In a world where perfection often feels like the only acceptable standard, it’s easy to forget that growth, creativity, and self- comion can flourish in the spaces where imperfections exist.
For me, art has become that space—a quiet refuge where mistakes aren’t failures, but part of the process. It’s where anxiety takes a backseat, and I’m reminded not everything needs to be perfect to be meaningful.
Every student is familiar with the tight grip of anxiety that comes with school. However, for some, the weight of perfectionism turns that pressure into something much heavier, pressing down with a force that feels almost unbearable.
Perfectionism shapes every corner of my life, whispering that nothing is ever quite enough. It manifests in sleepless nights spent obsessing over every assignment, detail, or word. The constant pursuit of flawlessness leaves little room for mistakes or moments of self-comion. It drives me to push harder, to do more, even when my body and mind are screaming for a break.
The fear of failure looms large, and with it, the suffocating belief that if I’m not perfect, I’m not worthy. This relentless drive to be flawless doesn’t just affect my grades—it seeps into my relationships, my sense of self, and every choice I make, leaving me exhausted and uncertain.
Thankfully, I found art. Every day, I carve out time—whether during lunch breaks or just before bed—to immerse myself in a creative outlet. This hour, free from the pressure of perfection, allows me to let go of my relentless pursuit of flawlessness and embrace the beauty of imperfection.
I love to paint with music in the background, letting the ethereal, melancholic tones of The Cranberries or the soulful, nostalgic melodies of Neil Diamond set the mood and inspire the colours and textures I use.
Beyond this, I love inviting my close friends for paint nights—a joyful, messy, and creative way to bond over bursts of colour, shared laughter, and the freedom to let our imaginations run wild.
As I sketch, paint, or write, my mind is focused entirely on the act of creation, drawing me away from spiraling thoughts and depressive freezes. Through the fluidity of expression, I find a space where mistakes aren’t failures, but opportunities for growth.
When my sister and I were younger, we painted together all the time. However, those weren’t exactly peaceful moments. I found it so frustrating when my brush refused to cooperate with the vision in my head. Meanwhile, her paintings always turned out amazing—like museum-worthy amazing—and I’d sit there stewing in jealousy. It wasn’t just painting either, she was better at sketching, writing—basically anything creative. I was convinced my art looked like a doodle from a napkin while hers belonged in a frame on the wall.
It wasn’t until this year I finally made peace with my inner perfectionist and started finding joy in the wonderfully messy process of creating art. Now, I actually love knowing that if I set out to paint something, it’ll probably turn out completely different from what I imagined—and that’s half the fun. It’s become less about chasing perfection and more about soaking up the calm, happy moments of just putting brush to canvas and letting it all flow.
Many of us are at a time in our lives where academic success often feels like the ultimate measure of worth—which is why engaging in an activity that values the process over the result is so important. Art teaches us that the beauty lies in the journey, not in achieving an unattainable ideal.
For me, it often feels like I have no control over anything, but art has become a way I can have control over what’s on the page that’s entirely mine, free from judgment or a score.
When I create art, it helps me distance myself from the emotions I’m feeling in the moment. It’s like I gain a sense of control over the situation, making it easier to manage my anxiety. During the process, I can focus on the artwork itself rather than being overwhelmed by the emotions, and that shift really helps me regain a sense of balance.
I’m far from being Vincent van Gogh or Leonardo da Vinci, and honestly, I’m nowhere near an artistic expert. But that’s exactly where the comfort lies. I’ve come to with the fact that I won’t master painting or drawing, and that’s okay. This acceptance has become a powerful lesson—teaching me that perfection isn’t necessary for growth, and I don’t need to be flawless at everything to enjoy it.
Tags
All final editorial decisions are made by the Editor(s) in Chief and/or the Managing Editor. Authors should not be ed, targeted, or harassed under any circumstances. If you have any grievances with this article, please direct your comments to [email protected].