Why Does Perfectionism Make Postpartum So Much Harder?

It's 3 PM and you've tried to leave the house six times today. First attempt: diaper blowout that required a complete outfit change (for both of you). Second attempt: the baby finally fell asleep in your arms and you couldn't bear to wake them. Third attempt: spit-up down your shirt. Fourth attempt: forgot the diaper bag. Fifth attempt: baby screaming the moment you got to the car. Sixth attempt: you realized you still haven't showered, you haven't eaten anything but cold coffee and half a granola bar, and your partner won't be home for another three hours.

You sit on the couch, baby finally beginning to settle, and the thought hits you: "What am I doing wrong? Why can't I do this simple thing? Other mothers manage to leave their house."

As a Registered Clinical Counsellor and Occupational Therapist specializing in perinatal mental health, I've spent over 14 years helping new parents understand that this struggle isn't a personal failing. It's what happens when perfectionism collides with the unpredictable reality of caring for a newborn.

As your day comes to a close your brain begins scanning the day for signs of productivity, signs that you accomplished something. A heavy feeling of defeat settles inside you. But here’s the data your brain isn’t picking up on: you successfully changed a blowout diaper, chose your baby's need for sleep over your agenda, cleaned spit-up, reorganized the diaper bag, soothed a distressed infant, and kept a tiny human alive and regulated all day. You didn't fail six times. You responded to six different needs with attunement and care. The problem is that none of those things can be checked off a list or measured as "productive," so your nervous system (trained to value achievement over presence) registers them as failures instead of the profound caregiving work they actually are.

Research shows that perfectionism significantly increases the risk of postpartum depression and anxiety, particularly in women who were high-achievers before motherhood. When your brain is wired to measure worth through visible accomplishment, the invisible, relentless work of caring for a newborn feels like treading water instead of swimming forward.

In my years working with perfectionistic new parents, I've helped hundreds discover that the problem isn't their inadequacy. It's that they're measuring the wrong things. Those six "failed" attempts to leave the house represent deep, meaningful work that perfectionism has trained you not to see or value. This isn't about lowering your standards. It's about understanding what's actually happening so you can recognize the extraordinary amount you're already doing, even when it doesn't feel like enough.

Why Does Perfectionism Hit So Hard During Postpartum?

Perfectionism hits hard during postpartum because the essential work of caring for a newborn (feeding, soothing, responding, regulating) is invisible, unmeasurable, and never complete. Your nervous system, trained to measure worth through visible achievement and task completion, interprets this constant, responsive caregiving as "getting nothing done" when you're actually doing the most demanding work of your life.

When Achievement-Based Worth Meets Invisible Labor

For most of your life, worth was probably measured in tangible ways: grades on report cards, performance reviews, completed projects, promotions, praise from authority figures. Your nervous system learned a clear equation: effort plus achievement equals worth, safety, and connection.

Then you have a baby.

Suddenly, you're working harder than you ever have, but nothing feels "finished." You feed your baby, and two hours later they're hungry again. You change a diaper, and minutes later there's another one. You soothe them to sleep, and they wake thirty minutes later. The work is constant, essential, and completely invisible to the achievement-tracking part of your brain.

Why Caregiving Doesn't "Count" to Your Perfectionist Brain

Your nervous system was shaped in environments where productivity meant visible outcomes: a clean house stays clean, a finished presentation stays finished, a completed project earns recognition. Caregiving operates on an entirely different logic. You can spend twelve hours feeding, changing, soothing, and responding, and at the end of the day, there's no tangible "product" to show for it.

The house is still messy (or messier). The laundry isn't done. The emails are unanswered. Your perfectionist brain scans the environment for evidence of accomplishment and finds none, because it's looking for the wrong things.

Meanwhile, you've done extraordinarily complex work: read your baby's cues, regulated two nervous systems simultaneously, made hundreds of micro-decisions, demonstrated flexibility and attunement, and kept a vulnerable human alive. But none of that "counts" in the measurement system you grew up with.

The Scoreboard Problem: What Gets Measured vs. What Matters

Perfectionism creates an internal scoreboard that's constantly running in the background. Before parenthood, this scoreboard probably served you well. It tracked progress, motivated achievement, and gave you clear feedback about your worth and competence.

In postpartum, that same scoreboard becomes a source of constant distress. It measures:

• Tasks not completed

• The "shoulds" you didn't accomplish

• Ways other mothers seem to be doing it better

• Everything on your mental list that didn't happen

What it doesn't measure:

• The number of times you responded to your baby's needs

• The moments you chose attunement over agenda

• The invisible labor of constant decision-making

• The profound work of keeping another human regulated and safe

• Trying to raise an unpredictable human while deeply exhausted

The scoreboard isn't broken. It's just measuring the wrong game.

