Moving through perfectionism
It takes experience to move through perfectionism. Not to conquer it or override it, but to recognise its voice and choose differently in its presence.
Growing up as a dancer, I was trained to refine every movement until it was flawless. As an exercise professional, I learned to optimise form and training protocols for high performance. And now, as a fully self-employed business owner, I’m relentlessly trying to make the best possible decisions every single day—hyper-vigilant of how every choice affects my clients, my staff, my income, and the reputation I’ve built from the ground up.
My perfectionism has driven me to grow and push beyond my comfort zone. It’s brought so much meaning to my life. But it also exhausts me, debilitates me, makes me feel small, and has kept me from prioritising my own health and wellbeing.
Learning to recognise the voice
It’s taken years of learning and unlearning to recognise perfectionism when it shows up in my movement practice. I can still feel my ego rise when a movement feels jarring—that voice of criticism telling shaming how I look, comparing myself to others in the room or people passing by.
But now, for the most part, I can feel it rise and actively choose to think differently. I know no one is looking at me. I can soften into my breathing. I can feel inspired by others without my worth being determined by their existence. I can stay and rise to the challenge. I can try my best while also listening to my body. I can connect with the greater joy and perspective of simply being in a space where I’m moving and connecting with other people.
That practice—that ability to move through perfectionism rather than let it cripple me—took years to cultivate.And then I had an ah-ha moment when I recently stepped into something completely unfamiliar.
The beginner’s mind (and the beginner’s shame)
I started an art class recently. While I love to draw and have had some random “oh I might be good at this” moments in casual life drawing classes, a visceral feeling is potently upon me.
I could feel an immediate judgment and self-criticism bubbling to the surface. Disappointment in my ability. Embarrassment as I compared myself to my classmates’ work. Frustration that things weren’t clicking into place. Shame that I’d thought I had some hidden inner talent.
We did an activity where we had to draw whatever came to mind when our teacher said a word. The first word was “light” and I instantly knew what I wanted to draw. But by the end of the activity, five out of ten words left me completely paralysed—I went blank. I could hear my inner saboteur: “You like to think you’re a creative person, but you’re not.”
It was visceral. Paralysing. And achingly familiar.
Because that’s exactly how I used to feel when trying to perform movement. This voice was loudest during my late teens and early twenties, when I was investing everything into making something of myself in the performing arts industry.
The difference that practice makes
The difference now is that in movement, I’ve had years of practice recognising those voices for what they are. I also have a backbone of education on human physiology and movement and an understanding of social and cultural forces to bring perspective to these inner critics.
I know now that awkwardness when learning a new exercise isn’t failure—it’s my body finding the pathway. I know that comparing myself to others doesn’t help me learn, grow, or nurture my own sense of self and creativity. I know that showing up imperfectly is more valuable than not showing up at all.
But in art class? I’m a beginner. And the perfectionism is so much louder when you’re a beginner, when you haven’t yet learned to move through the messiness.
A universal language
Thank heavens for incredible, attuned educators like my art teacher, who named this perfectionism straight out for what it is. She gave us a list of guiding principles to help us through the challenge of drawing, and I couldn’t think of a better analogy for anyone new to moving their body or exercising in general.
Guiding Principles from Art Class (and Movement Practice)
1. Ignore your ego. It will get in your way!
In movement: Your ego will tell you to compare, to perform, to prove. Let it go.
2. Allow curiosity to guide your seeing
In movement: Allow curiosity to guide your moving
3. Draw what you see, not what you think you know
In movement: Move with what you feel, not what you think it should look like
4. Drawing is all about relationships
In movement: Moving is all about relationships—with your body, the equipment, the space, others around you
5. Slow down—enjoy the process of looking
In movement: Slow down—enjoy the process of moving
6. Be critical, but not judgemental
In movement: Notice what’s happening without making it mean something about your worth
7. There is no such thing as a mistake, embrace imperfection!
In movement: There is no such thing as a mistake, embrace imperfection!
8. Draw lightly
In movement: Move with nourishment, not punishment
9. Keep your pencil sharp
In movement: Find and return to your safe spaces
10. Drawing is a practice. Draw everything and often
In movement: Movement is a practice. Move how you like and often
11. Drawing is a broad and diverse language, explore lots of approaches
In movement: Movement is a broad and diverse language, explore lots of approaches
The body you have today, with all its limitations and possibilities, is enough to begin. You don’t have to be good at movement to start. You just have to be willing to be a beginner, to feel awkward, to not know—and to revel in the joy, the boundary-pushing, and the messiness of the process.
