The Weight of Perfect

Perfectionism is a quiet thief. It doesn’t barge in—it whispers, taking control. It convinces you that doing your best isn’t enough unless it looks effortless, polished, and Instagram-worthy. I know this voice well. I’ve followed it into late nights, reworking things that were already good. I’ve felt it wrap around me like armor, protecting me from criticism and keeping me from joy.

I live in a beautiful part of Connecticut, where perfectionism wears a very pretty face. Homes are museum-tidy. Lawns are mowed like magazine covers. Even school lunches are freshly curated. It’s a place that values presentation, and while that can be lovely, it can also be suffocating. There’s an unspoken pressure to have it all together and to make it look easy.

Ironically, my work as a bookkeeper thrives on precision. In that space, perfectionism serves a purpose. Numbers belong in their places. Reconciliations must be exact. There’s a quiet satisfaction in organizing chaos and making the math work. In that sense, bookkeeping feeds the part of me that loves order and accuracy—and I’m grateful for it.

But building Simple. Pure. Love. has asked something else of me. It doesn’t want to be perfect. It wants to be real. It wants to grow at its own pace, evolve through trial and error, and breathe like a living, imperfect thing. And so I’m learning to let it. To resist the urge to polish every sentence and plan every outcome. To give it space to make mistakes—and still move forward.

I want this brand, this offering, to reflect truth, not perfection. To be a space where others can also be messy and magnificent, growing in the light of honesty rather than the shadow of expectation.

For women especially, the pressure to be everything—to be capable, composed, creative, and constantly pleasing—can be crushing. We deserve space to be human first.

This is both my confession and my invitation. If you’ve been carrying the weight of perfect, maybe it’s time to set it down. Let’s grow something genuine instead.