The first rule of secret battles? You don't talk about them. I mean, isn’t that the whole point? But here I am, breaking the rule for a good reason. Because the truth is, we all carry our fair share of inner chaos—the stuff we don’t dare air out, the embarrassing (yet oh-so-human) struggles we sweep under the rug. Mine? It involved a quiet war with perfectionism that nearly torpedoed my ability to love, even when love was staring me right in the face.
So grab your cafecito—or a matcha latte if that's more your speed—and let’s dive in. Trust me, it’s a story worth sticking around for.
When Love Meets Laundry Lists
Imagine this: you’re on a date. He’s funny, charming in that effortless way, and puts extra guac on his tacos without flinching at the upcharge (a true king). But instead of leaning into the chemistry, you find yourself nitpicking the tiniest things. His jeans are a tad too skinny. He laughed a little too hard at his own joke. And—wait—how did he pronounce "charcuterie" again?
If you’ve ever found yourself mentally crossing people out for the tiniest deviations from a “perfect partner checklist,” then, mi amiga, you’re familiar with the enemy I faced.
For me, this tendency came wrapped in a shiny box of cultural expectations. Like many daughters of immigrant parents, I’d heard messages growing up that shaped my ideas of what a “good partner” looks like: someone responsible, stable, driven (bonus points if he’s already handy with a hammer). And while those qualities matter, somewhere along the way, I’d weaponized them into a checklist that no one—not even Ryan Gosling in full “Notebook” mode—could pass.
It wasn’t just about other people, though. My perfectionism was a two-sided sword, cutting into me just as much. Relationships, in theory, demand vulnerability, but opening up felt like walking on a wobbly tightrope with no safety net. Would someone still see me as lovable if I wasn’t balancing all my running-too-fast plates? (Spoiler alert: yes.)
The Hot Mess Moment of Truth
The wake-up call struck like lightning one night at Abuela’s kitchen table, where all my most dramatic “aha moments” happen. My mom had just retold the story of how my parents met: two twenty-somethings with zero savings, zero stability, and—let’s be real—zero business tying the knot by today’s standards.
“Tu papá,” she said, stirring her café con leche, “He didn’t have much, but he made me laugh. And that’s the secret.” Then she laughed, I rolled my eyes, and suddenly…it hit me.
I’d been so obsessed with what relationships were supposed to look like, I forgot what they were supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t come from a checklist. Love isn’t about someone hitting all your marks or blending perfectly into your world—it’s about two messy people building something entirely their own.
Cue abrupt, awkward silence as I marinated in this revelation. Plus, the smell of burnt ropa vieja, because, of course, I’d let it simmer too long. Perfectionism strikes again.
Rewiring the Brain: A Work in Progress
Sitting with the truth was one thing. Undoing decades of perfectionist tendencies? That was harder than teaching Abuela to use Netflix. But I started small. I made one decision at a time, questioning my instincts along the way.
Here’s how I chipped away at it:
1. I stopped “nexting” people.
Guilty of mentally swiping left on someone mid-conversation (even outside of the dating apps)? Same. But then I’d think: Am I rejecting this person for something real—or because my inner critic feels like calling the shots today? That voice isn't always right, you know.
2. I created space for imperfection.
There’s a Cuban saying I love: El que no tiene dinga, tiene mandinga. Roughly translated, we all have our quirks. Accepting someone else’s flaws also meant letting myself be a little “mandinga” too. I wasn’t perfect; why should I demand that from someone else? Side note: I now consider snort-laughing a green flag instead of a crime punishable by exile.
3. I embraced the gray.
The thing about perfectionism is that it thrives in absolutes—black and white thinking. He’s either perfect for me or not it. Instead, I started asking myself: “What’s in the middle? What feels real here?” Spoiler: that’s usually where the magic happens.
4. I tuned into the vibe.
Does this person feel kind, patient, fun to laugh with over takeout on a lazy Friday night? If yes, that “vibe check” overruled everything else. Wouldn’t you pick shared belly-deep laughter over perfectly ironed shirts, anyway?
The Lessons Worth Keeping
I’ll be real: nobody changes overnight. I still have moments where my critical brain tries to hijack otherwise-good dates or talks too loudly when I’m debating whether I said the “wrong thing” in front of my partner. But you know what? I’ve got the tools now, and they’re rooted in grace—for others and, most importantly, for myself.
If you’re waging your own silent war (no matter what it looks like), here’s what I want you to remember:
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The Little Things Matter Less than You Think.
No one’s going to remember your partner’s pronunciation of “charcuterie” in 10 years. It’s the feelings they leave you with, not the quirky details, that stick. -
First Impressions Can Be Misleading.
Real connection often grows over time, like that marinated lechón that tastes better the next day. You’ve got to give it the chance to deepen. -
Your People Will See You, Flaws and All.
If someone truly loves you, they see the glorious chaos that you are and think, “Yep, I’m in.” Let them in.
The Last Cafecito Sip
Here’s what I want you to take away: there’s no such thing as a perfect person or a perfect relationship. The way I see it, love is like my mom’s ropa vieja—it gets messy, it takes time, but in the end, it’s always worth it. So let go of the checklist, embrace the imperfection, and trust the process.
And the next time your date mispronounces something or awkwardly tries to salsa dance with two left feet? Smile. Laugh. Lean into the moment. After all, perfection is overrated. Salsa lessons, however? Those are a must.
