Why I Stopped Apologizing For Being A Recovering Perfectionist

For much of my life, perfectionism looked like ambition from the outside. It appeared as preparation, reliability and a high standard of care. I was the person who checked the wording twice, rehearsed an answer before speaking and felt responsible for keeping every room comfortable. Yet underneath that polished surface was a persistent fear: if I made a mistake, disappointed someone or failed to appear in control, I might lose my place.

I am still recovering from that way of living. I say “recovering” because perfectionism is not a switch I can turn off after one brave conversation. It is a habit built through years of approval-seeking, overwork and self-criticism. The difference now is that I can recognise it, challenge it and choose a healthier response. I have stopped apologising for being a recovering perfectionist because growth does not require me to pretend I have never struggled.

When Perfectionism Disguises Itself As Professionalism

Broadcasting rewarded many of my perfectionist instincts. Live television demands preparation, quick thinking and a willingness to keep going when something unexpected happens. Viewers may see a calm presenter, while the person in the studio is processing a late script change, a technical problem or an interview that has taken an emotional turn. Competence matters in that environment, and I am proud of the standards I developed.

The trouble began when a professional standard became a personal condition for feeling safe. A small stumble could seem enormous. I might replay a sentence long after a programme had finished, wondering whether I had sounded foolish or let someone down. A public mistake felt like evidence against my character rather than a normal part of working in public.

That distinction matters for women especially. We are often encouraged to be capable, warm, organised and easy to work with at the same time. If we are direct, we may worry that we appear difficult. If we make a decision quickly, we may soften it with an apology. If we succeed, we may explain how lucky we were. Perfectionism can become a socially acceptable way to stay small while appearing conscientious.

The Cost Of Saying Sorry Too Often

I used to apologise for things that did not require an apology: taking up time, asking for clarity, needing a boundary or having an opinion. “Sorry” became a reflex rather than a meaningful expression of regret. It slipped into emails, meetings and conversations because I had learned to manage other people’s possible discomfort before checking whether I had done anything wrong.

In Australia, where an easygoing manner and a quick “no worries” can help people connect, excessive apologising can hide in plain sight. A relaxed workplace does not mean every request should be softened until it disappears. Whether I am speaking at a corporate event in Sydney, joining a panel in Melbourne or working with a team in Brisbane, I have a responsibility to communicate clearly. Warmth and confidence can exist in the same sentence.

A genuine apology is powerful when it acknowledges harm and takes responsibility. An unnecessary apology can transfer responsibility in the opposite direction: it asks me to carry the emotional weight of somebody else’s impatience, disappointment or preference. I have learned to replace “Sorry to bother you” with “Do you have a moment?” I can say “Thank you for waiting” instead of apologising for a delay that was outside my control.

When a mistake is mine, I want to address it with honesty rather than panic. My reflections on recovering from mistakes have taught me that grace is practical. It means naming what happened, correcting what can be corrected and refusing to turn one imperfect moment into a verdict on my entire life.

What I Am Learning To Accept

Recovery has involved separating excellence from perfection. Excellence gives me direction; perfectionism gives me an impossible finish line. One invites care and focus. The other insists that no amount of preparation will ever be enough. I can aim for high-quality work without demanding that every detail be flawless or that every person approve of me.

The shift is easier to see when I compare the old pattern with the one I am practising now:

This does not mean I have become careless. I still prepare for interviews, respect deadlines and take my commitments seriously. If I am hosting an event, I want the room to feel considered, the transitions to work and the audience to feel included. My television and events work reflects that commitment to professionalism, while reminding me that live work can never be completely controlled.

There is freedom in leaving some space for the human element. A speaker may lose their place and find it again. A conversation may take an unexpected path. A plan may need to change because someone is unwell, a flight is delayed or a family responsibility intervenes. Australian life makes that reality visible: a long commute across Sydney, a sudden Melbourne weather change or the pressure of end-of-financial-year deadlines can disrupt even the most carefully arranged day.

Why Recovery Is A Form Of Strength

For years, I thought strength meant managing everything quietly. I associated resilience with endurance: keep performing, keep smiling and keep the difficult feelings private. Now I understand resilience as a more active practice. It includes noticing when a coping strategy has become harmful and having the courage to replace it.

That can involve therapy, honest conversations, rest and boundaries. It can mean declining an opportunity that looks impressive but would push me beyond capacity. It can mean admitting that a particular season has been difficult rather than presenting a tidy version of events. Women’s wellbeing is often discussed as though we simply need better time management. Sometimes the deeper need is permission to stop treating exhaustion as proof of commitment.

I also pay closer attention to the language I use with myself. If a colleague made the same mistake, would I call them hopeless? If a friend needed more time, would I accuse her of being weak? Perfectionism thrives on a double standard in which everyone else deserves compassion and I must earn it through flawless behaviour. Challenging that standard has become part of my everyday work.

This matters in professional settings as well. Leaders who never acknowledge uncertainty can create cultures where people hide problems until they become expensive or dangerous. A manager who can say, “I got that wrong; here is what I am doing next,” models accountability without humiliation. In Australian workplaces, from national organisations to small businesses, that kind of candour can make teams more adaptable and more willing to speak early.

Making Room For A More Honest Life

I have stopped apologising for being a recovering perfectionist because the phrase tells the truth. I am not claiming to have mastered self-acceptance. I am saying that I have moved from shame towards responsibility. I am responsible for my choices, my words and the impact of my actions. I am not responsible for meeting an imaginary standard that changes whenever I get close to it.

There are still days when the old voice returns. It may appear before a keynote, after a difficult conversation or when I see somebody else succeeding in a way I wish I could. On those days, I try to pause before reacting. Is an apology needed? Is this fear offering useful information, or is it demanding reassurance? What would I do if being liked were not the measure of whether I had done the right thing?

These questions help me stay connected to my values. I want to be prepared without being consumed by preparation. I want to be ambitious without using achievement to prove my worth. I want to support women who are rebuilding confidence, changing direction and making room for their own wellbeing. That includes women balancing work and family in Perth, navigating a new opportunity in Adelaide or building a business from a spare room in regional Australia.

The most important change is that I no longer see imperfection as a failure to become the person I should have been. It is part of being a person who is learning. A missed detail, an awkward sentence or an imperfect decision can be addressed without becoming a permanent identity. When I release the need to apologise for that process, I have more energy for the life I am actually here to lead.