Perfectionist Book Novels & Stories

I met her gaze and casually said, “I needed a break.” “From . . . reading your files?” she drawled. I nodded. “And you chose to read that?” I turned the book to read its title—ten ways to know you’re doing it right. Of course, I had to pick this. ‘Ten ways to know you’re a narcissist’ would’ve suited this piece of shit better. No one would’ve expected me to pick up that. I shrugged, crossing a leg over the other and flipped through the pages. “Being perfect takes a lot of effort.”

“I’m glad that you are ready to take a step forward in your life and on your own terms. That’s great progress worthy of a celebration, Martin.” “Don’t be too happy about this, though. I’m prepared to be rejected by multiple firms, but I think it’s better than not even trying.” “What is the reason for this decision?” “I just want her to be proud of me. Celine, I mean. I want to be a perfect person for her.” Martin said. He always thinks about Celine when it comes to his life decisions. “Martin, do you know that another enemy is your perfectionism?” He frowned immediately when he heard that.

Her brilliant insights during discussion, her flawless answers during the tests, the faultless work she always complete ahead of time and the very essence of perfection within her! Everything she did, she was praised, no matter how stupid it was. She was like their perfect little angle. No, more like the devil who wrapped them in her pretty little finger! She was always first while I, a second-rate. I tried my best to compete and even tried to assassinate and frame her, but that witch was the embodiment of perfection! The audacity of that b*tch!

I should have finished writing it before I started publishing. As the stress of writing new chapters and publishing it before you began to lose interest in waiting, while trying to be a good, responsible mother to my ASD 3 year old boy, the stress of trying to write expressive, well written, spelling and grammatically mistake free (English is not my native language btw) chapters at the expense of taking a longer time to publish between chapters, was all getting to me. I realized too late, that if I wanted my book to be perfect in every way (because I'm also a keen perfectionist and when I want something done, I want it to be perfect) I should have finished it first.

writes of this in her book The Gifts of Imperfection: “Healthy striving is self-focused: ‘How can I improve?’ Perfectionism is other-focused: ‘What will they think?’ Perhaps your childhood caregivers were emotionally distant, physically or verbally abusive, or set impossible standards. Perhaps you were bullied at school. Perhaps you felt as though you never measured up in our competitive comparison culture. Or perhaps you can't pinpoint an explanation. You just know you feel insecure and unworthy, and that leads you to count on others for reassurance that you matter and belong.

the difference I truly wanted to make on the world. “I know you don’t have a background in this sort of world, but I’ve seen you rise to every challenge you have been placed with so far at RU and I truly believe you would be the perfect fit for this.” Glenn spoke with ease. “I believe you are a perfect fit as well.” Will spoke up. I almost forgot he was here in the mist of all this. “You genuinely care about our invention. You put so much time and effort into it, that honestly you would be the only one I would trust to run a charity for RU’s humanity projects. You would know more than anyone else in our entire office, besides Dad and I.”

In her mind, no one was truly perfect in this world. The so-called perfect person should not eat or drink and be capable of doing everything. That was called true perfectionism. Only gods should be so perfect. Were they gods? Weren't they just like humans like everyone else? Yet they pretended to be perfectionists. Julien found her huffing look cute, and he couldn't help but pinch her cheek. It felt tender and good. "Radical, indeed," Julien echoed. As a model husband, he needed to support his wife.

“What do you see? Because all I see right now is emptiness.” “Put enough imperfections together and, eventually, you will achieve perfection. But even then, perfection is all about perspective. Maybe you and Ivan and your imperfections will make the kind of perfect you both need.” She cupped my cheeks and kissed the top of my head. “Sit here, drink wine, and I will go and call my pain-in-the-arse twin to make sure he’s not taking a hammer to a door or something.”

Because I had spent my entire life surviving inside systems that pretended to be perfect institutions, families, organizations, all claiming flawless operation while hiding fundamental flaws. And I knew one truth better than anyone, deeper than any training or conditioning could teach. Perfection doesn't hesitate, not ever. The moment it does, It's already broken, already compromised beyond recovery. I didn't rush toward that weakness immediately, didn't attack the opening with aggressive force. Didn't attack at all in that instant. Because this wasn't about speed anymore, not about who could move fastest or hit hardest. This was about timing, about choosing the exact right moment to exploit

The fear of disappointing others. The familiar instinct to become “better” before allowing themselves rest appeared again. But this time— the pattern paused. Breathed slowly. And whispered internally— “What if love was never supposed to require constant self-erasure and perfection to survive?” Pain moved softly through the network. Not failure. Release. My chest tightened sharply. “That’s why perfectionism becomes emotionally suffocating.” “Yes.” “Because people begin living as though one flaw could erase all their worth.” Exactly. And perhaps many souls remain emotionally imprisoned because they confuse self-improvement with self-permission to finally be loved.