Hidden Truths

When motherhood collides with perfectionism

When the baby was 5 months old, I sat on the floor of the shower and cried. It wasn’t the first time, and it also wasn’t the last. The water was hot, the same as always, but I couldn’t feel it. I felt cold and detached; the goosebumps a kind of second skin I wished I could shed. And a strange type of disconnect. How can this be my life, I thought.

Every single day the same, and more of the same. Starting the day exhausted, diligently logging every feed, every bowl motion, every wet nappy and every episode of sleep. Trying to stick to all these timings meticulously and chastising myself if things went even just slightly astray. I tore into myself further. Without even realising it I was criticising every aspect of my mothering, and every aspect of myself.

Another time I was washing the dishes. As I poured the soap and scrubbed away, I glanced repeatedly at the monitor. I should have put him down earlier. I was late by 10 mins today. If he wakes early then I’ll have to bring the next nap forwards, which will mess up all the day’s timings …and so it went. And while thinking about all of this, the baby did wake early from his nap. And I groaned. You’re a joke.

I soothed my baby, gave him some milk and stared at his beautiful face. Why can’t I get anything right? I should know this by now. I’m a disgrace.

And as I sat on the floor and played, sang and read books to my sweet babe, I held somewhere in the forefront of my mind the list of everything else that needed to get done that day. Including all the related reading I needed to do like I was studying a PhD in infant sleep. And my head hurt. I felt helpless. Overwhelmed. Lost in my failings.

Now, a year later, I still have moments like these. But I’ve become much more aware of the judge inside my head. He who is severe, unforgiving, relentless. And after months of reflection, I’ve come to realise that this isn’t something new or unique to my experience of becoming a mother. But instead, an amplification of a part of me that has existed, unrecognised, for a long time.

When I think about it more intently, it’s shown up in all the corners of my non-mothering life.

Failures experienced as rejection. Less-than-perfect grades as a teen and young adult, a verdict on my worth. Downtime? Well, that’s just laziness. Gaps between projects? Wasted time.

And it continues into the mundane. Typing and retyping what should be a straightforward email, all because something about how it reads just doesn’t sound right. A conversation replayed in my head, torn apart, pieced together multiple times over; all because I said something that felt awkward and could have been said better. The undone laundry, the unanswered text, the fact that I didn’t make it to the gym- each one adds to the evidence in the case against me.

And always, there’s the comparison: the person who has achieved more, the colleague who seems further ahead, the mother who looks calmer and more capable. All these perceived successes become the unwanted ruler I measure myself against, and inevitably, I fall short.

Ironically, it took me a while to realise it.

That I am a perfectionist with a strong inner critic.

Perfectionism before motherhood

There are many academic definitions of perfectionism. It is one of the most highly studied subject areas in psychology today. And yet, despite this attention, so little is really understood about the nuance and lived experience of it.

For years, like many, this perfectionism has been the engine behind my drive. More specifically, an aspect of it. It kept me at my desk in school and university when others went out and socialised. It allowed me to focus intensely so I could push projects across the finish line. It gave me a kind of endurance, a reputation for being “disciplined.” And for a long time, I took pride in this and wore it as a badge of honour.

It also brought and still brings, rewards. Those long hours and high standards translated into degrees and postgraduate qualifications I feel proud of. Into opportunities that rewarded diligence and stamina. And like many in the medical profession, this same trait shows up in meticulous attention to detail: every clinical letter reviewed and re-reviewed, every task completed to a standard I can stand behind. From the outside, it looks like reliability, thoroughness, even excellence.

But the truth is, looking back, that focus, and drive came at a cost. What looked like motivation on the outside was often fear on the inside. Fear of failing, of being insignificant, of not being enough. Accompanied by my inner critic, who shouted down every achievement and magnified every flaw, I lived under a constant barrage of self-condemnation. But when you’re able to present yourself as competent, confident and carefree, no one guesses how much you hold yourself back.

For decades, like many, this perfectionism has hidden in plain sight.

Including from myself.

