Embrace Your Humanity and Find Peace in a World That Demands Perfection

Have you ever had a day where you just feel… off? You know the one. You wake up and your brain feels foggy, like a thick fog you can’t see through. Or maybe it’s not just a day. Maybe it’s been weeks, months, where everything feels heavier. You look at your to-do list—simple things like doing the dishes or sending an email—and it feels like a weight on your chest. And in the quiet moments, a small, mean voice in your head whispers: “What is wrong with me?”

I know that voice. I really do. I’ve sat on my couch, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling. I see pictures of people who look like they have it all figured out. Their lives seem perfect and easy. I look at my own life, my own busy mind, and it feels like my thoughts are all tangled up, like a knot of wires that won’t come undone. I’ve told myself, “I am broken. Something inside me isn’t working right.”

I’m here to tell you something important. Can you let that sink in for a moment?

You are not broken.

You’re a human being, living in a world that’s incredibly loud and busy and complicated. What you’re feeling? That heaviness, that fog, that worry? It isn’t a sign that you’ve failed. It isn’t proof that you’re doing life wrong.

It’s a sign that you’re paying attention. You’re noticing that something feels out of step. That’s a good thing. It means you’re alive and feeling your way through.

If you’re tired of your own thoughts, this is for you. It’s for me, learning to be kinder to myself. It’s for us—all of us who feel like we’re running a race but forgot where the finish line is. We look around and see everyone else running, and we think we’re last. We think we’re alone.

But what if we’re all in this together? What if the map we’re trying to follow doesn’t even have the right roads on it for us?

"perfect human machine" myth.

We’ve all been sold a story. It says we should work like machines. I hear this story all the time. We see it online. We feel it at work. The story says the best version of you is like a perfect, smooth-running machine. Always on. Always productive. Never making mistakes. Never needing to stop.

I’ve tried to live this story. I’ve packed my day with tasks, back to back, feeling proud when I was busy and guilty when I paused. If I felt tired, I thought I was weak. If I felt distracted, I thought I was broken. I treated myself like a phone—getting angry when my battery was low, annoyed when my mind, like an app, wouldn’t focus. I kept looking for an upgrade, a fix, a way to be better and faster.

You know this feeling, too. You look at your list of things to do and wonder why you can’t just get them all done without feeling tired or slow. You see someone else who seems to do it all so easily, and you think, “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I be like that?”

Here’s the truth we must remember: We are not machines.

A machine is built to do one thing, over and over. It doesn’t have feelings. It doesn’t get sad. It doesn’t need a friend. It doesn’t feel joy when it hears a good song or sees a beautiful sky. It just works.

But you? You are a person. You are alive. Your body has its own rhythm, like the sun rising and setting. Some days you have more energy. Some days you have less. Some days your mind is clear. Some days it’s foggy. This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t a sign you are broken. This is what it means to be human.

Think about a tree. In the fall, the tree loses its leaves. It doesn’t think, “I am failing.” In the winter, it rests. It doesn’t think, “I am lazy.” It is just being a tree, following its natural cycle.

You have a natural cycle too. Feeling tired is your body asking for rest. Feeling distracted might mean your heart is worried about something. Feeling slow might mean you are processing things deeply. These aren’t problems to fix. They are messages to listen to.

When we believe the myth of the machine, we fight against ourselves. We push when we should rest. We ignore our feelings because they seem messy. We try to be something we’re not meant to be. And then we feel tired and alone, because we are at war with our own nature.

So I’m asking you to do something with me. Let’s drop the story of the machine. Let’s throw away the idea that we must be perfect and always on. Instead, let’s learn to be human. Let’s be kind to ourselves when we are tired. Let’s listen to our feelings instead of silencing them. Let’s treat our need for a break not as a failure, but as a necessary part of life.

You are not meant to run non-stop. You are meant to live, to feel, to change, and to grow. Your value isn’t in how much you produce. It’s in who you are—a real, feeling, wonderful person. We are in this together. Let’s stop trying to be machines and start embracing the beautiful, imperfect humans we are.

What if your "flaws" are just needs in disguise?

We all have things we don’t like about ourselves. We have habits we criticize. We have feelings that bother us. We point at these things and call them our flaws. We say, “I am so lazy.” Or, “I worry too much.” Or, “I can never get it together.” We see these parts of us as proof that we are broken. I’ve done this. I’ve looked at my own actions and felt shame. I’ve told myself I am flawed.

But I want you to think about something new with me. What if we are wrong? What if that thing you call a flaw is not a flaw at all? What if it is a signal? What if it’s a message from a deep part of you that is trying to say, “I need something”?

Let me tell you my story. For a long time, I called myself a procrastinator. I had big things to do. I knew they were important. But I would avoid them. I would do small, useless tasks instead. Then I would feel terrible. I would think, “Why am I like this? What is wrong with me?” I saw it as my biggest flaw.

