Does perfectionism power your fear of speaking up?

Yesterday I killed eight full minutes polishing one email line. Literal minutes: back-space, rewrite, add emoji, delete emoji. By the time I hit send the thread had already ended and my heart was sprinting like I’d just seen a ghost. If that feels way too familiar, stick around. We’re going to poke at the awkward link between perfectionism and the “oh gosh, please don’t make me speak” feeling. Spoiler: you’re not broken. You’re just running a combo of mental apps that crash under pressure. Let’s clean them up.

when perfect becomes a muzzle

Perfectionism looks cute on a résumé but it can wreck real-life conversations. Here’s what usually happens:

1. You plan to share an idea.

2. A tiny inner critic pops up with “Make it flawless or everyone will think you’re clueless.”

3. You stall. Seconds stretch. The room moves on.

4. Anxiety spike. Cue sweaty palms and regret loop.

The problem isn’t that you lack good thoughts. It’s the all-or-nothing filter you force them through. Perfectionism turns speaking into performing, and performance demands flawless notes. That’s a heavy lift when your brain is already juggling social anxiety.

what perfectionism is doing under the hood

Quick brain science snapshot (promise, no heavy jargon). Social anxiety lives in the amygdala, the “danger detector.” Perfectionism feeds it premium fuel: catastrophic thinking. “If I trip over one word I’ll look stupid” feels like life-or-death to that part of the brain. So it fires up fight-or-flight and you freeze.

Meanwhile your prefrontal cortex, the part that edits language, tries to craft a bulletproof sentence. Under stress it slows down. Now you’re stuck: danger sirens blaring, speech engine crawling. Hello, silence.

Understanding this loop matters because it shows the fear isn’t random. It’s a glitchy code path we can tweak.

tiny experiments to make talking feel safer

Forget grand gestures. We need small wins that prove “good enough” won’t get you exiled from the group chat.

• Voice-note roulette. Record a 30-second voice memo about literally anything - your lunch, last night’s dream - then send it to a trusted friend before listening back. No retakes. You’ll live, and your brain gets evidence that imperfect words do not explode phones.

• Three-edit max. When typing, allow only three edits before hitting send. Use your fingers to count. At edit four, you must launch. This sets a physical boundary your perfectionism can’t negotiate around.

• Low-stakes mic. Volunteer one sentence in a meeting where you’re not the owner. Even a quick “I agree with Sarah” counts. The goal is reps, not brilliance.

• Cringe journal. End each day jotting the most awkward thing you said. Rate the real-world fallout on a 1-10 scale. You’ll notice the dial rarely passes 2. Data beats dread.

Pick one experiment. Run it for a week. Keep score like a lazy scientist: just tally attempts, not perfection.

building the “B-minus” muscle

Creativity coach Brooke Castillo jokes about aiming for B-minus work. The grade sounds meh but it gets submitted. We need that vibe. Try these upgrades:

• Turn “Make it perfect” into “Make it useful.” Utility beats polish in fast-moving chats.

• Set micro-deadlines. “I’ll raise my hand by the count of five.” After five, you lose the option to stay silent.
• Reward speed, not style. Treat yourself with something tiny - song break, stretch, meme scroll - each time you speak up quickly. Pavlov but make it self-care.

  Consistency turns these hacks into habit. Once your brain sees that nothing catastrophic follows B-minus output, the amygdala chills and words flow easier.

  wrapping up

  Perfectionism and social anxiety love to tag-team. One whispers “do it flawlessly,” the other screams “or don’t do it at all.” The fastest way to break them up is through messy, repeated action. Tiny, imperfect, possibly cringey action.

  Start with one experiment today. Send the shaky voice note, raise your hand for the easy question, press send after the third edit. Every small win teaches your nervous system a new story: “I can talk, stumble, and still be safe.” Stack those wins and soon speaking up won’t feel like walking a tightrope - it’ll feel like strolling across your own living room. You’ve got this.