Therese Bailey - Coaching Women to a New Identity

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The Neurological Pattern of Perfectionism: My Story of Unlearning the Performance Posture

For years, I thought perfectionism was ambition. I thought it was about striving for excellence, about proving myself worthy. But when I look back, I see it was about survival. I remember standing in a boardroom, jaw tight, chest lifted, belly frozen. I thought I was composed. In truth, I was performing. My nervous system had memorized the choreography: smile, please, achieve. It was the posture of perfectionism, etched into my body.

The Science I Discovered

Later, I learned that what I felt wasn’t just stress—it was my nervous system rehearsing survival. Neuroscience calls it hypervigilance, sometimes the fawn response. I called it my everyday.

My body told the story:

• A jaw clenched from holding back words.
• A chest lifted to signal composure.
• A belly frozen to hide vulnerability.

These weren’t random habits. They were neural patterns, rehearsed until they felt natural. But natural didn’t mean nourishing.

The Embodied Cost

Perfectionism lived in my body as much as my mind. I became fluent in the language of “almost enough.” I overthought every word, every gesture. I chased gold stars that never fed my soul. The stillness I carried wasn’t peace—it was numbness. The posture I held wasn’t confidence—it was pleasing. And while those patterns helped me survive, they disconnected me from joy, spontaneity, and self-worth.

As a coach, I now see the same story in other women. Their bodies whisper the same truths: tight shoulders, shallow breath, frozen bellies. Perfectionism is not a flaw—it’s an adaptation. But it comes at a cost.

My Turning Point

One day, I caught myself holding my breath. It was such a small moment, but it cracked something open. I exhaled. I rolled my shoulders back. I let my hips sway. And I felt something shift. That exhale became my rebellion. That movement became my medicine. I realized that perfectionism wasn’t destiny—it was a loop. And loops can be interrupted.

What I Learned

I learned that the nervous system is plastic—it can be rewired. Each breath, each stretch, each dance step became my way of rewriting the script. Now, when I feel the old choreography creeping in, I pause. I soften. I let my body speak louder than my inner critic. And I teach other women to do the same.

“She exhales. She softens her shoulders. She lets her hips speak louder than her inner critic.” That line isn’t just poetry—it’s neuroplasticity in action.

Invitation

Perfectionism is the loop I learned. Liberation is the loop I leave. If you recognize the tight jaw, the frozen belly, the posture of pleasing—know this: you can interrupt the loop. You can move like you belong. You can move like you remember.

And when you do, you’ll discover that perfectionism was never your truth. Your truth is breath. Your truth is rhythm. Your truth is joy. 

Coaching you to your new identity,

Therese Bailey