Recently, I had a client show up to our counselling session and I could read the exhaustion and worry on her face. My first question was, “How are you doing as a human today in this moment?” Hers eyes widened, thinking of how she was doing was not something that had been top of mind since before she had a baby. Tears came to her eyes. “I’m not good. I cannot get anything done. My partner comes home and the dishes are still in the sink and I haven’t showered. I feel terrible and exhausted.”

We spent a session actually tracking what she did in one day: fed her baby eight times, changed twelve diapers, soothed through three crying episodes, did tummy time, responded to approximately forty different cues, took a walk while managing an unexpected diaper situation, chose her baby's need for contact napping over her need to shower, and made hundreds of small decisions about feeding, soothing, and caregiving.

"That's not nothing," I told her. "That's expert-level responsive caregiving. Your brain just wasn't trained to recognize it as valuable work."

I often tell my clients: you've spent your whole life learning that worth comes from visible achievement. But the most important work of early parenting (regulating your baby's nervous system, responding to their cues, offering your presence) doesn't show up on any list. Your brain interprets this as 'nothing' when it's actually everything.

What Does Postpartum Perfectionism Actually Look Like?

Postpartum perfectionism shows up as mentally cataloging everything you didn't accomplish, comparing yourself to mothers who seem to "have it together," feeling like you're failing despite being exhausted, rigid adherence to routines that don't match your baby's needs, and the constant background anxiety that you're not doing enough, even when you haven't stopped moving all day. Studies show that "perfectionistic concerns”, the fear of being judged or making mistakes, are a significant risk factor for postpartum distress. It’s a biological and psychological reality, not a personal flaw.

The Mental Tally: Counting What Didn't Get Done

This is the voice that runs constantly in the background, particularly in those quiet moments when your baby finally settles. Instead of resting, your brain immediately starts the inventory:

"I didn't shower. The dishes are still in the sink. I didn't return that text. The thank-you notes aren't written. I meant to meal prep. The nursery is a mess. I haven't sent photos to my family. I didn't do tummy time enough. The laundry is piling up. I still haven't scheduled that pediatrician appointment."

Notice what's missing from this list? The forty times you responded to your baby's needs. The diaper blowout you managed calmly. The moment you figured out a new cry meant gas, not hunger. The way you adjusted your whole day around your baby's sleep needs.

Your brain doesn't tally these because they don't fit the "task completed" model. They're responsive, ongoing, and never finished, which makes them invisible to the perfectionist scorekeeper.

Comparison as Self-Punishment

You see another mother at the grocery store with a calm baby, looking put-together, and your brain immediately creates a story: "She's doing it right. I'm doing it wrong. What does she know that I don't?"

You scroll Instagram and see perfectly curated nurseries, mothers in clean clothes, babies sleeping peacefully. Your brain doesn't register that you're seeing a two-minute snapshot of someone else's entire day. It only registers: "They can do this. Why can't I?"

Comparison, for the perfectionist, isn't curiosity or inspiration. It's evidence-gathering for the case against yourself.

When Your Baby Won't Follow the "Perfect" Plan

You've read the books. You've researched the "best" methods. You've created the ideal routine. And your baby... doesn't care about any of it.

They won't sleep in the crib despite following the exact steps. They won't eat on the schedule the book recommended. They cry during the "perfect" bedtime routine you carefully designed.

For the perfectionist, this feels like failure. "I'm doing everything right. Why isn't it working?" The answer is: babies are humans, not problems to be solved through the right formula. But your achievement-oriented brain struggles to accept that some things can't be perfected, only responded to.

The Exhausted-but-Failing Paradox

This is perhaps the most painful manifestation of postpartum perfectionism: you're working harder than you ever have in your life, you're bone-deep exhausted, and you simultaneously feel like you're not doing enough. Burnout is a result of a chronic imbalance. For perfectionists, the "demand" of an impossible standard is what often tips the scale toward exhaustion.

You've been "on" for twelve hours straight (feeding, changing, soothing, responding) and when your partner comes home and you finally sit down, your first thought isn't "I worked so hard today." It's "I didn't accomplish anything today."

You're running on empty while your brain insists the tank should be full.

The Breastfeeding Struggle

A client came to me at six weeks postpartum, completely depleted. She hadn't slept more than three consecutive hours in six weeks. She was touched out, overstimulated, and her baby screamed every time she tried to nurse.

She'd imagined breastfeeding would be natural and bonding. Instead, every feeding attempt left them both dysregulated. Her pediatrician had gently suggested introducing a bottle so the baby could eat and she could get some rest. But in her mind, this felt like complete failure.

"I can't even feed my baby," she told me, crying. "This is the most basic thing. What's wrong with me that I can't do this?"

Here's what we uncovered: the rigid breastfeeding plan wasn't even hers. It was what she thought she was "supposed" to do. What "good mothers" do. She'd dismissed every signal from her body (exhaustion, overstimulation, depletion) because her perfectionist brain insisted she should be able to push through.

We slowly worked on self-permission. What if her needs mattered too? What if being regulated herself was actually the most important thing she could offer her baby?

