Perfectly Imperfect: An Ongoing Journey

I didn’t choose religion; I was born into it. My parents were ministers, and our family life was lived under the watchful eye of others. Expectations weren’t just high—they were constant. Everyone had an opinion on how the “minister’s kid” should behave. I felt the pressure to be the perfect son, always doing the right thing, always reflecting well on my parents, but also trying to figure out who I was.

This wasn’t just about avoiding mistakes. For me, perfectionism became an internal battle between meeting external expectations and trying to preserve some sense of self. It wasn’t just about doing things well—it was about doing everything better than anyone else could, 110% or more. But it came at a cost. Thankfully, my parents were aware of this and created space for me and acknowledged me. I remember my mother in response to my older siblings teasing me stepping up saying, "Leave that baby alone, if he wants to play with dolls he can play with dolls!"

Here’s where it gets complicated: my natural personality prefers an easy-going approach to life. I like to go with the flow, but the responsibilities I carried didn’t allow for that. I felt like I was always keeping others on track because their missteps would affect my end result. Whether it was school projects, church responsibilities, or even simple group tasks, I took it all on because I didn't feel trusting of others to do their part.

This constant juggling act led me to withdraw. It was my way of coping—balancing the drive for perfection with a need to escape the overwhelming weight of responsibility. Even now, I struggle with the tension between wanting to ensure things are done right and wishing I didn’t care so much.

Growing up in a religious environment added another layer. In many ways, I believed my worth was tied to how well I performed, not just in life, but in faith. The idea of God’s grace was overshadowed by the feeling that I had to earn His approval. My faith became another area where perfectionism took root, and I worked hard to be “good enough.”

But the reality is, no one can sustain that kind of pressure. Eventually, I had to face the truth: perfectionism wasn’t bringing me closer to God—it was creating a barrier. It was as if I was saying, “Look at all I’ve done for you, God,” instead of simply accepting the love He had already given me.

This truth became ever so real when, at 25, my dad died in an accident caused by a drunk driver. The weight of that loss shattered the foundation of my religious perfectionism. In the years that followed, I invited Christ into my life, and my previous attempt at religion transformed into faith in God. My relationship with God became less about performing and more about connecting, more about trust than tasks.

During this time, as my better half and I were approaching our 10th anniversary, his unwavering support and love helped me navigate the grief and rediscover what it means to live authentically in faith. Together, we built a life grounded in grace, not striving—a partnership that reflects God’s love in ways I hadn’t fully understood before.

Then a new form of judgement on us was thrown. The religious "right" using Anita Bryant, an American household name known at the time for her anti-gay political activism, was hit in the face with a pie while speaking. Also being Christian didn't set well with our gay friends, a double-edged sword of rejection. Fortunately, our families didn't go along but remained welcoming to our relationship.

What I’ve learned over the years is that perfectionism doesn’t have to define me, and Faith doesn't negate reality. Instead of striving to be the best at everything, I’ve found joy in working with others who complement my strengths. When I meet someone who fills in the blanks where I fall short—and I do the same for them—it’s like a breath of fresh air. It reminds me that we’re not meant to do this alone.

Faith, too, has become less about performance and more about relationship. God doesn’t ask for 110% effort; He asks for our hearts. He knows our struggles, our personalities, and our imperfections, and He meets us where we are.

Religious perfectionism can feel like a heavy burden, but it’s one we were never meant to carry. Matthew 11:28-30 says it best:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

For me, this verse is a reminder that God’s love isn’t something we have to earn. It’s a gift, freely given. And when I let go of the need to control everything or be everything to everyone, I find the peace and balance I’ve been searching for.

Perfectionism doesn’t disappear overnight. It’s something I still navigate, especially when responsibilities pile up or others fall short. But I’m learning to approach it differently. Instead of letting it define me, I see it as a part of my story—a part that God is continually redeeming.

To anyone else who struggles with perfectionism, especially in faith: know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to be a work in progress. It’s okay to let go of the need to have everything just right. And it’s okay to trust that God’s grace is big enough to cover all the places where we fall short.

Perfectionism can be a way we try to protect ourselves, to manage expectations, or to feel worthy. But true freedom comes when we stop striving and start resting in God’s love. He doesn’t see us as a list of accomplishments or failures—He sees us as His children, perfectly imperfect and deeply loved.

John & Newman Millhollon Turner