The Battle I Fought in Secret

It started with a lie. Not the scandalous kind that unravels relationships or sends plot twists spiraling in a telenovela, but a quieter, more insidious one: “I’m fine.” I said it to friends, my mom, even to myself—but deep down, I wasn’t fine. I was floundering, stuck in what felt like an endless tug-of-war between who I thought I should be and who I actually was. It took me years (and several bowls of abuelita’s caldo) to realize I was wrestling with perfectionism—a sneaky little monster that had seeped into nearly every corner of my life.

This is the story of how I fought my secret battle and came out stronger on the other side. Spoiler: It didn’t involve becoming “perfect.” It involved learning that maybe—just maybe—perfection isn’t the point.

The Invisible Heavyweight: Perfectionism

Let’s be real: growing up in a Latinx household means you’re raised with some serious expectations. My parents used to joke that “A for Average” wasn’t an option. You strive, you hustle, you excel—it’s survival, sure, but also cultural pride. My abuela’s favorite phrase crescendoed in my teenage years: “Hazlo bien o no lo hagas.” Translation: Do it right, or don’t do it at all. What no one tells you is what happens when “doing it right” starts to feel like a moving target—one you can never quite hit.

It wasn’t just school. It wasn’t just work. My obsession with perfection spilled into relationships, too. If someone canceled a date? I’d replay every text, wondering what I had said wrong. If a relationship fizzled out early, I’d nitpick my (perceived) flaws like they were the closing credits of a biopic about my romantic failures. I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be vulnerable, to be human. No, I had to be unshakable: the platonic ideal of Ileana, flawless, shiny, and perfectly poised.

Spoiler alert: that Ileana didn’t exist. She was a meticulously crafted illusion, and maintaining her was exhausting.

The Myth of Having It All Together

Have you ever seen one of those insane Jenga towers that only barely holds together? That was me. From the outside, everyone saw a girl with her life “on lock.” I balanced deadlines and social commitments with practiced ease—or at least the polished version of ease I allowed people to see. But on the inside? Cracks were forming.

I distinctly remember one particular high school breakup that sent me spiraling. I told everyone we “mutually decided” things weren’t working. (Read: He ghosted me after the third date.) Instead of just grieving like a normal person, I became obsessed with decoding where I’d fallen short. Did I talk too much about my favorite Selena album? Should I have held off on sending that GIF of Elmo dancing? It became less about him and more about proving to myself—like a chaotic pop quiz—that I hadn’t failed.

That’s perfectionism’s cruel trick: it makes you think the problem is always you. That you can fix yourself into being lovable, successful, or whatever else you think you’re supposed to be. Spoiler: You can’t, and honestly, you shouldn’t have to.

Breaking Free: The Wake-Up Call I Didn’t Expect

Like many moments of clarity, mine didn’t arrive in some grand, epiphany-laden swirl of enlightenment. Nope. It happened over a tofu taco at my favorite food truck, in the middle of a humid Houston summer. A friend (bless her bluntness) said, “You know perfection isn’t relatable, right? People wanna see you, not this curated version of some Pinterest board person.”

At first, I laughed it off. But that night, with the AC whirring in the background and the soft glow of my Saltillo-tile lamp, I reflected on just how much of my identity I’d tied to being “flawless.” And for what? Did the effort ever make me happier? More connected? More loved?

That was the moment I decided to say goodbye to Perfectionist Ileana. Or at least start evicting her. Spoiler: she fought back.

Lessons I Learned on the Road to Self-Acceptance

Confession: letting go of the need to be perfect isn't like flipping a switch. It’s more like cleaning up after a party—you go slow, tackle one corner at a time, and occasionally find things you forgot you existed (hello, emotional baggage bongos). Here’s what helped me along the way:

  1. Let People In (Even If You Feel Messy)
    Vulnerability might as well have been a four-letter word in my house growing up. But I’ve learned that the people who matter don’t need you to have all the answers. I started sharing my insecurities with trusted friends (shoutout to my taco confidant) and discovered it didn’t make them love me less. If anything, it brought us closer.

  2. Stop Editing Yourself
    There was a time I’d agonize for hours over just the right text to send someone I was dating. Every emoji placement felt like it carried the weight of a Nobel Peace Prize. When I stopped overthinking and started being me, the right people stuck around. The wrong ones? Hasta la vista.

  3. Kill Comparisons with Kindness
    Every time the ugly perfectionism voice creeps in—She’s more successful, more lovable, more whatever,—I try to redirect. Compliment that person, support them, celebrate their wins. The act of building others up somehow softens those sharp-edged insecurities.

  4. Embrace the Screwups
    Once, I accidentally FaceTimed a crush mid-Saturday morning while wearing a face mask made entirely of mashed papaya. I wanted to crawl into my abuela's dresser and never come out, but guess what? He thought it was adorable. Turns out, people don’t need you to act like a robot—they want someone real (papaya mask and all).

The New Standard: Progress, Not Perfection

Here’s what I’ve finally come to accept: life isn’t a test you can ace. It’s messy and unpredictable, like Gloria Trevi hair circa 1994. I still get things wrong. I still scroll through my Instagram feed and wonder if I’m doing enough. And sometimes I hear the faint whisper of that old perfectionist voice. But now, I remind myself of something truer: "enough" has nothing to do with perfect. It's about effort, heart, and showing up authentically.

My secret battle wasn’t glamorous—it didn’t come with a movie-worthy montage or an Instagrammable “A-ha!” moment. But it taught me that sometimes, the most meaningful fights aren’t waged against others; they're fought within yourself. And let’s be honest: the wins feel so much better when they’re messy, flawed, and undeniably you.

Go be your imperfect, wonderful self. You’ve got this.