The Exhaustion of Exceptional: Unlearning Perfectionism while Living with BPD and PTSD

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. As a self-proclaimed perfectionist, I often find myself struggling to define my "purpose." Underneath the surface-level goals, there is this constant, heavy pressure telling me that just being me isn't enough—that I have to be exceptional in every single category to be worthy of the space I take up.

It’s exhausting to feel lost while trying to look like you have it all figured out. But this week, the mask slipped, and I’m finally ready to talk about why.

The Shadow Side of "Coach"

Being a coach adds a unique layer of pressure. There is an unspoken expectation that I should be the blueprint—the one with the perfect macro split, the perfect training consistency, and the perfect mindset. When your career is built on helping others find their strength, admitting you feel weak or lost feels like a professional failure.

But the truth? I’m currently test-driving my own life just as much as I’m test-driving my new training programs.

The Weight of BPD, PTSD, and Rejection Sensitivity

For me, perfectionism isn't just a "Type A" personality trait; it’s a survival mechanism rooted in BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and PTSD.

Living with BPD means navigating a world with high rejection sensitivity. I have a deep, biological need for belonging, yet I often feel like I’m standing on the outside looking in. To bridge that gap, I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to be "liked" so intensely that I’ve lost sight of who I actually am. I’ve become a chameleon, performing for whoever is in the room just to ensure I’m not rejected.

When you add PTSD into the mix, getting something "wrong" doesn't just feel like a mistake—it feels like a threat. I find myself spiraling every time I fall short of "flawless." A small error becomes a total indictment of my character. If I’m not exceptional, I feel invisible. If I’m not perfect, I feel unsafe.

The Mirror in the Room

All of this hit me with full force earlier this week. I caught myself "performing" in a space where it wasn't even necessary—trying to win the approval of people I didn't even know. I realized I was running a race with no finish line, fueled by the fear that my raw, unfiltered self would never be enough to keep people around.

The Work: 12 Steps and Trauma Therapy

I’m currently in the "un-learning" process, and it is the hardest training I’ve ever done.

Three times a week, I sit in a 12-step program, peeling back layers of ego and defense mechanisms. I’m working closely with a trauma therapist to rewire the parts of my brain that think a mistake is a catastrophe. I’m learning that my value is not tied to a flawless performance, a PR in the garage gym, or a "perfect" life.

I’m discovering that "exceptional" is a lonely place to live, but "authentic" is where the community is.

We’re In This Together

If you’ve ever felt like you’re performing for an audience that isn't even there, or if you struggle with the belief that you are only as good as your last achievement—know that you aren’t alone.

I’m still Elizabeth. I’m still your coach. I’m still obsessed with the science of fitness and the power of a hard workout. But I’m also a human being who is messy, healing, and finally realizing that just being is more than enough.

Let’s stop running the race with no finish line. Let's just start walking toward ourselves.