She started with one bottle a day so her partner could do a feeding and she could sleep for four consecutive hours. Then two bottles. Her nervous system started to settle. She had capacity to be present instead of white-knuckling through every interaction.

"I kept thinking I was failing my baby by not breastfeeding," she told me weeks later. "But once I let go of that rigid plan and prioritized getting regulated myself, everything shifted. My baby is calmer. I'm calmer. I can actually be present now instead of just surviving."

Regulated parent equals more regulated baby. But perfectionism tells us that our needs don't matter, that we should be able to override our nervous system's depletion signals. Learning to prioritize her own regulation wasn't selfish. It was the foundation for everything else.

How Does Perfectionism Affect Postpartum Mental Health?

Perfectionism significantly increases risk for postpartum depression and anxiety by creating a constant state of perceived inadequacy despite enormous actual effort. When you're working harder than you ever have but your brain only registers what didn't get done, you end up chronically depleted, self-critical, and unable to recognize the profound caregiving work you're doing every single day.

The Invisible Labor, Visible Self-Criticism Loop

Here's what this loop looks like in real time:

You spend all day doing invisible caregiving work: feeding on demand, changing diapers, soothing, responding to cues, making micro-decisions, adjusting plans based on your baby's needs. This work is constant, demanding, and essential.

But at the end of the day, your environment tells a different story. The house is messy. The dishes aren't done. The laundry is piling up. There's no visible evidence of productivity.

Your perfectionist brain looks around, sees only what didn't happen, and concludes: "I didn't do enough today." This triggers self-criticism: "Why am I so incompetent? Why can't I manage basic tasks? Other people do this."

The self-criticism depletes your nervous system further. You start the next day already running on empty, with even less capacity. And the loop continues.

The cruel irony? The more responsive and attuned you are to your baby (the better you're actually doing at the essential work of parenting), the less you "accomplish" in ways your perfectionist brain recognizes. You end up punishing yourself for doing good caregiving work.

When Effort No Longer Predicts Outcomes

For most of your life, effort probably yielded predictable results. Study harder, get better grades. Work more hours, earn the promotion. Practice more, improve the skill. Your brain learned: effort in, achievement out.

Babies don't work this way.

You can do everything "right" (follow the schedule, read all the books, implement all the techniques) and your baby still won't sleep. Or eat. Or stop crying. Some days you try really hard and things are still hard. Other days you're barely functioning and somehow things go smoothly.

For the perfectionist nervous system, this is deeply destabilizing. If effort doesn't equal outcomes, then how do you know if you're doing well? How do you measure success? How do you earn the sense that you're "good enough"?

This uncertainty (this loss of the clear effort-achievement pathway) can trigger significant anxiety. Your brain keeps trying to find the formula, the perfect approach, the right answer. And when it can't, it concludes that you must be the problem.

Isolation: Too Ashamed to Admit You're "Not Coping"

Perfectionism thrives in isolation. When you believe you should be handling everything flawlessly, admitting struggle feels like admitting failure.

You see other mothers who appear to be managing. You assume they're not struggling the way you are. You think, "If I tell someone how hard this is, they'll know I'm not cut out for this."

So you don't reach out. You don't ask for help. You don't share how depleted you feel or how much you're struggling. You keep trying to handle it all on your own because that's what "good mothers" do.

This isolation deepens the depression and anxiety. Not only are you depleted, but you're depleted alone, without the support and validation that could help you recognize that what you're experiencing is both normal and incredibly difficult.

Research shows that social support is one of the most protective factors against postpartum depression. But perfectionism actively prevents you from accessing that support because it tells you that needing help equals inadequacy.

Depleting Yourself While Feeling Like You're Not Doing Enough

This might be the cruelest aspect of postpartum perfectionism: you can be simultaneously exhausted and feel like you haven't done enough. These two truths exist at the same time, creating cognitive dissonance that's deeply destabilizing.

Your body knows you're depleted. You're running on broken sleep, you haven't eaten a full meal sitting down, you've been holding or feeding or soothing for hours. You're physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted.

But your brain is running a different program. It's scanning for evidence of productivity and finding none. It's comparing you to an impossible standard. It's tallying all the things you didn't do.

So you end up with this painful split: a body that desperately needs rest and a brain that insists you haven't earned it yet.

This painful split between a depleted body and a brain that insists you haven't earned rest is one of the clearest signs of parent burnout. (Read more about why you feel like you're running on empty and how to rebuild your capacity.)

Can I be burned out if I'm still functioning?

Absolutely. High-functioning burnout is extremely common in parents. You continue meeting responsibilities, showing up for your family, and maintaining the appearance of coping while feeling empty and exhausted internally. The fact that you're still functioning doesn't mean you're not depleted. It often means you're very skilled at pushing through, which can actually deepen the burnout over time.

