that tells me I’m falling short is loud. But I’m slowly learning to quiet it, to remind myself that love, peace, and connection matter far more than getting everything right.

And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to believe that being good enough… really is enough.

If you’re a fellow perfectionist, trying to untangle the knots of fear and expectation, know that you’re not alone. And maybe we can remind each other that being good enough really is enough.

On this journey with you, 

Nancy Kavin