TL;DR:
Perfectionism in medicine masquerades as professionalism — but it’s slowly killing us. Letting go of “perfect” doesn’t mean lowering our standards. It means embracing humanity, humility, and healing. The world doesn’t need flawless doctors. It needs healthy ones.
The impossible job description
Be perfect. Be fast. Be compassionate. Don’t make mistakes. Don’t complain. Don’t cry. And for the love of God, don’t ask for help.
That’s medicine’s unwritten job description — and most of us signed it in blood somewhere between finals and our first night on call.
From day one, we’re taught that errors are unacceptable, vulnerability is weakness, and that professionalism means having a stiff upper lip while the system quietly dismantles your circadian rhythm. Somewhere between 80-hour weeks, endless admin, and the fourth patient who “just wants to check their results,” we start to confuse perfection with professionalism.
The irony? Those “perfect” standards are bad for patients, bad for teams, and disastrous for doctors.
The anatomy of perfectionism in medicine
Perfectionism in medicine doesn’t show up as neatly folded laundry or colour-coded notes. It’s the relentless self-criticism after clinic. The replaying of conversations at 3 a.m. The voice that whispers, “You’re not good enough, and one day they’ll find out.”
It’s also institutional. Medical training rewards meticulousness, punishes error, and fosters a deep-seated fear of failure. You can’t exactly “wing it” in anatomy or pharmacology. And rightly so. But that culture of must-never-fail gets baked into our professional DNA.
So we carry it into practice, where the stakes are infinitely higher and the variables endless. We over-document “just in case,” we double-check every result, we avoid delegating because it’s quicker to do it ourselves (and at least then it’ll be done right). We confuse exhaustion for dedication.
Research backs this up: perfectionism is strongly linked with burnout, depression, and anxiety in physicians (Curran & Hill, Psychological Bulletin, 2019). The cruel twist? Many of us see that data and think, “Yes, but that doesn’t apply to me. I’m still fine.” (Narrator: they were not fine.)
When perfectionism crosses the line
There’s a point when perfectionism stops helping and starts harming.
When it keeps you up all night re-reading your notes.
When it stops you from asking a colleague for a second opinion because “I should already know this.”
When you can’t enjoy your day off because you’re replaying yesterday’s ward round.
The dirty secret of medicine is that perfectionism doesn’t prevent mistakes — it just makes them more painful when they inevitably happen. It leads to overwork, paralysis, and decision fatigue. And ironically, it can make us less safe. A doctor too tired or too scared to speak up is a danger to both self and patient.
Perfectionism also corrodes teams. The surgeon who won’t trust their registrar. The consultant who micromanages every note. The junior doctor who won’t ask for help until it’s too late. It’s not arrogance — it’s fear wearing scrubs.
I often remind my colleagues: medicine needs excellence, not martyrdom.
The myth of professionalism
“Be professional,” they say. Which, in medical culture, often translates to “Don’t let anyone know you’re human.”
We confuse professionalism with emotional suppression. We keep smiling while we’re breaking inside. We compartmentalise until there’s nothing left to feel. We tell trainees to “cope better,” as though burnout were a personal weakness rather than an occupational hazard.
But real professionalism isn’t about stoicism. It’s about integrity, reliability, and respect — including self-respect. It’s not about pretending we never err; it’s about owning those errors and learning from them.
I remember one of my mentors saying, “If you never admit to a mistake, you’re either a liar or not paying attention.” That line stuck with me. Admitting imperfection isn’t unprofessional. It’s the only honest way to grow.
How to drop perfectionism without losing professionalism
There is a middle ground — a place where competence meets compassion, and self-respect lives alongside high standards.
Here’s what I’ve learned (the hard way):
- Redefine success.
Aim for “good enough to heal,” not “perfect enough to impress.” Sometimes your best that day is good enough. - Ask for help early.
Vulnerability is not incompetence. Nobody gets extra points for silent suffering. - Reflect, don’t ruminate.
Mistakes are inevitable. Obsessing over them isn’t learning — it’s self-punishment. - Model imperfection.
If you’re senior, admit your errors. It gives others permission to be human. - Prioritize rest.
No one writes “died because their doctor took a nap” on a death certificate.
Perfectionism feeds on secrecy and shame. Talking about it — naming it — takes away its power.
Cultural change starts with conversation
The antidote to perfectionism isn’t lower standards. It’s safer spaces.
That’s why we started Physicians Anonymous: a confidential community where doctors can be honest without fear of judgment. I’ve seen surgeons, psychiatrists, residents, and retirees sit in the same virtual room and breathe a collective sigh of relief as they realise: “Oh… it’s not just me.”
Because it never was.
The truth is, perfectionism isn’t an individual personality flaw — it’s a systemic infection. We reward it in selection, reinforce it in training, and then wonder why the wards are full of exhausted, guilt-ridden overachievers.
The cure begins with culture: shifting from blame to reflection, from punishment to learning, from “never fail” to “always improve.”
When we value compassion as much as competence, we create environments where doctors — and patients — actually thrive.
Closing reflection
I used to think being perfect made me safe. Now I know being honest makes me sane.
Dropping perfectionism doesn’t mean you stop caring. It means you start caring in a sustainable way — for your patients and for yourself.
If you’re a physician reading this, I invite you to pause. Take one deep breath. Ask yourself: “What would it look like if I allowed myself to be good enough?”
Because maybe — just maybe — that’s where real professionalism begins.
What would happen if we all dropped the act?
Imagine a culture where doctors can say, “I don’t know” without shame.
Where we can ask for help before we collapse.
Where professionalism means honesty and humility, not self-erasure.
That’s the kind of medicine I want to practice — and the kind I want to leave behind.
So, if you’re a perfectionist in recovery like me, here’s your prescription:
Do your best. Let that be enough. Then go home.
And if you need a place to talk about it (without judgement or job risk), you’re not alone.
💬 Join us
At Physicians Anonymous, we host free, confidential, physician-only support groups where we talk about these things — the real stuff beneath the white coat.
If you’re tired of being perfect and ready to just be human again, join us here:
👉 https://physiciansanonymous.org/anonymous-meetings/
Because you deserve support before you break.
Want to solve perfectionism? Our good friend, and TEDx star, Dr Amna Shabbir has a course for physicians. It is a literal lifesaver. Check it out here: https://dramnashabbir.com.
