Growing up as a Black woman, I absorbed a message early and often: you have to be twice as good to get half as far. This wasn’t just advice—it was a survival strategy, a necessary armor in a world that would scrutinize my every move with heightened intensity. But what I didn’t anticipate was how deeply this mindset would root itself in my psyche, growing into a relentless pursuit of perfection that would both propel and paralyze me.
The Weight of “Twice as Good”
The burden of excellence isn’t just about working harder—it’s about the crushing weight of representation. When you’re often the only one, or one of few, in spaces where you’re striving to succeed, every mistake feels magnified. Every stumble becomes not just your own, but a reflection on everyone who looks like you. This pressure transforms ordinary challenges into anxiety-inducing ordeals.
I found myself overthinking every decision, every email, every presentation. Where others might see a simple task, I saw a test of my worthiness. The panic would set in whenever something wasn’t perfectly polished, whenever I couldn’t guarantee a flawless outcome. Problems became catastrophes in my mind, and solutions felt impossible unless they were absolutely perfect.
The Perfectionism Trap
This pursuit of perfection became a prison of my own making. I would start projects with enthusiasm, but as they neared completion, I’d find endless flaws to fix, endless ways to make them better. I told myself I was being thorough, professional, excellent. But really, I was afraid—afraid that anything less than perfect would confirm the doubts others might already harbor about my capabilities.
The irony is that this perfectionism, born from a desire to prove myself, often prevented me from sharing my best work at all. Projects would remain unfinished, ideas would stay trapped in my mind, and opportunities would slip by while I chased an impossible standard.
The Power of Imperfect Sharing
But here’s what I’ve learned, often through painful trial and error: people don’t want perfection. They want connection. They want authenticity. They want to see the messy middle, the false starts, the lessons learned in real-time.
When I finally started sharing my struggles, my process, my imperfect journey, something beautiful happened. People responded not with judgment, but with recognition. They saw their own struggles reflected in mine. They found value not in my polished conclusions, but in the questions I was wrestling with, the obstacles I was navigating, the small victories I was celebrating along the way.
Your Journey Has Value Right Now
There’s immense power in sharing your story as it unfolds. The lessons you’re learning today, the challenges you’re facing right now, the progress you’re making—however incremental—these have value. They have the power to help someone who is one step behind you on a similar path.
We often feel we need to be the expert, to have all the answers, to prove our worth through flawless execution. But expertise isn’t just about having arrived at the destination—it’s also about being able to guide others through the journey.
Permission to Be Human
I’m learning to give myself permission to be human. To share before it’s perfect. To show my work, not just my results. To let people see the struggle alongside the success.
This doesn’t mean lowering standards or accepting mediocrity. It means recognizing that growth happens in the open, that connection happens through vulnerability, and that sometimes the most profound impact comes not from being perfect, but from being real.
To my fellow Black women carrying this same burden: your voice matters now, not just when you’ve figured it all out. Your perspective has value today, not just when you’ve reached some imagined finish line. Your journey—with all its imperfections, uncertainties, and work-in-progress moments—deserves to be shared.
The world needs to hear from you, exactly as you are, exactly where you are.
Because sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is show up imperfectly and trust that our authentic story is enough.
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