One day, I was just tired of feeling bad. Instead of fighting the feeling, I got quiet. I asked myself a simple question: “What is really happening here?”

The answer surprised me. The procrastination wasn’t the problem. It was a warning sign. I was avoiding the work because I felt scared. I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t know where to start. My “flaw” was actually a need. I needed a plan. I needed to start with one tiny step. I needed to be gentle with my own fear.

You have your own version of this. Think about what you call your flaw.

Do you say you are “too sensitive”? Maybe your heart needs more kindness, or a quieter space. Your feeling is not a flaw. It is a need for care.

Do you say you are “a people-pleaser”? Maybe you have a deep need to feel safe and liked. The need is not to please everyone. The need is to feel that you belong, just as you are.

Do you say you are “scattered” or “unfocused”? Maybe your mind is bored. Maybe it needs something interesting to do. Maybe it needs a real break.

We are so quick to judge ourselves. We see a behavior we don’t like and we attack it. We try to force it to stop. But that is like hearing a baby cry and just yelling at it to be quiet. The cry is not the problem. The cry is telling you something is wrong. The baby might be hungry, or tired, or just need to be held.

Your feelings are like that. They are not your enemy. They are your inner voice trying to talk to you. When we call them flaws, we stop listening.

So what can we do? We can change our job. Instead of being a judge, we can be a friend. Our new job is to listen.

Next time you feel that old, critical thought—“There I go again, being so [lazy, anxious, messy]”—I want you to pause. I want us to try this together.

Stop. Take a breath. And ask a kinder question:
“What do I need right now?”

Just ask. The answer might be simple. It might be: “Rest.” “Help.” “A walk.” “To say no.” “A glass of water.” “To cry.”

When you listen to the need, the “flaw” often softens. It doesn’t have to shout anymore. You move from fighting yourself to helping yourself.

So today, pick one thing you call a flaw. Look at it with curiosity, not anger. See it as a message. Ask it what it needs. This is how we stop feeling broken and start feeling human. We are not flaws. We are people with needs.

Stepping out of the comparison trap.

Let’s talk about a quiet habit that steals our joy. It’s the habit of comparing ourselves to others. This isn’t just about seeing a nice photo and feeling a little jealous. I’m talking about the daily, hidden thoughts where we look at someone else’s life and use it to measure our own. We see what is different about them and decide it means something is wrong with us.

I know this trap well. I’ve fallen into it many times. I see a person who is always cheerful and outgoing. They talk easily to anyone. Then I think about how I feel shy at parties. My thought isn’t, “We are different.” My thought is, “There is something wrong with me.” I see someone who is very tidy and organized. Their home is always calm. I look at my own messy kitchen and think, “I am a failure at this.” I see a friend who is brave in their career, always trying new things. I feel stuck in my own routine. I tell myself, “I am not brave enough.”

You’ve felt this too, I’m sure. You see a parent who seems always patient with their children. You lose your patience sometimes and think, “I am a bad parent.” You see a coworker who gives perfect presentations. You get nervous speaking up and think, “I am not good enough at my job.” You see someone with a talent you don’t have, and you feel smaller.

We do this all the time. We take the wonderful fact that people are all different, and we turn it into a problem. We make a simple list in our heads:

Their way = Good.

My way = Bad.

Their strength makes us see our weakness. Their ease makes us see our struggle. But here’s the mistake we’re making: We are comparing our entire, real self to a tiny, perfect part of someone else. We are comparing our whole messy story—with all its hard days and doubts—to someone else’s best moment. It is not fair. It makes us feel sad for no good reason.

Let’s try to see it a new way. Think about a toolbox. Inside is a hammer, a screwdriver, and a paintbrush. Is the paintbrush broken because it cannot hit a nail? No. Is the hammer useless because it cannot paint a picture? No. They are just different. Each one is made for a different job. Each one is useful in its own way.

You and I, we are like those tools. We are also like instruments in a band. A flute does not sound like a drum. A guitar does not sound like a piano. The beautiful music comes from all the different sounds together. The difference is what makes the song good.

Your way of being is not a mistake. If you need quiet time, that is not a flaw—it is how you think deeply. If you move slowly and carefully, that is not a weakness—it is how you do things well. If you feel things deeply, that is not a problem—it is how you connect with people you love.

We are not meant to all be the same. Our job is not to copy the person next to us. Our job is to be the best version of ourselves. We must learn how we work. We must learn what makes us feel strong and happy.

So next time you catch yourself comparing—when you see someone else’s life and feel your own is less—I want you to stop. Let’s do this together. Take a breath. Say these words to yourself: “Different, not defective.”

