Growing up, I was obsessed with being “perfect.” That word lit up my world. When my parents praised my grades and called them perfect, I felt proud. When teachers complimented my homework using the same word, I felt accomplished. When friends admired my outfits and called them perfect, I felt seen.

I worked hard to live up to that word. I chased it, convinced that perfection was the ultimate goal. But somewhere along the way, I began to wonder: What is perfection, really?

According to Oxford Languages, perfection is “the condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.” But aren’t flaws the very things that drive creativity? That spark debate, push innovation, and give us purpose? Aren’t they the reason we grow?

Maybe flaws aren’t so bad after all.

Yet today, I notice more and more people chasing an illusion of perfection—not the kind defined in a dictionary, but one shaped by society’s expectations. A life that looks perfect. A job title that sounds impressive. A face or body that fits a narrow mold.

I’ve been there too. After my divorce, I shut myself down. I avoided people, skipped gatherings, and distanced myself from family—not because I didn’t love them, but because I was ashamed. My marriage had failed, and that felt like the opposite of perfect. Looking back, I regret those lost moments deeply. I missed milestones, laughter, connection—all because I was chasing an illusion.

A few years ago, my cousin brought his girlfriend home to meet the family. She was beautiful, kind, smart, and had earned admission to one of the top universities in our city. I thought to myself, he’s lucky to have her. But later, my mom told me his father disapproved—because her parents were divorced. He believed that children of divorced parents are more likely to end up divorced themselves. I was shocked. Knowing she came from a divorced home made me admire her more, not less. The fact that she had still prioritized her education, worked hard, and succeeded spoke volumes about her strength and resilience. It broke my heart that her worth was dismissed—not based on who she was, but on what society says a “perfect” family should look like.

I’ve seen this pattern too often. I’ve seen others do the same: stay in toxic marriages to maintain the image of a perfect family. Go through painful surgeries to fit someone else’s definition of beauty. Dismiss their blessings while reaching for more, because society tells them they aren’t enough yet.

And I’ve seen parents mourn because they have only daughters, or only sons, forgetting how miraculous it is to have healthy, smart children at all.

Don’t get me wrong—there’s nothing wrong with striving, with dreaming, with wanting more. Sadness is part of life. But when we let the pursuit of perfection consume us, we risk losing the very things that make life meaningful.

Imperfection is life. It’s what makes us human. It’s what makes our stories unique. We often dwell on the past, wishing things had turned out differently, perfectly. But every path—flawed or not—holds beauty and purpose.

We’re scared to try because we fear failure. We hold back from love because we fear heartbreak. But failure brings lessons. Breakups prove we’ve loved—and what a gift that is, to love and be loved.

So, dear reader: I hope you are brave.

Brave enough to live fully—even if it means feeling pain. Even if it means failing a thousand times. Even if it means losing someone you love. Because behind the tears and the heartbreak, there is also joy, hope, and love.

And maybe that’s what truly makes life perfect.