High Achieving, Anxious, and Burnt Out? Same.

A neurospicy look at masking, burnout, and the part of you that's trying to be perfect.

I have a perfectionist part.

Maybe you do, too.

Mine is sharp, fast, and constantly alert. It knows how to read the room. It picks up on unspoken expectations and wants me to be ready—flawless, if possible. It believes in me. It knows I can do hard things, and it pushes me to succeed, to be impressive, to exceed the standard. It’s gotten me through school, work, and social spaces—always nudging me to perform in ways that help me blend in or earn praise.

And honestly? It’s helped me survive. It’s helped me thrive, even. It keeps me safe.

This part isn’t cruel on purpose. It’s trying to protect me. It developed for a reason. Maybe it showed up when I learned that mistakes had consequences—embarrassment, punishment, rejection. Maybe I was seen as “too much” or “not enough.” Maybe I learned early that success equaled love, or that being easy, good, or impressive was the path to belonging.

This part took notes. It watched. It learned. It adapted.And for a long time, it worked.

But it also comes at a cost.

My perfectionist part often operates through shame. It keeps me awake at night, replaying something I said. It floods me with anxiety when I notice a typo or forget a detail. It won’t let me rest—because rest feels dangerous. Like falling behind. Like letting someone down. It doesn’t leave much room for my full, messy, authentic self.

Instead, I find myself in cycles of people-pleasing and performance—striving to be the version of me others might like best.

For many neurodivergent folks—whether autistic, ADHD, or both—perfectionism doesn’t show up in a vacuum. It’s not vanity. It’s not about being “the best.” It’s often a survival strategy. A response to living in a world that hasn’t always felt safe to be different in.

Perfectionism can become part of the mask: hiding parts of ourselves to appear “normal,” or going above and beyond in social settings to make sure we’re doing it “right.” Our thinking becomes black-and-white, trapping us in a reality where “good enough” doesn’t exist and the only options are perfection or failure. Over time, our perfectionist part internalizes chronic rejection or correction as a belief that being ourselves—our imperfect, messy, human selves—simply isn’t acceptable.

When perfectionism becomes our armor, we learn to hide our needs, dull our edges, and overcompensate. We become exceptionally good at hiding our struggles, presenting a shiny, polished surface to distract from the reality that we don’t actually have it all together. We become high-achieving, hyper-aware, and deeply self-critical.

And sometimes, we build an identity around the very thing that’s burning us out.

Because perfectionism, for all its promises, is exhausting.

It’s painful.

It’s impossible.

It’s unsustainable.

And yet—letting go of it can feel terrifying.

What happens if we allow ourselves to be human? What if people see our flaws and change their minds about us? What if we’re misunderstood, or fall short, or lose the relationships or opportunities that perfection once protected?

These fears aren’t irrational. They often come from real, lived experiences—times we weren’t safe to be imperfect. So we hold perfectionism tightly. Not because we want to—but because we don’t yet feel safe to loosen our grip.

But what if there’s a middle path?

What if we don’t try to eliminate our perfectionist part, but instead learn to understand it? Build a relationship with it? Invite other parts of ourselves to speak up, too?

Parts that know how to rest.

Parts that are playful, creative, or curious.

Parts that value growth over performance.

Parts that trust we are still worthy, even when we make mistakes.

Because when perfection is the only goal:

• We don’t celebrate what we’ve accomplished—we only see what’s missing.

• We lose access to creativity and learning—because those require room to experiment, mess up, and try again.

• We risk projecting that same pressure outward—expecting others to meet impossibly high standards, and feeling resentful or disconnected when they don’t.

• We spend our energy avoiding imperfection instead of living fully—with joy, flexibility, and presence.

Perfectionism may have been necessary.It may have been wise.It may have saved you.

But it doesn’t have to drive anymore.

You are allowed to be a whole person.You are allowed to rest.You are allowed to take up space—even when you’re messy, tired, or unfinished.

You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy.

You never did.