Their life is their life. Your life is your life. You are not worse. You are just you. You have your own strengths. You have your own path. Let’s step out of the comparison trap. Let’s see our own value, all by itself. We are all different tools, and every single one is needed.

Finding peace with the word "and."

We often think that to be okay, we must feel just one way about something. We believe we should be simple. Happy or sad. Strong or weak. Sure or unsure. Our minds like these easy choices. They feel neat and tidy. But I’ve found that my heart is not neat and tidy. My heart is a crowded, lively room where many feelings live, and sometimes they all talk at once.

Have you ever had this happen? You feel two things that seem like opposites, at the very same time? I have. Just the other day, I felt so proud of my child for trying something new, and in the same instant, I was afraid they would get hurt. For years, I would get upset with myself for this. I would think, “Choose one! Are you happy or are you scared? You can’t be both!” I thought having mixed-up feelings meant I was doing it wrong.

But I was wrong. Our feelings do not have to fight each other. There is a small word that makes peace possible. That word is “and.”

“And” is a powerful word. It lets two true things be true together. It does not force one to win and the other to lose. It simply makes room.

Let me tell you how this looks in my life. I can be tired from a long week and excited for the weekend. I can love my family deeply and need a quiet hour away from them. I can be confident in my work and nervous to share it with you right now. I am doing my best, and some days are still hard.

You have your own list, I’m sure. You can be grateful for your job and bored by some of your tasks. You can miss someone who is gone and feel okay in your life now. You can want to be social and want to stay home in your pajamas. This is not you being fake or confused. This is you being a real, complicated person.

Life is full of “and.” A movie can be funny and sad. A food can be sweet and sour. We accept this in the world. But inside ourselves, we often say, “No. Pick a side.”

When we do this, we cause ourselves pain. We push down one feeling to let the other win. But the pushed-down feeling does not go away. It waits. It grows. It comes out later as stress or anger or a heavy sadness.

The better way is to use “and.” It is like opening a window in a stuffy room. It lets the air move. It makes space. You are not agreeing with one feeling and rejecting the other. You are simply saying, “I see you both. You can both be here.”

This is a kind way to treat yourself. It is saying to your own heart, “You are allowed to be complex. I will not make you choose.”

So, I want us to try this. The next time you feel two things at once, don’t panic. Don’t try to fix it. Just say “and.”

You can say it in your mind:

“I am frustrated with my friend, and I love them.”

“I am scared to try this, and I am going to do it anyway.”

“Today was difficult, and I saw a beautiful sunset.”

Feel the difference? It takes the fight away. There is no more war inside you. There is just an honest, crowded, human heart holding all of its truths.

You are not broken because you contain contradictions. You are whole because of it. A tree can have strong roots and moving leaves. The ocean can be calm on the surface and full of life deep down. You can be many things. We all are.

What to do instead: From "fixing" to "connecting."

We’ve talked about a new idea: that you are not broken. But I know what you might be thinking now. I’ve thought it too. You think, “Okay, but what do I actually do? How do I live this?”

For so long, when I felt bad, my only tool was to try and fix myself. I would make lists of my faults. I would look for solutions. I would try to force myself to change. It felt like a war inside my own mind. And I always lost.

We need a new tool. We need to stop trying to fix and start learning to connect. Fixing is about fighting a part of yourself. Connecting is about understanding it. Fixing leaves you tired. Connecting can bring you peace.

This shift happens in small, everyday moments. It is not one big change. It is many small choices. I want to share some of these choices with you. These are steps I try to use, and I think you can try them too. We can learn this new way together.

First, be a friend, not a judge.

The first step is the most important. It’s about your inner voice. When you hear that critical thought—“I’m so stupid for forgetting that,” or “I’m so lazy today”—I want you to pause. Just for a second. Now, imagine a friend said that about themselves. You would not agree and say, “Yes, you are lazy!” You would be kind. You might say, “You seem tired. What’s going on?” Try to do this for yourself. When the critical thought comes, gently ask a kinder question: “I wonder why I’m feeling this way?” This one question changes you from a judge into a friend. It is the start of connection.

Second, listen to your body. It is talking.

We forget that our body feels our feelings. A tight chest, a tired head, a nervous stomach—these are not just annoyances. They are messages. Two or three times a day, just stop. Set a timer for one minute. Close your eyes. Take a slow breath. Ask your body: “What do you need?” Just listen. The answer might be very simple. It might say “water,” or “stand up and stretch,” or “a moment of quiet.” When you give your body this one minute, you are telling yourself, “I am listening. I care about you.”

Third, make your to-do list kinder.

We think a good day means checking off tasks. I want us to make a new kind of list. A “Connection List.” At the top of your day, write: “Today, a good day could also include…” Then write things like:

• Taking five deep breaths when I feel stressed.

• Eating lunch without looking at my phone.

