Do Things Badly

Letting go of guilt and perfection so I can finally live, and not pass these patterns on to my son.

As a child, I had many passions. Singing, dancing, painting, swimming, putting outfits together, reading, speaking, playing tennis… the list is endless. I loved all of it. But pretty early on, every passion became a performance. I grew up in an environment where every attempt was measured against competition, met with judgment, and constant comparison. The weight of being watched and criticized crept into everything until it became easier to stop.

Illustration by Jan Buchczik

I learned to scan faces for approval before I even opened my mouth. I learned to measure my worth against everyone else in the room. And at some point, I stopped showing up altogether. I grew timid. Shy. Afraid to risk being seen doing something imperfectly. The toll it took on my confidence is something I am only now beginning to understand.

Even today, the patterns follow me. When I enter a room, I still catch myself scanning every expression, every dynamic, asking where do I fit here, will they take me seriously, am I good enough. I live in a cycle of guilt. About food. About work. About rest. About not doing enough as a mother. My internal critic never seems to rest.

But motherhood has shaken me in ways nothing else could.

My son is only two and a half, and the last thing I want is for my son to inherit this pressure. I don’t want him to grow up believing love has to be earned by performance, or that joy only belongs to the people who do things best. If I want him to grow up free to be himself, then I have to learn to free myself too.

So this year, I made a choice. I will not keep performing perfection.

I will do things badly.

I write here, not knowing if the words are good enough. I put together outfits I once saved for the day I became thin enough. I sing loudly in my home, even when my voice cracks. I speak up in meetings, asking questions I would normally swallow. I draw boundaries clumsily, feeling terrible after, but learning that the discomfort passes. I rest without guilt, even when my mind whispers I should be doing more. I bring up unpolished thoughts with my husband, even when they feel raw, because hiding them only isolates me further. I am not going above and beyond at work just to prove myself. I am doing enough. And that is enough.

And as much as I critique my parents and upbringing, I have seen glimpses of rebellion around me all my life. My mother and aunts refusing to conform quietly to what was expected of them. My father taking up new studies and hobbies later in life, daring to reinvent himself. My in-laws building a wellness center at seventy, not knowing where it would lead. My husband leaving a safe career path to follow his gut and build something of his own, facing criticism but trusting himself anyway. None of them knew how it would end. They just tried. And that in itself is its own kind of courage.

So maybe this is the lesson I needed: it is better to do things badly than not do them at all.

I wonder what that might look like for you. What is the thing you have been holding back from because you are afraid you will not do it well enough? The song you never sing. The thought you never voice. The dream you have tucked away until you feel more ready.

What would happen if you let yourself try it anyway, without the weight of perfection, without the fear of being seen as less than? Maybe it will be clumsy. Maybe it will not look the way you imagined. But if nothing else, you will have something to laugh about with your grandkids one day. So why the hell not just do it!

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.” 
— Anne Lamott