the higher lens : 7

The Cost of Perfectionism: The Unseen Price of Striving for ‘Better’

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about perfectionism lately — how it creeps into your life, demanding more, pushing you further. It’s not the kind of desire that burns with rage or anger, but one that whispers softly in the back of your mind, telling you that you're never quite enough. You could always do more. Do better. Be better. And yet, as I’ve realised, this pursuit of perfection often takes you in circles — the faster you go, the further the goal slips away.

For a long time, I thought perfection was the path to validation. Growing up, I was often surrounded by the pressures of fitting in, of being liked. There was a sense that the more you achieved, the more worthy you were of attention, affection, and respect. So, I began to measure my worth by the number of accomplishments I could rack up, the standards I could exceed. Yet, in striving for that ideal, I realized I was constantly looking outward for the affirmation I lacked within.

Perfectionism, in a sense, became my coping mechanism. The validation I sought from others was elusive, and so I turned it inward, creating a version of myself that was always striving for more. But this drive — this hunger — never really let me rest. The need to be better, to do better, fed off of itself. Every victory, no matter how significant, felt like just another stepping stone to a more elusive, perfect future.

This relentless pursuit echoes through history and philosophy, too. In the ancient world, the Greeks warned us about pleonexia — the insatiable greed for more than one can actually hold. Plato saw it as a threat to justice, something that could destabilize the very fabric of society. Aristotle, in his Nicomachean Ethics, believed that this kind of desire distorts one’s moral compass, turning the individual away from temperance and balance, instead pushing them toward excess and imbalance. Perfectionism, when unchecked, can morph into an addiction — an unrelenting force that damages our sense of self and our connection to others.

The culture we live in today echoes this. We are surrounded by an endless cycle of comparison, of benchmarking ourselves against the accomplishments of others. Social media, work culture, even our academic institutions, all feed into this desire to do more, be more. The constant "hustle" — the idea that we must always be working, achieving, proving ourselves — becomes not just a value, but an expectation. We confuse the need to be productive with the need to be at peace with ourselves.

At the same time, I began to understand something else: the cost of this kind of perfectionism is far greater than we are led to believe. I could never seem to find satisfaction. Every moment of success, instead of being celebrated, was quickly overshadowed by the need for the next achievement. Every little victory felt like a drop in the ocean of ambition, quickly swallowed by the need for more. My self-worth became inextricably linked to my accomplishments — an external validation that could never truly be fulfilled.

And in this process, I lost touch with what I actually wanted. I became so fixated on being better than yesterday that I forgot to ask myself what it was I truly needed. Was it the accolades? The recognition? Or was it something more profound — something that didn’t require validation from others but rather peace from within?

This is where I started to grapple with the tension between aspiration and peace. I’ve come to realize that not all wanting is equal. There’s a distinct difference between the desire for growth — growth that nurtures you and the world around you — and the desire for validation that only serves to feed a hollow ego. The former is rooted in self-improvement, not for the sake of proving anything to anyone else, but for the sake of becoming a better version of yourself. The latter? It can consume you. It creates an insatiable hunger that never allows for true contentment.

I found myself asking, as I moved forward in life, at what cost do I define my own success? Am I moving toward a better version of myself, or am I simply trying to outrun the shadow of my own insecurity? In this obsessive pursuit of perfection, I became disconnected from my deeper, truer desires. And so I had to ask: Is my vision of success rooted in scarcity, or is it grounded in solidarity with who I truly am?

I’ve learned that the cost of perfectionism is not just emotional or psychological, it’s deeply philosophical. By measuring my worth through my ability to outdo myself, I inadvertently shut out the more meaningful aspects of life: connection, peace, contentment. The desire to always do more, to always be better, is a dangerous game to play. It’s a game that never lets you win. As philosopher Simone Weil reminds us, peace cannot be found through striving. It can only be found through attention — attention to ourselves, to others, and to the world around us, without the constant need to perform or prove (Weil, 1947).

And so, here I am. Acknowledging the cost of perfectionism. The exhaustion. The dissatisfaction. The constant gnawing need for something more. I’m learning to turn inward and ask myself: What do I truly want? Not the accolades, not the recognition, not the external markers of success — but the peace that comes from accepting myself as I am. The key, perhaps, is not in striving to be better than yesterday, but in learning to be present in today.

There are days when the ache of perfectionism still creeps in. But I am learning to embrace it, not as a flaw to be fixed, but as part of the journey toward self-acceptance. I am learning to be better, not for anyone else, but for myself — in a way that is grounded in self-compassion, rather than self-criticism. And in this, I find my peace.

Vlera