A misleading interplay between what some research describes as perfectionistic strivings (setting and pursuing very high standards) and perfectionistic concerns (the harsh self-criticism, fear of failure, and constant sense of falling short). When both coexist, it’s far easier for an individual and the outside world to see these ‘strivings’ as adaptive or perhaps, productive. And in turn, the tightly held, internal fears that drive distress, shame or burnout go largely unrecognised.

And yet perfectionism isn’t just a set of traits; it’s also a story about development.

Psychodynamic theories suggest it evolves in the space between temperament and environment: a sensitive child learning, implicitly, that love, or safety depends on being good, capable, or exceptional. For instance, a child or teen who receives praise or warmth only when they conform to a caregiver’s high (and often unrealistic) expectations.

Even if no one explicitly demands perfection, a child absorbs it- the value placed on achievement, the caregiver’s discomfort with emotional vulnerability, the lack of a model for rest, play, or relational ease. In this sense, perfectionism is less about “choosing” high standards and more about inheriting them, quietly shaping an identity around being diligent, reliable, or in control.

Perfectionism in motherhood

Motherhood has been the moment where all this finally collided with reality. The strategies that had once seen me through in my pre-baby life, simply stopped working.

I now see this is not uncommon. Research tentatively suggests that those who feel the shift into motherhood acutely, are often women who were highly driven in their careers before children. It makes sense: we’re accustomed to effort leading to results, to control producing outcomes, to measurable progress marking the path forward. Babies and toddlers, as we know however, don’t work like that. No amount of meticulous planning or sheer endurance could guarantee that mine would nap when he “should” or sleep longer just because I followed the rules.

And yet, despite knowing this, even on maternity leave my inner critic and I held impossible standards. I told myself I should be writing, reading, finishing papers, “making use” of every small window of quiet. But the windows never opened in the way I imagined. The naps in those earlier days and months were too short, I was too exhausted, or my baby simply needed me. And each time I failed to meet those expectations, he pounced: You should be doing more. You’re failing. You’re not enough.

Paradoxically, however, it’s been this same inner voice that has made me pause. For the first time this summer, I began to notice what was happening. To see how much of my old identity was shaped by aspects of perfectionism, and how incompatible those old rules were with the messy, unpredictable rhythms of caring for a child.

It’s been through a monumental amount of self-reflection that I’ve started to build the courage to let go- to ask myself, with radical honesty: is this worth the toll it takes on my mind, my body, my relationships? Are the so-called rewards of my perfectionism really the things I want to measure my life by? Or do I want to create a different kind of balance, one where achievement isn’t the only currency of worth?

That line of questioning has changed the way I look at both my present and my future. What do I want my child to absorb from me, consciously or unconsciously? That being “enough” depends on working harder, aiming higher, never resting? Or that joy, rest, play, and even failure are as much a part of a full life as striving ever was?

Now, with my son at 19 months, I am trying, often imperfectly, to be more conscious. To notice the judge in my head without always obeying it. To remind myself that my worth is not measured in tasks completed or moments controlled. To live, and find the fun in living in the unpredictable, the messy and the haphazard.

And most importantly, to create an atmosphere for my child that also cradles my inner child. One where love isn’t conditional on performance. One where rest, play, and vulnerability are allowed.

As always, I’m blown away by how much I’m learning alongside him. Or unlearning, I should say.

Because you know, it’s not just about raising a child, but also ourselves.

Who’s holding who?

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References

Here you’ll find a more formal list of relevant references linked in the text above:

· Meeussen, L., & Van Laar, C. (2018). Feeling pressure to be a perfect mother relates to parental burnout and career ambitions. Frontiers in Psychology, 9, 2113. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2018.02113

· Stoeber, J., & Gaudreau, P. (2017). The advantages of partialling perfectionistic strivings and perfectionistic concerns: Critical issues and recommendations. Personality and Individual Differences, 104, 379–386. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2016.08.039

· Thomas, M., & Bigatti, S. (2020). Perfectionism, impostor phenomenon, and mental health in medicine: A literature review. International Journal of Medical Education, 11, 201–213. https://doi.org/10.5116/ijme.5f54.c8f8