The real problem with writing as a perfectionist, is that whatever work is presented to us, it is never going to reach the point of well enough.

Beta readers, perhaps, would make this easier. Having listened to a voice that doesn't belong to the one in our heads explain a different perspective of the weak points and the strong points in a work, perhaps this makes it easier to accept the good enough version. I, as a perfectionist, am afraid to listen to another opinion on my work.

This is because I wonder- if I can't make myself satisfied with something I've slaved on and wrought from the ground up piece by heavy piece, how will I ever reach the peaceful point of "well enough" when not only am I criticizing my work but others as well?

It's difficult to be your own worst critic, your own worst critique. How many synonyms exist for the word unsatisfied? I feel all of them when writing, as I braid words into sentences and paragraphs. This is not because I feel lacking of passion or drive. My hands ache from the time I devote to creating my linguistic paintings. Why then, when I see the brush of my passion in every letter, do I never feel it has become "well enough"? 

So I try harder, write longer. I can erase every word and write it again. I can look for something more poetic, more startling. It can always be better, my mind kindly reminds me, so make it better. Use my heart more, use my brain more. Exhaust everything I have then, so that when I return to tear everything apart once again, I may find colors I like. My brief moments of "well enough", it seems, all happen when I forget to be perfect.

Does that inherently make those no longer good enough? 

A creation can only have so much potential, so limited possibilities. Where is my cap on quality? Where can I stop myself and say, "Don't worry. Someone else will fall in love with this, too"? As a perfectionist, I'm sure I'll never find a place where I truly say "I am satisfied", and it's distressing. I never imagined I could think I was limited by my own capabilities. 

I have many drafts on this writing platform and others. I cannot convince myself they are of any worth yet, so they remain unpublished and unseen by the eyes that may adore them. I write to create a vivid reading experience for someone to fall into, and yet I can't convince myself to let those eyes see it.

'It's just not quite there yet.' Or, 'I just have to check it one more time.' That ever pressing need to make it all well enough. I don't believe there is a well enough we reach. I think we find ways to fall in love with the few shining moments in our black and white canvas, then hope and pray like hell your eyes are made of different lenses, because it would be a disappointment if you saw as we see.

But, my mind whispers again and again, it can always be better. It can always be better.