When Doing Your Best Starts Feeling Like It Has to Be Perfect

Virgo season is here, and as a Virgo, I feel like it is only appropriate that I talk about perfection.

Or, more honestly, my complicated relationship with it.

I have always cared deeply about doing things well. I notice details. I think ahead. I can see what something is now and what it could become with enough attention, work, and care. These qualities have helped me build so much of what Next Step Dance has become.

They have also made me incredibly afraid of getting something wrong.

Up until this point, I have truly believed in the decisions I have made for Next Step. I still do. I believe in the program we are building, the values behind it, and the opportunities we are creating for our dancers. I believe in our teachers. I believe in our families. Most importantly, I believe in our kids.

But something changes when the thing you have been working toward begins to succeed.

Success at Next Step is not something I measure only through scores, trophies, enrollment numbers, or the number of routines we bring to a competition. I see it when new dancers walk through our doors because they have heard that this is a place where they might belong. I see it when families trust us with their children. I see it when a dancer becomes more confident, finds a friend, tries something difficult, or discovers that they are capable of more than they thought.

We are attracting new dancers and new families—not only to our Performance Team, but throughout the studio. The program is growing. People are paying attention. What we are creating is working.

There is also something vulnerable about becoming the person you once only imagined you might be. It is one thing to believe you are capable of building something meaningful. It is another to look around and realize that people believe in what you have built—and that they believe in you. Sometimes I am not afraid because I think I cannot do this. I am afraid because I am beginning to understand that I can. And now I feel the pressure to continually live up to the person everyone seems to see.

And somehow, instead of allowing me to feel completely secure, that success has sometimes made me more afraid.

There is a voice in my head that asks, “What if you mess it up now?”

What if I make the wrong decision? What if I disappoint someone? What if I overlook something important? What if the other shoe drops and I discover that I was never as capable as everyone believed I was?

I know that voice is not telling me the truth. Deep down, I know I am not doing an awful job. There are far more happy families, growing dancers, meaningful moments, and reasons to be proud than there are challenging interactions. Really, it is not even a matter of having “unhappy people.” Most of the time, there are simply unhappy moments—and every growing organization, family, team, and community will have those.

But negative moments can be loud.

A kind message may warm my heart for the afternoon. A critical one can keep me awake at night. A dancer leaving can make me question dozens of dancers choosing to stay. One person’s disappointment can temporarily become louder than all the evidence that something beautiful is being built.

When those voices become too loud, I start believing that I need to make the best decision instead of my decision. I search for the perfect answer—the one that keeps everyone happy, prevents every misunderstanding, gives every child exactly what they need, and guarantees that no one will ever feel disappointed.

That decision does not exist.

There is no perfectly balanced schedule. There is no casting decision that gives every dancer everything they want. There is no amount of communication that can prevent every misunderstanding. There is no way to lead a growing program without occasionally looking back and realizing that something could have been handled differently.

And there is no way to help children grow without allowing them—and ourselves—to experience mistakes, disappointment, uncertainty, and change.

I tell our dancers that perfection is not the goal. Growth is!

I tell them that corrections do not mean they are failing. Mistakes do not mean they do not belong. Another dancer’s success does not diminish their own. I want them to understand that commitment is not about being flawless. It is about continuing to show up, remaining open to learning, and doing the next right thing when something is difficult.

I believe all of that for them.

I am realizing that I need to believe it for myself, too.

My life looks very different today than it did when I first stepped into Next Step. I am living on my own. I am raising my children, running the studio, and making decisions while learning what it means to rely on myself in an entirely new way. There is freedom in that, but there is also weight.

There is no one else standing beside me to absorb the uncertainty or reassure me that I made the right call. Sometimes that makes every decision feel more permanent and every mistake feel more personal.

But perhaps this season is not asking me to become someone who never gets it wrong.

Perhaps it is asking me to become someone who trusts herself enough to make the most aligned decision she can, remain open when new information arrives, and repair something when it needs repairing.

That is also what I want to model for our dancers—and for my own children.

I do not want them to believe that being worthy means always knowing the answer. I do not want them to become so afraid of disappointing someone that they abandon their own judgment. I do not want them to confuse criticism with failure or believe that making a mistake erases everything they have done well.

I want them to care deeply without carrying everything.

I want them to pursue excellence without believing they must earn love through achievement.

I want them to listen, learn, adjust, and still trust themselves.

If that is what I want for them, then I have to practice it where they can see it.

Next Step Dance does not need a perfect leader. It needs a present one. Our dancers need someone who believes in them, thinks carefully about the decisions that affect them, listens when something is not working, and remains brave enough to keep building.

I can be thoughtful without being consumed by every possible outcome. I can take feedback seriously without allowing one difficult moment to rewrite the entire story. I can acknowledge that I will not always get everything exactly right without questioning whether I am the right person to lead.

Maybe that is my work during this Virgo season: not caring less, but trusting myself more.

Not finding the perfect decision, but making the most aligned one.

Not waiting for the other shoe to drop, but allowing myself to stand inside something successful and recognize that I helped build it.

And not asking myself to offer perfection to our dancers, our families, my children, or this studio—but continuing to offer them my attention, my honesty, my willingness to grow, and my whole heart.

Maybe that is enough.

Maybe it always has been.