The "What Did You Do Today?" Question: I worked with a client whose partner would come home each evening and ask, with genuine curiosity, "How was your day? What did you do?"

She described this question as triggering complete shame spirals. She'd spent all day meeting her baby's needs, feeding on demand, doing contact naps so the baby would actually sleep, bouncing and walking and soothing through the witching hour, changing endless diapers, managing a blowout that required an outfit change and a wipe-down of the car seat.

But when her partner asked what she did, she'd look around at the messy house, the unwashed dishes, the dinner she hadn't started, and feel crushing inadequacy. "Nothing," she'd say. "I didn't do anything today."

Her brain genuinely believed this. She couldn't articulate the hundreds of micro-decisions and responses that had filled every single minute because none of them resulted in a tangible, visible outcome.

Her partner wasn't trying to criticize, he genuinely wanted to hear about her day. But the question itself highlighted the gap between the enormous work she was doing and her brain's inability to recognize it as work.

We practiced having her answer differently: "I fed the baby eight times, changed twelve diapers, held her for three hours of contact naps because that's what she needed, and kept her safe and regulated all day. That's what I did."

The first time she said this out loud, she cried. "When I say it that way," she told me, "I realize I actually did a lot. But it doesn't feel like it in my body."

Perfectionism tells you that struggling means failing, so you end up doing an extraordinary amount of invisible work while simultaneously believing you're inadequate. This creates a devastating loop: the more responsive you are to your baby, the less you 'accomplish' in ways your brain recognizes, which triggers more self-criticism, which depletes your nervous system further. You're not actually failing. You're just measuring the wrong things.

Why Can't I Just "Let Go" of Perfectionism and Enjoy This Time?

You can't simply let go of perfectionism because your nervous system learned that visible achievement equals worth, safety, and love. When well-meaning people tell you to "just enjoy this time" while you're drowning in invisible labor that your brain doesn't recognize as valuable, it adds shame on top of the existing struggle. Letting go requires rewiring deeply embedded neural patterns, not willpower.

Why "Enjoy Every Moment" Advice Misses the Point

"Enjoy every moment they grow up so fast!"

"You'll miss this someday."

"These are the best years of your life."

If you're a perfectionist struggling in postpartum, these well-meaning comments land like accusations. You hear: "You should be enjoying this. What's wrong with you that you're not?"

Here's what this advice misses: you can't access joy when your nervous system is in constant threat mode. When your brain is running a continuous assessment of your inadequacy, when you're scanning for all the ways you're failing, when you're depleted beyond measure, there's no bandwidth left for savoring moments.

Telling someone to "just enjoy it" is like telling someone who's drowning to "just appreciate the beauty of the water." The problem isn't that they're not trying hard enough to enjoy it. The problem is they're in survival mode.

For the perfectionist, the inability to "enjoy every moment" becomes another item on the list of failures. Not only are you not accomplishing enough—you're also not feeling the right feelings. You're failing at motherhood AND failing at gratitude.

Perfectionism as Nervous System Protection

Perfectionism isn't a personality flaw or a character weakness. It's a strategy your nervous system learned to keep you safe, loved, and connected.

For many perfectionists, the pattern developed early. Maybe you had a parent whose love felt conditional on achievement. Maybe you grew up in an unstable environment where being "perfect" meant less chaos. Maybe you learned that being the "good kid" earned you praise, attention, and connection that you didn't get otherwise.

Your brain learned: achievement equals safety. Visible productivity equals worth. Doing everything right means you're lovable.

This pattern probably served you well for a long time. It helped you succeed in school, launch your career, navigate relationships. Your perfectionism was your superpower.

Then you have a baby, and suddenly this protective strategy doesn't work anymore. The harder you try to do everything perfectly, the more depleted you become. But letting go feels terrifying because at a deep, nervous system level, it feels like risking your safety and worth.

You can't just "let go" of a pattern that your nervous system believes is keeping you alive and loved.

The Grief of Losing Your Achievement Identity

Before you became a parent, you probably had a clear sense of who you were, and that identity was likely built at least partially on achievement and competence.

"I'm the person who gets things done." "I'm reliable and capable." "I'm the one people can count on." "I excel at everything I commit to."

Then you have a baby, and suddenly you're not that person anymore. Or at least, it doesn't feel like you are.

You can't get things done in the way you used to. Tasks that once took an hour now take all day (or don't happen at all). You feel unreliable because you can't predict when your baby will sleep or need you. You can't excel at something that doesn't have clear metrics or finish lines.

This loss of your achievement-based identity is a genuine grief. You're not just adjusting to having a baby. You're mourning the version of yourself who knew how to measure her worth through accomplishment. (If this resonates, you might find it helpful to read more about why you still don't feel like yourself since becoming a mom and why that's actually a normal part of matrescence.)And there's no cultural acknowledgment of this loss. Everyone celebrates the baby's arrival, but no one talks about the death of your pre-baby identity and the disorienting wilderness of not yet knowing who you're becoming.