• Telling one person, “I had a hard day.”

• Doing one thing slowly, just to enjoy it.
  When you do these things, check them off! They are just as important as any other task. They are the tasks of being human. This is how we succeed at being a person, not just a machine.

Fourth, use your real voice with real people.

The feeling of being broken grows in the dark, in silence. The cure is to turn on a light by talking about it. This week, I want you to find one person you trust. It could be a friend, a family member, or even a kind coworker. Say one true thing about how you feel. You can say, “I’ve been really hard on myself lately,” or “I feel overwhelmed a lot.” Say it out loud. You will likely see relief on their face. They might say, “Me too.” Or they might just give you a hug. This simple act reminds you that you are not a strange, broken thing. You are a person, and people struggle sometimes. We are all in this together.

Finally, have a gentle way to start over.

You will forget all of this. I forget it all the time! We will wake up and be our old, critical selves again. This is normal. It is not failure. So, make a tiny, kind ritual for when you get lost. It could be touching your hand to your heart and saying, “It’s okay.” It could be looking out the window at a tree. It could be writing one word like “peace” or “breathe” on a piece of paper. This is your anchor. It is your way of coming back to connection when you have drifted away.

This is not a race. There is no finish line. This is simply a new path, one of kindness instead of war. You do not have to do all these steps today. Just pick one. Start with being a friend to yourself. The next time you want to fix, try to connect instead.

We are not problems to be solved. We are people to be understood. Your job today is not to repair something broken. Your job is to connect with the alive, feeling person that you are. Start there. Just connect.

You are a garden, not a machine.

I want you to think of two things.

First, think of a machine. Think of a clock or a computer. It is made to do one job. It works the same way every time. If a part breaks, you have to fix it or the whole thing stops. It is about being perfect and exact.

Now, think of a garden. Think of a piece of land with dirt, and seeds, and plants. Some plants are big. Some are just starting. There might be a few weeds. Some spots might be empty. It is messy. It is alive.

For so long, I thought I was the first thing. I thought I was a machine. When I felt slow, I thought I was broken. When I had a bad day, I thought I needed a repair. I was always looking for the instruction manual to fix myself. I could never find it.

I was wrong. And if you have ever felt this way, maybe you are wrong about you, too.

You are not a machine. You are a garden.

This changes everything. A machine is built. A garden grows. Let me tell you what this means for you and me.

A garden has seasons. This is so important. In spring, things bloom. In summer, they grow strong. In fall, they let go. In winter, they rest. You have these seasons inside you, too. Your happy, busy time is your summer. Your tired, quiet time is not a break down. It is your winter. It is your time to rest. Winter in a garden is not a mistake. It is necessary. Your hard times are not you breaking. They are you resting, like winter.

A garden needs the right care. You cannot give a cactus the same water you give a fern. You are your own kind of plant. What you need is not what everyone else needs. I might need more time alone to grow. You might need more time with friends. My care looks different from your care. Your job is not to become like the plant next to you. Your job is to learn what you need. Do you need more sun? More water? More good food? More kindness? This is not fixing. This is tending. This is care.

A garden is always changing. A machine is supposed to stay the same. A garden is always growing, shifting, and becoming something new. A plant grows taller. It spreads seeds. It loses leaves. You are allowed to change, too. The person you were last year does not have to be the person you are today. Your feelings can change. Your dreams can change. This is not you being broken or lost. This is you being alive. You are growing.

When you see yourself as a garden, you see your “flaws” differently. A weed is not a sign of a bad garden. It is just a plant growing where you did not expect it. Maybe it is telling you something about the soil. A bare spot is not failure. It is just space waiting for a new seed.

So, how do we tend our garden? We do not use a hammer or a wrench. We use kindness and attention.

• We watch. We walk through our own heart and look. We notice what feels green and good. We notice what feels dry. We do this with curiosity, not anger.

• We feed. We give ourselves what helps us grow. This is real food, good sleep, quiet time, fun time, good words.

• We pull weeds gently. We let go of thoughts that hurt us, of habits that make us small. We do not hate the weed. We just make space for better things to grow.

• We wait. We do not shout at a seed to grow faster. We give it water and sun and time. We trust that growth happens in its own time.

I am learning to be my own gardener. Some days I forget. Some days I try to be a machine again. But then I remember. I am not made of metal and wires. I am made of life. My purpose is not to be perfect. My purpose is to be alive.

You are a living, growing world. Your worth is not in what you produce. Your worth is in your life itself—in your ability to feel the sun, to change with the seasons, to bloom in your own way.

We are all gardens. Some of us are wild. Some are neat. All are beautiful.

So, put down the tool box. Stop looking for the broken part. Pick up the watering can of your own care. Feel the warmth of your own kindness. You are not broken.

You are a garden. And you are growing, every single day.