Dear human who’s tired of trying to get it all right,

I see you. And honestly, I’ve been you. I still am you sometimes. The one who holds everything together because it feels like if you don’t, no one else will. The one who measures your worth in how well you manage it all. And who feels that invisible, yet crushing pressure that if you stop for even a second, something important will fall apart. Or that if someone catches you not trying hard enough, the jig is up. They've finally found out, you're not good enough, after all. 

I know that mental environment where everything has to be just so. Where “rest” is something you earn, but only after the world stops needing you (which, let’s be honest, never happens). I know what it’s like to think you have to do everything perfectly because that’s the only way to feel safe, valued, or meaningful. And it’s the only way to keep everything under control. 

But can’t you see, dear one, that’s too much weight for any one person to carry? Listen, I know you’re a rockstar. I know you probably can do it better than others. But that doesn’t mean you have to. You were never meant to hold the world together by yourself. It outsizes your impact — and it’s just not sustainable. 

I know it’s hard to imagine a life where mistakes are allowed to stay mistakes, where you can breathe without feeling like you’ve missed something. And right now it probably feels like life is one long grudge match against every past mistake and future misstep. Like you’re still keeping score on all the things you should’ve known, should’ve done, or might still mess up tomorrow. But you don’t have to stay in this fight.

We carry so much pressure to already know: to get it right the first time, to see the lesson before we’ve lived it. We act like insight should come first, as if mistakes are failure instead of proof of life. And that’s the lie of perfectionism: it tricks us into believing we should have known better all along. It tells us that being human is some kind of flaw. But being human is the whole point. We learn, we mess up, we grow, we try again. That’s the curriculum down here on earth.

And I know society doesn’t make it easy. We live in a world that rewards exhaustion and performance, that tells us our value lies in productivity and numbers. We’ve been trained to equate self-worth with output, with external appearances. So when you feel tired or unmotivated, your brain doesn’t say, “You’re exhausted, and that’s understandable.” It says, “You’re not good enough. Why can’t you do it right like everybody else?” 

But the model doesn’t work. It never did. It was designed for corporations, not communities. And if you ever doubt that, just look at your own experience: how hard you’ve tried to make things work, how much effort you’ve poured into keeping up, how many times you’ve traded rest for responsibility, and how little peace or relief those have brought. That’s your proof. And if it seems to be working for others, it’s usually because they’re caught in the same illusion–over-functioning, smiling through it, and quietly burning out. 

I get it. It’s a seductive story, that doing more will finally make it feel like enough. But does it work? You and I both know it doesn’t.

And that’s because you were designed for something truer to your own nature. You were designed for a rhythm that moves with your energy instead of against it. For a way of living that doesn’t keep you in a constant loop of exhaustion and recovery from your own effort. 

That’s where the healing begins: when you start to hear the whispers of your inner wisdom. When you listen beneath the “shoulds.” I bet you’ve felt it before, that soft quiet voice underneath who has existed long before the pressures of the day. And that voice still knows what peace and ease feels like. It knows what lights you up, what actually nourishes you. And every time you let yourself rest before your to-do list is complete, let yourself off the hook from a “yes” that you gave too fast, or pour  effort into something just because it feels good (not because it “does” good) — that part of you gets a little louder. 

Don’t get it twisted… this isn’t about not caring or giving up or being lazy. It’s about remembering that you don’t have to earn your right to exist or to experience joy. And that if other people are disappointed by your choices and preferences, that doesn’t take a single thing away from your value. From your inherent right to want and to have. Maybe you worry this will make you selfish. I say, why is that a bad thing? Be a “hell yes” for getting selfish–for trusting your own timing, for following what lights you up, for choosing rest over approval, for letting joy count as enough, and for honoring the rhythm of your own energy. Because this embodied human life was designed for you. For your lessons, for your growth, for your joy, for your karma. You weren’t put on this earth just to survive. You are meant to live, to feel, to create, to rest, to breathe, and to connect.

Let’s take a second to acknowledge all the untruths you’ve absorbed, spoken and unspoken, about what a “purpose-driven” life is supposed to look like. The messages that said slowing down was lazy, wanting more was greedy, saying no was selfish, or resting meant you’d fall behind. Over time, those messages harden. They start to sound like facts. And because perfectionism is so deeply rewarded in our culture, they get reinforced at every turn: grades, promotions, praise, productivity increases. But hidden inside all that achievement were other teachings you never agreed to: that comfort is indulgence, joy is a distraction, calm means you’re not trying hard enough.

Do you buy that? Would you hand that story to your child, to your best friend, or to someone you love who’s already doing their best to hold it all together? Would you ever wish those same rules on the next generation, the ones just learning what it means to be worthy, to be well, to be human?

That’s what conditioning is: the invisible script that teaches us to disconnect from our own knowing, to make ourselves palatable in exchange for belonging. You didn’t invent those stories; they were handed to you. And like any human driven to survive, you learned to live inside them.

My wish for you is that you see you don’t have to keep carrying these stories, these “shoulds,” these burdens that were never yours to begin with. They’ve gotten you this far, kept you moving, maybe even kept you safe. But they’re not built for where you’re going. The path forward asks for something different, something that doesn’t rely on pressure, performance, or proving.

And yes, unlearning hurts sometimes. You’ll still catch yourself overexplaining, comparing, or trying to read other people’s minds before your own. Solving problems before they exist. Giving people an out before they can reject you. Staying the strong one, composed and in control. I know how hard it is to let that go. But hard doesn’t mean wrong, and it doesn’t mean impossible. It just means your nervous system is still trying to keep you safe in the only ways it’s ever known. And it’s going to take time–and repeated doses of grace–as you teach it a gentler, non-pushing path.

I promise it’s possible. Safety doesn’t come from getting everything right; it comes from staying with yourself. From moving at your own pace. From listening inward. From choosing yourself, even when it disappoints someone else.

So maybe let up a little? Despite what your patterns tell you, despite how control can feel like comfort, this tight grip isn’t keeping you safe. Let the dishes wait. Let yourself be loved mid-mess. Let the email go unanswered for a night (or an hour, if you need a slower learning curve). Let the plan change. Let the world spin without your constant watch — because it will keep spinning. And you’ll still be okay, even if you don’t accomplish a single thing to prove your worth tonight. Because you were already worthy, all along.

With all the care from my recovering perfectionist heart,  
Anahita