What's Really Underneath: Worth, Control, and Fear

When you dig beneath the surface of perfectionism, you usually find some version of these core fears:

Worth: "If I'm not accomplishing things, am I valuable? If I'm not productive, do I deserve to exist?"

Control: "If I can just do everything right, then I can control the outcome. If I can control the outcome, I'll be safe."

Fear: "If I let go, if I stop trying so hard, if I'm not perfect, everything will fall apart. I'll be rejected. I'll be too much or not enough. I'll lose connection."

These aren't conscious thoughts most of the time. They're the operating system running in the background, driving your constant striving.

A baby disrupts all of these. You can't earn a baby's love through achievement—they love you for your presence, not your productivity. You can't control a baby's needs or schedule or temperament—you can only respond. And the fear that everything will fall apart? It hasn't come true, even though you're not doing everything perfectly.

But knowing this intellectually doesn't change the nervous system pattern. That requires something different than understanding. It requires repeated experiences of: "I didn't do it perfectly, and I'm still okay. My baby is still okay. I'm still worthy."

Double Shame: I worked with a client who described feeling "shame on top of shame." First, she felt shame for not accomplishing enough during the day, the house was messy, she hadn't showered, she'd survived on crackers and cold coffee.

Then, she'd scroll through social media or talk to her mother, and the message would be clear: "Enjoy every moment! They're only little once! You'll miss this!"

And she'd feel a second wave of shame: "Not only am I not doing enough, I'm also not feeling the right way about it. I should be savoring this. What kind of mother am I that I'm not treasuring every second?"

She was actually doing beautiful, attuned caregiving work contact napping so her baby would sleep, feeding on demand, responding to every cue. But she couldn't access any sense of satisfaction or joy because her nervous system was in constant threat mode, scanning for inadequacy.

The advice to "enjoy it" didn't help her enjoy it. It just added another thing she was failing at.

The Achievement Identity: Another client described what she called "the before and after versions" of herself.

Before-baby version: Ran a team of fifteen people, closed major deals, worked out five days a week, maintained an organized home, responded to emails within hours, felt competent and capable.

After-baby version: Couldn't manage to shower before noon, lived in the same sweatpants for three days, felt completely out of control, couldn't complete a single thought without interruption.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she told me. "Everything that made me 'me' is gone."

What she couldn't see yet was that she was becoming a different kind of competent. She was learning to read her baby's cues, to respond with attunement, to adjust her expectations based on actual capacity. She was developing an entirely new set of skills. But because those skills didn't match her pre-baby measurement system, they felt like loss rather than growth. Her grief was real, she was mourning the death of an identity that had served her for thirty-plus years.

When I ask perfectionistic clients what would happen if they stopped trying to do everything perfectly, they often say 'I'd be a bad mother' or 'everything would fall apart.' But here's the truth: you're already doing the essential work beautifully. Your baby is fed, safe, regulated. What would actually happen if you let go of the mental scoreboard is you'd finally be able to see and value what you're already accomplishing.

What Actually Helps Perfectionistic Parents During Postpartum?

What helps most is learning to recognize and value invisible caregiving work, redefining "productive" to include responsive parenting, and building nervous system capacity to tolerate the discomfort of unfinished tasks. This means naming the six times you met your baby's needs instead of only seeing the one errand you didn't run. It's about shifting what you measure, not eliminating standards.

Naming the Invisible Work Out Loud

The first step is making invisible work visible by literally saying it out loud.

This feels awkward at first. You might feel silly narrating your day to yourself. But naming the work changes how your nervous system processes it.

Instead of: "I didn't get anything done today."

Try: "Today I fed my baby eight times. I changed twelve diapers. I soothed them through three crying episodes. I chose their need for sleep over my need to shower. I responded to approximately forty different cues. I kept them safe, fed, clean, and regulated for twelve hours straight. That's what I did today."

Notice what happens in your body when you say this. For most perfectionists, there's an initial resistance ("but that's just basic caregiving, it shouldn't count"), followed by a subtle shift. When you actually list the work, it's harder for your brain to dismiss it as "nothing."

Practice this at the end of each day. You don't have to believe it fully yet. Just practice naming what you actually did instead of what you didn't do.

Redefining "Productive" that Prioritizes Caregiving

Your brain needs a new definition of productivity, one that includes responsive, relational work rather than only task-completion.

Old definition: Productive means completing tasks that create visible outcomes. Productive means checking things off a list. Productive means measurable achievement.

New definition: Productive means responding to the needs in front of you with presence and attunement. Productive means keeping yourself and your baby regulated. Productive means making thoughtful decisions based on actual capacity rather than idealized standards.

This redefinition won't happen overnight. Your nervous system has decades of conditioning in the old model. But you can start to practice the new one.

When you spend an hour holding your sleeping baby instead of putting them down to do dishes, practice thinking: "I'm being productive. I'm regulating my baby's nervous system and meeting their need for connection."

