Breast Cancer Diaries - Perfection Is Fear

I haven’t written a blog since I was diagnosed with breast cancer in September of 2023. Now, one year later, I am officially done with treatment, and as the doctors say, there is “no evidence of disease.”

Chemo and cancer steal any trust you have in your body; they also take your muscles, balance, nerves, eyesight, brainpower, and so much more.

Since finishing treatment, I’ve had two doctor’s appointments. Both were met with an overwhelming number of tears and an immense amount of fear. I realized I will never have a “normal” doctor’s appointment again. The question “What if it’s cancer?” will always be on my mind.

I fear every lump, bump, bruise, cough, or pain that could mean my body is unwell again. My logical brain knows this too shall pass and the fear will subside with time, but in those moments, trauma takes hold.

They—meaning the doctors and the amazing people who’ve walked this path before me—say life will return to normal, in time. 

Patience has never been my thing, especially not with myself. I have always expected my body to keep going no matter what.

I spent my entire life powering through everything, no matter how sick, how tired, or how little time I had. I kept going, and most (if not all) of the time, I was working 14 -16 hours a day or doing things for other people. 

 If I'm being honest, most of what I did for others was rooted in a fear of rejection—fear of not being liked or being abandoned. I didn’t want to feel like the damaged, broken, poor kid, and, in a strange way, people-pleasing helped me feel worthy.

I gave more of myself and my life to everyone but me.

So where am I, one year from diagnosis, smack dab in the middle of Breast Cancer Awareness Month? I’m working on letting go—letting go of what I think society wants from me, letting go of people pleasing and where I think I “should” be in life and after cancer. I’m letting go of the workaholic mentality, letting go of hustle culture.

I’m learning how to love myself for who I am, scars and all. I’m learning, at fifty-six, how I want my next chapter to unfold and what I truly want from this one life we each have the privilege to live.

I’m working on forgiveness, healing my body and mind. I’m working on giving myself time and patience—two things I have never given myself before.

Part of me wants to be back out in the world, working hard and building an empire, yet I crave being alone in the mountains. 

I’m watching the world move quickly around me, and some days, I can’t move from the couch. I'm torn between letting my body and brain do what they need and going out into the world, pretending everything is back to normal.

I’m getting comfortable in my new skin, comfortable with new breasts, all while resisting the urge to lash out at people who say, “At least you got a boob job out of it.” 

I’m accepting the anger of “Why me? This happens to other people, not me.”

I’m moving through this place of finding perfect health, grieving the life I had before breast cancer, and fearing that I’m not doing enough to keep the cancer away. 

I move daily between gratitude and happiness, and sadness and grief. I dance between feeling my emotions and running as far as I can from them in pursuit of feeling normal again.

I’m on a quest to achieve perfect health to keep cancer away. Then I ask myself, *What does perfection mean? Why am I striving so hard to be “perfect”?

It’s because of fear. Fear can often be a driving force behind some of the choices we make in life.

Perfection can be wrapped in a neat package that looks like motivation, hard work, or status. When you unwrap it, it’s fear—fear of not fitting in, fear of being alone, fear of being wrong, fear of not being liked, fear of making a mistake, fear of looking stupid. 

For me, perfection is all of that, with the icing on top of achieving perfect health, fear of my cancer returning, fear of not getting my life back, fear that I’m being lazy, fear of forever losing my motivation, and so much more.

According to Merriam-Webster, perfection is defined as:

- Freedom from fault or defect – flawless  

- The quality or state of being saintly  

- An exemplification of supreme excellence  

- An unsurpassable degree of accuracy or excellence  

- The act or process of perfecting  

These definitions paint a picture of something impossible. Perfection isn’t about supreme excellence; it’s about fear.

For many, the idea of being perfect can be suffocating; it’s an invisible weight we carry around daily. We think, “If I can just get it right, if I can be perfect, then I’ll be worthy.” But is that a true story,  or the story we tell ourselves?

If we dig deep into the desire for perfection, what are we really trying to achieve? What lies beneath this relentless drive? Is it fear of judgment? Fear of failure? Maybe it’s the fear that without perfection, we won’t be good enough for the world, we will never be loved, seen, or accepted for who we are.

Perfectionism now revolves around my health. After enduring a yearlong battle with stage 2a HER2-positive breast cancer, I feel an overwhelming need to achieve "perfect" health. 

This quest is not freeing or empowering; it’s exhausting, heavy, and a pressure that weighs on me 24 hours a day. The fears can be paralyzing. Which means negative self-talk creeps in: “Why can’t I get this right? Why do I keep screwing up? Why don’t I care enough?”

Perfection is a deep-seated fear saying, “If you don’t get this right, if you don’t achieve perfect health, your cancer will come back.” Which makes the stakes feel impossibly high.

It’s easy to feel like you’re walking a tightrope, where one misstep could unravel all the hard work you’ve done.

There are moments when I feel frozen, spending hours researching, seeking the “right” answers—the perfect diet, treatment plan, lifestyle. In this search, I forget to live. I forget that life has nothing to do with perfection, and that getting cancer wasn’t my fault.

The pursuit of perfection isn’t just overwhelming—it’s impossible. There is no such thing as perfect health, a perfect life, perfect job, perfect partner, or a perfect body. Bodies change, health fluctuates, and nothing is guaranteed. 

Perfectionism creeps into every corner of our lives—our careers, relationships and appearance. We chase this idealized version of ourselves, forgetting to appreciate the real, raw, and beautifully imperfect people we are. 

The pursuit of perfection can rob us of joy in the journey, keeping us stuck in a cycle of self-doubt, procrastination, and inaction, all driven by the fear of not measuring up to who we think we should be.

Maybe the question isn’t how to achieve perfection, but how to release ourselves from its grip.

What if, instead of striving for perfection, we embraced our imperfections, our messy moments, our mistakes? What if we gave ourselves grace?

For me, the journey out of perfectionism has been slow, and I’m still on it. Every day, I remind myself that it’s okay to not have it all figured out. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to rest.

In a world that glorifies perfection, it’s an act of self-love to let go of the impossible standards we place on ourselves and embrace who we are, imperfections and all.

Because it’s in those imperfections where we find our strength, resilience, and beauty. So, let’s redefine what perfection means—not as flawlessness, but as courage. Having the courage to show up as our whole, authentic selves, complete with fear and flaws. That, to me, is the definition of perfect.