Why “Perfect” Isn’t What You Think It Is (And How to Be the Best Perfectionist in the World)

Think of the most perfect thing you can imagine. It doesn’t matter what it is. Close your eyes, take a moment, and picture it clearly. Now—how do you feel when you think of it?

I did this exercise this morning, sitting in my garden. The sun was shining, a light breeze was blowing, and the pups were laying out with me after our early morning walk. I had a lovely cup of coffee in hand, and every now and then, the boys came over for a fuss. Absolute bliss.

Then Flynn came over, and I noticed he still had remnants of the goose poo he rolled in yesterday (dog parents, I see you). Behind one ear. Did it shatter the moment? No. I didn’t recoil in disgust or think, “Well, this is ruined.” Because… how could it be?

Goose Poo Boy for cuteness

Go back to your “perfect” thing. What makes it perfect? Is it the lack of flaws? The shape? The size? Or is it the feeling that comes with it?

Could you find a fault in it? Probably. Do you love it anyway? Most likely. If the flaw disappeared, would you love it more—or would it feel less real somehow?

Sure, I could lose the goose poo. But even with it, Flynn is still my angel boy. I’m still in the sun. Still having my coffee. Still enjoying the peaceful moment.

Here’s the kicker: my perfect and your perfect are probably not the same. And isn’t that the point?

The Lunchbox Lookers

When we were kids, my sister and I used to walk to school with our best friends from across the road. Our mums took turns driving us. Every morning, we played two games:

1. Squash Stuart (he was the youngest and absolutely in on it—he made it his mission to make squashing him as difficult as possible)

2. Lunchbox Lookers

We’d all get our lunchboxes out and see what we had—not to swap, but just to look. To get excited about what we had to look forward to. Did we get our favourite sandwich? (Mine was cheese and jam. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it—seriously, it slaps.)

The point? We weren’t jealous. We celebrated what each of us had.

Now imagine if we could do that as adults.

Your Perfect ≠ My Perfect

We all have different tastes. If we didn’t, we’d all eat the same food, wear the same clothes, watch the same show, listen to one song on repeat, and have no need to ask anyone’s opinion—because we’d already know it.

That sounds insane, doesn’t it?

So why, in moments of comparison, do we forget that? Why do we look at someone else and want to move like them, talk like them, lift like them… and in doing so, leave ourselves behind?

In trying to become someone else’s “perfect,” you inch closer to becoming a Stepford Wife. And nobody wants that.

Reframe It in the Gym

Here’s where it lands: surround yourself with people who celebrate your version of success. Your PRs. Your progress. Your pancake reps (see what I did there?).

Because your wins won’t look like anyone else’s—and they’re not supposed to.

The next time you feel proud, don’t scan the room and immediately deflate because someone lifted more, moved better, or held a longer plank. You don’t know their journey, goals, or struggles.

Comparing your growth to theirs is like biting into my cheese and jam sandwich and wishing it was chicken salad.

You chose that sandwich. You wanted it. It’s delicious in its own, weird, glorious way.

So is your progress.

Perfection isn’t flawlessness. It’s a feeling. A moment. A sandwich you love that no one else has to get.

And the best perfectionist in the world? She knows how to make space for joy, mess, progress—and yes, even a bit of goose poo behind the ear.

You’ve got this. And you’re already perfect, as you are.