When you choose the easier version of a task (takeout instead of cooking, leaving the laundry for tomorrow, asking your partner to handle bedtime), practice thinking: "I'm being productive. I'm managing my capacity strategically so I don't completely deplete myself."

The goal isn't to convince yourself that you're being productive in the old sense. It's to expand what "productive" means to include the profound work you're actually doing.

The End-of-Day Reflection Practice

This is a structured practice specifically designed to help perfectionists shift from deficit-counting to recognition of actual work.

Each evening, before bed, take two minutes to complete these three prompts:

1. "Today I kept my baby safe/fed/regulated by..." List specific actions. "I fed them eight times. I changed ten diapers. I responded when they cried. I chose contact napping so they'd actually sleep."

2. "Today I chose attunement over agenda when..." Name the moments you adjusted your plans based on your baby's needs. "I planned to go to the store but they needed to sleep. I was going to make dinner but they needed to be held. I wanted to shower but they needed to nurse."

3. "Today I had enough capacity for..." This one is crucial. Instead of listing what you didn't have capacity for, name what you did have capacity for. "I had enough capacity to stay mostly regulated when they cried. I had enough capacity to feed them on demand. I had enough capacity to be gentle with them even when I was exhausted."

This practice isn't about positive thinking or gratitude journaling. It's about literally retraining your nervous system to measure different things.

Most perfectionists resist this practice initially. It feels self-indulgent or like "lowering the bar." But it's actually the opposite. It's raising your awareness of the profound work you're doing that your measurement system was trained to ignore.

Building Tolerance for "Incomplete"

One of the hardest things for perfectionists in postpartum is that nothing is ever finished. There's always another feeding, another diaper, another need. The work is cyclical and endless.

Building tolerance for this requires practice with small, low-stakes incompleteness.

Start here: Choose one task per day that you intentionally leave incomplete.

• Leave the dishes in the sink overnight

• Don't fold the laundry, just leave it clean in the basket

• Send the text without editing it three times first

• Let the bed stay unmade

• Order takeout instead of cooking

The point isn't the specific task. The point is practicing the discomfort of "incomplete" and noticing that nothing terrible happens.

Your nervous system will probably trigger anxiety. "But it needs to be done. But it's not finished. But it's not right." Let that anxiety be there without trying to fix it immediately. Notice it, name it ("this is my nervous system's discomfort with incompleteness"), and choose not to respond to it.

Over time, with repeated practice, your nervous system builds tolerance. The anxiety lessens. You develop capacity to hold the discomfort of unfinished tasks without immediately trying to complete them.

This is the foundation for accepting that early parenthood is inherently incomplete. There will always be something undone. Building tolerance for that reality is more sustainable than constantly trying to finish everything.

When and How to Seek Support

If you're experiencing any of the following, it's time to seek professional support:

• Persistent thoughts of self-harm or harming your baby

• Inability to sleep even when your baby sleeps

• Panic attacks or overwhelming anxiety that interferes with functioning

• Feeling detached from your baby or unable to bond

• Intrusive, distressing thoughts that won't go away

• Feeling like you're "going through the motions" but not really present

• Complete loss of interest in things that used to bring you joy

• Persistent feelings of hopelessness or despair

These symptoms suggest postpartum depression or anxiety that needs more than self-help strategies. Perfectionism can make it especially hard to ask for help, but these are medical conditions, not personal failures.

When seeking support, look for providers who:

• Specialize in perinatal mental health

• Understand how perfectionism complicates postpartum adjustment

• Offer concrete, capacity-based strategies (not just "be kind to yourself")

• Address both the practical and emotional aspects of your struggle

If you're experiencing these symptoms alongside chronic exhaustion and feeling like you have nothing left to give, you may be dealing with parent burnout, which requires specific capacity-building support.

The "Hard Mode" Conversation

One of my clients shared a conversation that became a turning point for her.

It was 8 PM. She was mentally running through everything she hadn't finished that day while simultaneously trying to wind down. She was doing the mental math: laundry tomorrow, prep lunches tonight, respond to those texts, order the thing she forgot, plan the next day's schedule.

Her husband looked at her and said: "You don't always have to do everything on Hard Mode."

She was immediately offended. "How can you not see everything I'm doing right now?" she thought.

But he clarified: "I do see everything you're doing. That's exactly the point. You're choosing the hardest possible version of every task. You're making elaborate meals when sandwiches would work. You're handwashing things we could put in the dishwasher. You're doing everything the long way. You're allowed to do things on Easy Mode."

It took her a while to hear this without defensiveness. But eventually she realized: he wasn't criticizing her effort. He was pointing out that she was depleting herself unnecessarily by always choosing the most difficult path.

