The freedom of letting it be good enough

I remember when I was doing my thesis—it was one of the scariest things in my academic life. We were living in Sweden at the time, and I kept playing in my mind stories of people who had never finished theirs. One woman told me she had started her master’s degree over a decade ago and still hadn’t completed the thesis. That stuck with me.

When I finally sat down to write mine, I had all these thoughts playing in my mind—that this was bigger than life, that I wasn’t capable, that I would fail. There were days I was completely overwhelmed with emotion, stuck in a loop of negative thoughts. And to top it off, it was the middle of the pandemic.

If I go even further back in time, I realized the feeling reminded me of two major fears I had in high school: passing my driver’s license test and passing the matriculation exam. Both felt impossible. I genuinely thought I might die trying. And when I passed both, I was stunned—I had made it through. I told myself: “Now my life can finally begin.”

So when I sat down to write my thesis, that same old fear returned. I felt like I was about to be exposed. That people would finally see that I wasn’t good enough. Even though I was sitting alone, writing, it felt like the whole world would judge what I created. And what I feared most was being labeled: not smart enough, not capable, not worthy.

But then, I had a kind and wise professor. He reminded me to take the pressure off. He pointed out that one of the chapters I thought was too easy, too boring, too “nothing”—was actually PhD-level work. That woke me up.

That reminded me: this was a master’s thesis. Not a PhD. And yet, I had unconsciously internalized PhD-level standards because of the sources I was reading. That insight alone helped me release so much pressure.

By the time I finished my thesis, we had moved across continents. I was in Uruguay, ready to start working in a new role. But I found myself in another loop—supervisors giving me suggestions, telling me how I could improve my work. And suddenly I saw it: I could keep tweaking and perfecting this paper forever. But… for what?

I realized that the job I wanted, the work I felt called to do—it wasn’t dependent on the quality of this one paper. I already had the skills, the gifting, the passion. I didn’t need my thesis to be perfect. I needed it to be done.

So I drew the line. I said, “This is good enough.”

Even if my professors had more to say—even if I didn’t get the highest grade—it didn’t define me. That decision was one of the most freeing moments of my life.

I let go of the pressure. I let go of the story that this thesis would reveal my worth. I let go of the lie that this work would be the finished product of who I am.

Because you and I know, we are never a finished product. And it's supposed to be that way.

That season taught me how to love the imperfect. It showed me that freedom lives in releasing our work—as it is—not as we wish it could be.

We are not robots. We are human. And our humanness, our messiness, our “good enough”... it’s part of what makes our work meaningful.

So if you’re struggling with perfectionism, with high expectations, with never feeling like your work is enough—I want to encourage you:

Start small. Pick a tiny action. Give it a time limit. Do your best. Then release it.

And remember: Your worth has never been up for debate. You are already held. Already loved. Already enough.

Your imperfect work doesn’t define you. But letting it go might just set you free.

Love,

Pia