One of the themes I see repeatedly in my work with former boarders is perfectionism.

The person may be highly successful.

A CEO.

A lawyer.

An entrepreneur.

A senior professional.

From the outside, they may appear extraordinarily capable.

But internally there can be a relentless feeling:

I should be doing more.

I could have done that better.

I can't afford to make a mistake.

I'm still not quite good enough.

For people exploring boarding school syndrome, I think perfectionism is an important piece of the puzzle.

Because perfectionism is not always simply about having high standards.

Sometimes it began as a survival strategy.

When everybody else looks perfect

Think about arriving at boarding school as a child.

Everybody is trying to find their place.

Nobody wants to appear weak.

People learn quickly not to show too much homesickness, fear or vulnerability.

So you look around.

The other children appear fine.

They seem confident.

Sorted.

Strong.

But inside, you don't feel sorted at all.

And because nobody is showing what is really happening underneath, everyone can begin comparing their private inner world with everybody else's public exterior.

The conclusion becomes:

There must be something wrong with me.

That is fertile ground for perfectionism.

If I become good enough, perhaps I'll belong

Underneath perfectionism there can be a very simple wound:

I'm not good enough.

Or:

I'm unlovable.

The perfectionist strategy then becomes:

I'll prove that I am.

I'll achieve.

I'll work harder.

I'll be excellent at sport.

I'll get the grades.

I'll make the money.

I'll become successful.

There is nothing inherently wrong with ambition.

But there is a profound difference between:

“I want to achieve this because it matters to me.”

and:

“I need to achieve this in order to feel that I matter.”

The external behaviour can look identical.

The internal experience is completely different.

When mistakes become dangerous

Boarding-school culture can also make mistakes unusually costly.

Make a mistake in front of your peers and you may be laughed at.

Do something embarrassing and it may become a nickname that follows you for years.

Show vulnerability and somebody may exploit it.

The nervous system learns:

Don't get it wrong.

Don't expose weakness.

Don't let them see you fail.

That can create what psychologists describe as a fixed mindset.

I need to demonstrate that I am already competent.

The alternative—a growth mindset—says:

Of course I'll make mistakes. That's how I learn.

Rather than win or lose, it becomes:

win or learn.

For somebody shaped by a highly competitive boarding-school environment, that can represent a substantial psychological shift.

I was winning—and still felt like a failure

I recognise this personally.

At school I was very good at sport.

At one point, I was one of the fastest sprinters in the school.

From the outside, someone could have looked at me and thought:

“He's doing brilliantly.”

Then I would compete at county level and come fifth.

My interpretation wasn't:

“I'm one of the fastest runners in the county.”

It was:

“I'm not good enough.”

The target moved.

This is one of the problems with perfectionism.

There is no finish line.

Whatever we achieve simply becomes the new minimum requirement.

Perfectionism and the inner critic

This links closely to the brutal inner critic of the boarding school survivor that I explored recently.

The perfectionist sets the impossible standard.

Then the inner critic punishes us for failing to reach it.

Work harder.

Do better.

Why did you make that mistake?

Everybody else can cope.

What's wrong with you?

It can become an extraordinarily effective engine for achievement.

It can also eventually drive us into the ground.

Pete Walker: perfectionism as protection

In Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving, Pete Walker explores perfectionism as a defence that can develop in children who lack sufficient emotional safety and support.

Perfection gives the powerless child a sense of control.

If I can control myself—

my performance,

my behaviour,

my emotions,

my appearance—

perhaps I can make myself safe.

Perhaps I can avoid rejection.

Perhaps people will approve of me.

The problem is that actual perfection is impossible.

And so the strategy contains the seeds of its own failure.

From perfectionism to burnout

This is where the pattern often appears in adult life.

A former boarder becomes a leader.

The institutional timetable disappears.

But internally, they remain permanently scheduled.

Meetings.

Emails.

Exercise.

Targets.

Another project.

Another qualification.

Another business.

Another achievement.

They struggle to stop.

Even on holiday, something needs doing.

This is one reason my leadership and executive coaching for former boarders increasingly focuses not only on achievement, but on developing the capacity to switch off, regulate the nervous system and live sustainably. The current coaching page itself describes leaders who are outwardly capable and successful yet internally find it difficult to stop, rest or relinquish responsibility.

High performance without recovery eventually stops being high performance.

Does everything really need to be excellent?

Emma Seppälä raises a useful question in The Happiness Track.

Does every task actually require your maximum effort?

Perfectionists often struggle with this.

A presentation has to be exceptional.

An email has to be beautifully written.

The house has to be perfect.

The workout has to be perfect.

The podcast has to be perfect.

Everything receives maximum intensity.

But we only have a finite amount of energy.

Some things deserve excellence.

Some things simply need to be good enough.

Learning the difference is part of maturity.

Practising “I'm good enough”

One of the practices I use is very simple:

I'm good enough.

The perfectionist may immediately object.

“No you're not.”

“That's complacent.”

“You'll stop achieving.”

So then ask:

Where am I already good enough?

Perhaps:

I'm a good enough father.

I'm a good enough friend.

That piece of work was good enough.

That conversation was good enough.

My relationship was good enough.

My podcast is good enough.

We begin gathering evidence that imperfection does not equal rejection.

Calm is a performance skill

Another part of this work is learning to cultivate calm.

Not as an indulgence.

As a capacity.

Walking.

Meditating.

Running.

Spending time with people we love.

Breathing slowly.

Taking five minutes without a phone.

Allowing the nervous system to discover:

Nothing is required of me in this moment.

For someone whose entire identity has been constructed around doing, that can initially feel surprisingly uncomfortable.

Which is precisely why it matters.

Becoming gentler without losing our edge

I don't believe the answer is to abandon ambition.

Many former boarders have extraordinary gifts.

Drive.

Resilience.

Courage.

Intelligence.

Leadership ability.

The question is whether we can retain those qualities without needing the whip.

Can I pursue excellence because I love the work rather than because I am terrified of failure?

Can I make a mistake without collapsing into shame?

Can I rest without feeling guilty?

Can I say:

“That is enough for today.”

And ultimately:

“I am enough.”

That, for me, is not mediocrity.

It may be the beginning of a much more sustainable form of excellence.

Watch the full episode:



Boarding School Syndrome & Perfectionism — Piers Cross