In 2018, the high-stress, fast-paced, "boys club" of the banking world finally broke me. It wasn't a sudden crash; it was a slow, terrifying fade. I was a casualty of a productivity culture that demanded everything and gave nothing back but a hollow, frantic shell of a person. My body was screaming: my period had vanished (hypothalamic amenorrhea), I suffered chronic injuries from being undernourished and over-exercised, and an autoimmune flare turned every meal into an enemy.

For a long time, I’ve perceived a pressure of others’ unspoken expectations that I be perfect—whether in how I eat, behave, or live. When I faltered, this judgment felt magnified, feeding an inner dialogue of shame and self-criticism. Recognizing how I might unwittingly fuel these pressures myself has been part of my healing.

Perfectionism shows up for me as isolation, procrastination, restriction, and numbing out. It has held me back from expressing myself, deep connection, and fueled restrictive eating patterns, over-exercising, over-performing, and anxiety. 

It is distracting, self-sabotaging, and painful, and I am consistently working through it in my personal and professional journey.