She started experimenting with "Easy Mode" for one task per day:

• Monday: Ordered takeout instead of cooking

• Tuesday: Left dishes overnight

• Wednesday: Did one load of laundry instead of all of it

• Thursday: Texted "can we reschedule?" instead of forcing herself to make plans

• Friday: Stayed in pajamas all day

The world didn't end. Her baby was fine. She had slightly more capacity. And gradually, her nervous system started learning: "Easy Mode is safe. I don't have to earn rest by completing everything perfectly first."

Clinical Example: The End-of-Day Reflection I introduced the end-of-day reflection practice to a client who was deep in postpartum perfectionism. Every evening, she'd spiral into everything she didn't accomplish.

The first night she tried the practice, she wrote:

"Today I kept my baby safe/fed/regulated by: feeding her 9 times, changing 14 diapers (one was a massive blowout), holding her through two sleep cycles, responding every time she cried."

Then she stopped. "This feels stupid," she said. "Like, congratulations, you did the bare minimum?"

I asked her: "If your best friend told you she did all of that in one day, would you call it the bare minimum?"

She paused. "No. I'd tell her that's a lot. I'd tell her she's doing a great job."

"So why," I asked, "are you holding yourself to a different standard?"

She didn't have a good answer. But she kept doing the practice. And over time, something shifted. Not dramatically. She didn't suddenly stop being perfectionistic. But the constant, crushing sense of inadequacy loosened slightly. She started to see, in small glimpses, the extraordinary amount she was actually doing.

I don't ask my perfectionistic clients to suddenly embrace chaos or eliminate all standards. I ask them to start counting different things. Instead of 'I didn't get the laundry done,' try 'I held my baby through three sleep cycles so they got the rest they needed.' Both are true. But only one recognizes the profound caregiving work you're actually doing. Big changes come from these small shifts in what you measure and value.

• How do I respond when people ask "What did you do all day?"

  Try: "I fed, changed, soothed, and kept a tiny human alive and regulated for twelve hours straight. That's what I did."

  The question itself reflects how invisible caregiving work is in our culture. You don't owe anyone a justification for work that doesn't produce visible results. If you want to educate them, you can walk them through the actual work: "I fed the baby eight times, changed twelve diapers, responded to approximately forty different cues, managed a diaper blowout, soothed them through overtired crying, and made hundreds of small decisions about their care."

  But you don't have to. "I took care of the baby" is a complete answer.

• Why do I feel like I'm not doing enough when I'm completely exhausted?

  Because your nervous system was trained to measure worth through completed tasks and visible achievement. Caregiving is constant, responsive, and never "finished," which means your perfectionist brain interprets it as "nothing" even though you're working harder than you ever have.

  The exhaustion is real. It's evidence that you're doing enormous amounts of work. The "not enough" feeling is your measurement system, not reality. Your body knows the truth even when your brain doesn't recognize it yet.

• How do I know what "counts" as accomplishment in early motherhood?

  If it kept your baby safe, fed, clean, or regulated, it counts. If you responded to a need, adjusted your plans, or chose attunement over agenda, it counts. The work of early parenting is almost entirely responsive rather than proactive, which is why it doesn't feel like traditional "accomplishment," but it absolutely is.

  Try this reframe: every time you respond to your baby's cue, you're accomplishing the most important work of early parenting, building their sense of safety and trust in the world.

• Is it selfish to switch to "Easy Mode" as a parent?

  Switching to Easy Mode isn't selfish. It's sustainable. When you honor your actual capacity instead of constantly depleting yourself, you have more presence and patience for your baby. Over-functioning leads to resentment and depletion, which ultimately affects everyone in your family.

  Your baby doesn't need perfectly balanced meals and a pristine house. They need a regulated, present parent. Sometimes Easy Mode is actually better parenting because it preserves your capacity to stay connected.

• What if my partner doesn't understand my perfectionism?

  Help them understand it's not about actual standards. It's a nervous system response. You might say:

  "When things feel chaotic or unfinished, my brain interprets it as danger. It's not logical, but it's real. I'm working on building tolerance for imperfect, but I need patience and support while I rewire this pattern, not criticism or suggestions to 'just relax.'"

  It can also help to explain the invisible work piece: "When you ask what I did today, my brain goes blank because none of the caregiving work I did results in visible outcomes. But I'd like to start naming it so we both recognize the work I'm actually doing."

• How long does it take to change perfectionistic patterns?

  These patterns typically developed over years or decades, so change takes time and repeated practice. Most of my clients notice initial shifts within 2-3 months of consistent work. The constant sense of inadequacy loosens slightly, they catch themselves spiraling sooner, they have moments of recognizing their work.

  But it's an ongoing process of rewiring your nervous system's default response, not a one-time fix. Be patient with yourself. Each time you practice naming your invisible work, choosing Easy Mode, or building tolerance for incomplete, you're creating new neural pathways.

  The goal isn't to eliminate perfectionism entirely. Many of those traits probably serve you well in certain contexts. The goal is to develop flexibility: the ability to adjust your standards based on actual capacity rather than automatically defaulting to the highest possible standard regardless of circumstances.

