Why Perfectionists Are Obsessed With Proving Themselves

Perfectionism is philosophically encapsulated by an existential conviction. Many perfectionists are not only certain of the objective validity of their rigid way of living; they’re also emboldened by the sense that their lives have an objective meaning, afforded to them in the way a god may grant his messiah a grand objective. Peers and loved ones question the perfectionist’s obsessiveness because its root is often hidden, protected from the slings and arrows of reason. Perfectionism persists in large part because it remains unchallenged.

One of its significant aspects, in that it occupies a large area of consideration, is the perfectionist’s need to prove themself. Staving off criticism by either minimizing their sense of purpose (e.g., saying “I’m not asking for that much”) or hiding it altogether, their sense of existential specialness, flimsy and insecure, is bolstered by praise, admiration, and achieved objectives. So, others remain baffled by why perfectionists usually don’t allow themselves to rest. Respite implies percolating doubts and negative self-talk. Based on black and white thinking, they believe they’re either growing or dying, proving their worth or losing what little of it they have. And a chronic pursuit of proof is a sort of ritual, feeling almost spiritual in nature. In a way, the paradox is that the perfectionist is crippled by debilitating self-doubt while worshipping themselves by relentlessly feeding the ravenous inner deity.

In essence, perfectionism isn’t only the delusion that one can become special (in the cosmic sense that they can become universally meaningful); it’s simultaneously the delusion that one is special because of their life’s inherited path. Some develop this sense as a result of trauma, believing their suffering either implies that they always were or that it made them special, so there’s the sense that some great reward is awaiting them. Others, especially those in families preoccupied with social standing, are spoon-fed pride from a young age, thereby associating it with love, or rather its conditional form, which, they often believe, is the only one worthy of the label.

As you can imagine, challenging this philosophy, especially because of its defenses, is itself challenging. Few things are as feared as losing it. Some degree of this is healthy, for much of human history wouldn’t have been littered with progress had people discontinued believing that it mattered on some grander scale. But this response obscures the significant pain associated with this philosophy and perfectionism more broadly. Researcher Sherri Melrose argued, “…maladaptive, unhealthy, or neurotic perfectionism, where anything less than perfect is unacceptable, can leave individuals vulnerable to depression.” And my own clinical experience paints an image of an individual desperately needing more and more proof to silence the terror of self-doubt regarding one’s talents, standing, merit, and, most of all, lovability. What is a messiah who can’t fulfill their deity’s plan? Are they an utter failure? Will that deity welcome them home? Initially, did that deity choose the wrong messenger?

Perfectionism, while self-focused, also entails a wider lens, as it’s associated with a core philosophy that indicates one’s place in the world (all of us are wired to form strong beliefs about life in general). It implies a vague but strong and often unacknowledged social hierarchy. It implies a significant amount of self-sacrifice, which includes the internal punishments of one’s inner critic. But, unlike most religions, which are based on faith, it demands evidence and always will. So, perfectionists would need to ask themselves what exactly they need to prove and to whom. Are you merely proving your talent or how special you are or will be? Why hasn’t past evidence been enough? Do you expect to be acknowledged or admired? How do you actually understand your contributions to others? Who do I believe I'm letting down, and why do they matter so much?

Outsiders often wonder why feedback and evidence don’t seem to work for long, which is because they’re unaware that, as with other aspects of their lives that are taken to extremes, perfectionists tend to demand the ultimate proof of their innate worth and, again, the purpose of their special lives. It’s akin to a quest for immortality or proof of an afterlife. To give that up and to accept even one’s exceptional talents as less significant than desired may be a bitter pill to swallow. Can we be smart without meaningfully influencing the world? Can we be talented without millions of views? Can we be lovable if we discontinue our obsessive pursuit of achievement? Can being important to some be just as or even more meaningful than being universally special?

The answer to all of these questions is obviously yes. But would that matter to the perfectionist? Can they accept a less-than-stellar existence even with some exceptional skill set? Can “ordinary” and “mistake” become less repugnant and part of their vocabulary? These are questions only the perfectionist can answer. And to stave off depression and anxiety in any meaningful way, they’re going to have to.