I used to be a perfectionist. My tendency toward perfectionism began showing early on as I tried to control even the smallest aspects of life. And, as anyone who’s wrestled with perfectionism knows, it often goes hand-in-hand with the need for control. Perfectionists often set sky-high standards, not just for themselves but for everyone around them. This led me to feel a need to control every little thing, driven by fear that if things don’t go exactly right, it’ll all feel like a letdown. It’s like an attempt to keep everything perfectly on track to avoid disappointment or a sense of failure. But, honestly, trying to manage every detail like that is exhausting, and it brings on a lot of stress that’s rarely worth it.
When I was young, I wanted everything to be flawless. Some days, I’d even count my breaths before opening my eyes, needing each action to feel ‘just right’—and if it didn’t, I’d start over. Growing up, I came to see my standards as superior, and if others didn’t meet even the smallest details of my expectations, I’d insist on doing everything myself. This cycle led to frustration because, inevitably, I felt burdened by doing it all alone. Over time, I realised that not everyone thinks the same way, and I started to understand that my way wasn’t the only way. My boyfriend once told me, “We can question methods but never outputs,” which stuck with me. I think I picked up these controlling habits from my mum, who was quite directive with me growing up. But I worked on letting go, becoming open to suggestions, and learning to ask for help.
My perfectionism also found its way into my digital life, where I tried to present a ‘perfect’ version of myself. I remember wiping everything from my phone, tablet, and laptop—messages, photos, history, comments—just for the fresh, clean feeling of a ‘new start’. Often, I’d do this on a Saturday night, thinking Sunday or the first of the month would be a great time to begin again. I’d constantly change my phone number, social media, or email accounts, convincing myself that this was starting fresh. After clearing everything, I’d carefully curate every post, caption, and photo, obsessing over the image I was presenting to the world. It was exhausting. If I fell short of my own unrealistic standards, I’d deactivate and reactivate my accounts in a never-ending loop. Eventually, I realised the absurdity of it all. If I met someone else doing what I did, I’d probably think, “Something’s off here.” I was trying to control how happy I looked on social media, selecting only the ‘deep’ photos, crafting captions that suggested I had a meaningful life. And for what? I’m relieved to say I’m no longer that person.
I even got others tangled in my perfectionist habits. Since I’d delete messages frequently, I’d ask people to resend texts at specific times to fit my schedule. Looking back, it’s bizarre! I used to cling to control, even over things that didn’t make sense to micromanage. Imagine disrupting your own peace for something so trivial!
I’m grateful to be in a different place now. It’s been years since I last deleted everything from my phone. I’m far more at peace embracing who I am—whether or not I’ve thought it all through. What matters to me now is being open to possibilities, changes, opinions, and even mistakes. I no longer take myself and my life too seriously. I don’t know exactly how I changed, but I suspect that being diagnosed with a mental disorder and going through therapy in the past helped shift my perspective. Somewhere along the line, I stopped viewing my social media and my devices as if they were a stage for others’ approval. I started living for me.