A few years ago, I remember finishing a long case late at night.
It wasn’t complicated, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t perfect.
I replayed every step in my head while driving home.
Every suture. Every decision. Every moment I could’ve done something slightly better.
It wasn’t guilt — it was that familiar knot in your stomach that comes when your brain whispers:
“You should’ve done it differently.”
That voice is loud in surgery.
It starts in training, grows during your registrar years, and if you’re not careful — it never leaves.
That voice is what creates the myth of the perfect surgeon.
The Training That Shapes Us
From day one, we’re told mistakes aren’t an option.
We’re graded, scored, and ranked on precision, outcomes, and “technical excellence.”
And rightly so — the stakes are high.
But what nobody warns you about is how that standard seeps into everything else.
It doesn’t just make you careful.
It makes you scared.
Scared to try something new.
Scared to ask a question that might make you look unsure.
Scared to admit when you’re exhausted or uncertain.
You start to perform surgery like you’re being watched even when you’re alone.
That constant inner pressure to prove you’re “one of the good ones.”
And here’s the twist: it’s not the system doing it anymore.
It’s you.
The Perfection Trap
At some point, perfection stops being about patients — and starts being about pride.
You start chasing it in small, invisible ways:
- You redo notes until they look “clean.”
- You avoid asking for help so no one questions your ability.
- You compare yourself to the surgeons who seem like they never make mistakes.
And every time you fall short — even slightly — you beat yourself up.
You start believing that one small imperfection defines your skill.
That one comment in theatre defines your reputation.
That one bad outcome defines your future.
But here’s the truth that took me years to really understand:
Perfectionism doesn’t make you better.
It just makes you more tired.
What Perfectionism Really Costs
When you operate with constant self-criticism, you stop learning.
You start avoiding situations that might expose weakness.
You do fewer new things. You take fewer risks.
And slowly, the part of you that loved surgery — the curiosity, the drive, the excitement — starts fading.
You’re still technically excellent, but you’re not growing anymore.
You’re surviving.
It’s like driving with both feet on the pedals — moving forward, but always with the brake pressed down.
And it’s not just your performance that suffers.
Perfectionism follows you home.
It shows up when you can’t relax because you’re thinking about tomorrow’s list.
When you reread your own emails before sending them three times.
When you can’t celebrate wins because your brain only sees the flaws.
That’s not high standards.
That’s burnout disguised as professionalism.
The Moment It Clicked
One day, I was assisting a senior surgeon — the kind everyone quietly admires.
In the middle of a complex case, something didn’t go as planned.
I braced for tension.
But instead, he laughed softly and said,
“Well, that’s why it’s called
practice.
Even after 25 years.”
Then he calmly adjusted and moved on.
It was such a simple moment, but it hit me hard.
Because here was someone I looked up to, showing that confidence isn’t the absence of mistakes; it’s the ability to recover without falling apart.
That day changed how I looked at surgery.
I realised the surgeons I respected most weren’t the ones who never slipped up.
They were the ones who didn’t let a slip-up define them.
How to Let Go of Perfection (Without Lowering Your Standards)
Letting go of perfection doesn’t mean you stop caring.
It means you start caring differently — smarter, not harder.
Here’s what’s helped me (and many colleagues I’ve spoken with):
1. Redefine what “good” looks like.
You can be both precise and human.
Being an excellent surgeon doesn’t mean being flawless — it means being accountable, self-aware, and adaptable.
2. Talk about the hard days.
When we hide our complications or close-call moments, we make perfection look real.
The truth is, every surgeon you admire has stories that never made it to the conference slides.
3. Separate identity from performance.
You’re not your last operation.
You’re not your logbook.
You’re not that one comment from a consultant.
You’re a human being in one of the hardest professions in the world.
4. Practice grace, not guilt.
You’ll make mistakes. Everyone does.
The difference between shame and growth is what you do next.
5. Keep curiosity alive.
The best surgeons I know are still students at heart.
They ask, they learn, they experiment. They haven’t let fear replace curiosity.
The Bottom Line
We were trained to be flawless — but perfection isn’t the goal.
Growth is.
Because the best surgeons aren’t the ones who never make mistakes.
They’re the ones who reflect, learn, and show up again with more clarity and calm.
The myth of the perfect surgeon has trapped too many of us for too long.
It’s time to replace it with something real — something human.
We don’t need perfect surgeons.
We need surgeons who can think, feel, adapt, and keep going — even when things don’t go perfectly.
That’s what real mastery looks like.
Not perfection — progress.
When you’re ready, here’s how I can help you:
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Each resource is designed to help you grow beyond the OR — without burning out.