• What if Easy Mode feels like I'm lazy or failing?

  That's your nervous system interpreting rest and reasonable standards as danger. For decades, your brain learned that high achievement equals safety and worth. When you choose an easier path, your nervous system triggers anxiety as if something bad is about to happen.

  This feeling doesn't mean you're actually being lazy or failing. It means you're doing something unfamiliar that your nervous system hasn't categorized as safe yet.

  Practice naming it: "This is my nervous system's discomfort with choosing Easy Mode. The feeling is real, but it's not truth. I'm not lazy. I'm building sustainable capacity."

  With repeated practice, the discomfort lessens as your nervous system learns that Easy Mode is actually safe.

• Can perfectionism cause postpartum depression?

  Perfectionism is a significant risk factor for postpartum depression and anxiety. Research shows that perfectionistic thinking patterns (rigid standards, all-or-nothing thinking, harsh self-criticism) create chronic stress and significantly increase vulnerability to mood disorders. Learn more about how I work with parents experiencing burnout and what capacity-based support looks like.

  When you combine perfectionism with the inherently chaotic, unpredictable nature of newborn care, you end up in a perfect storm: you're working extraordinarily hard but your brain only registers failure, which depletes your nervous system and increases risk for depression.

  If you're experiencing persistent low mood, anxiety, hopelessness, or thoughts of harming yourself or your baby, please reach out for professional support. These are medical conditions, not personal failures.

• How do I stop comparing myself to other mothers?

  Comparison is perfectionism's way of gathering evidence for the case against yourself. When you notice yourself comparing, try this three-step practice:

  1. Name it: "This is comparison. This is my perfectionist brain looking for evidence of inadequacy."

  2. Reality-check it: "I'm comparing my messy, unedited reality to someone else's curated highlight reel. I'm seeing two minutes of their day and assuming it represents their whole experience."

  3. Redirect: "One thing I did today that was enough: (name one specific caregiving action)."

  The goal isn't to never compare. The goal is to notice when you're doing it and consciously redirect your attention to your own reality rather than someone else's edited version.

• Will I ever feel like myself again?

  You'll integrate aspects of your former self into your new identity, but you won't return to who you were before. This isn't loss. It's evolution. With support and time, most parents report feeling grounded and confident in their new identity. Learn more about the identity transformation of becoming a mother and why biology says it's okay to not feel like your old self.

• When should I see a therapist for postpartum struggles?

  Consider professional support if symptoms persist beyond two weeks, interfere with daily functioning, include thoughts of harming yourself or your baby, or if you simply feel like you need more support than you're getting.

• Why do I feel so lonely even when I'm never alone?

  You can be physically surrounded by people while feeling emotionally isolated. This often reflects a lack of authentic connection, the isolating nature of constant caregiving, or feeling unseen in your struggle.

• How do I know if I have postpartum depression or just baby blues?

  Baby blues involve mood swings and crying that typically resolve within two weeks. Postpartum depression includes persistent low mood, anxiety, hopelessness, or intrusive thoughts that don't improve and may worsen over time.

When perfectionism meets postpartum, you end up caught between impossible standards and the unpredictable reality of caring for a newborn. This collision isn't a personal failing. It's a nervous system pattern that once kept you safe and connected but now leaves you depleted and self-critical. The answer isn't to eliminate your standards entirely. It's to build capacity by redefining "enough" based on what you can actually sustain rather than an idealized image of perfect motherhood.

You didn't fail six times today trying to leave the house. You succeeded six times at responding to your baby's needs with attunement and care. That's not failure. That's exactly what good parenting looks like, even when your perfectionist brain can't recognize it yet.

If you're ready to break free from the perfectionism-postpartum trap and find solid ground, I'd be honored to support you. Schedule a free 15-minute consultation to discuss how nervous system-informed therapy can help you move from constant self-criticism to grounded confidence. You can also explore my Postpartum Safe Landing Strategy Intensive, designed specifically for perfectionistic new parents who need practical support alongside emotional processing.

Lisa Brooks is a Registered Clinical Counsellor (RCC) and Occupational Therapist (OTR/L) specializing in perinatal mental health and perfectionism in Vancouver, BC.

About the Author

Lisa Brooks is a Registered Clinical Counsellor (RCC) and Occupational Therapist (OTR/L) with over 14 years of clinical experience helping perfectionistic parents navigate the postpartum period. She runs Nurtured Foundations in Vancouver, BC, offering both ongoing counseling and focused Strategy Intensives including the Postpartum Safe Landing program. Lisa's approach combines attachment-based therapy with sensory-informed occupational therapy, emphasizing capacity-building over willpower. A former "good kid" herself, Lisa understands the nervous system patterns that make perfectionism and early motherhood such a difficult combination. Learn more at Nurtured Foundations or schedule a consultation at Learn more at free consultation.