Perfectionism, Singing, and the Quiet Toll on Mental Health

Perfectionism is a term we hear often in the arts, and in some circles, it’s even worn like a badge of honour. Many singers—including myself—take pride in setting high standards, and tireless preparation. But what happens when that drive to be perfect starts driving us?

I’ve spent much of my professional life in and around singing—as a performer, teacher, and now as a researcher. One thing I’ve noticed again and again is just how many singers identify as perfectionists. We often see it as a bit of a quirk or strength: evidence of our commitment, work ethic, and respect for the craft. And yet, for many of us, perfectionism hasn’t been a source of freedom. It’s been a source of suffering.

In psychological literature, perfectionism is increasingly understood not just as a trait, but as a process—a way of thinking, behaving, and relating to oneself that can deeply affect emotional wellbeing. Self-oriented perfectionism, in particular, is common among musicians. This is the kind where the pressure comes from within: the constant striving to meet impossibly high personal standards, accompanied by harsh self-criticism when we inevitably fall short.

While some researchers (like Hewitt & Flett, 1993) have suggested that self-oriented perfectionism can be adaptive—perhaps even motivating—there’s growing evidence that it’s often far from harmless. It can reinforce cycles of shame, anxiety, and exhaustion. And when the standards we set for ourselves are not met (as they so often aren’t), we don't just feel disappointed—we feel defective.

I know this feeling intimately. For years, I believed that if I didn’t sing perfectly, I had failed—not just at a performance, but as a person. That belief crept into my teaching, my relationships, and my sense of self. It literally silenced me, kept me obsessively analysing myself, and made me hide from opportunities I might have enjoyed. Things reached a whole new level after I experienced a vocal injury and a failed operation. Suddenly, perfection wasn’t just a personal expectation—it became an impossible demand. I couldn’t do what I used to do (and never would!). My voice felt unpredictable, fragile, foreign. And in a profession where identity and livelihood are so entwined with vocal ability, that loss felt devastating. My perfectionism went into overdrive, desperately trying to compensate. I became hypervigilant, anxious, and ashamed. I didn’t just grieve the voice I had—I questioned my worth altogether.

Research on multidimensional perfectionism helps explain why this experience was so destabilising. The most widely used frameworks (Frost et al., 1990; Hewitt & Flett, 1991) distinguish between perfectionistic strivings (pursuing high personal standards) and perfectionistic concerns (ruminating over mistakes, fear of judgment, and the belief that others expect perfection). While striving can seem admirable, it’s often tangled up with concern. And when our self-worth hinges on those standards, perfectionism can become clinical. Perfectionism is considered clinical when a person continues to strive for unrelenting standards despite negative consequences like anxiety, depression, and impaired functioning (Shafran et al., 2002).

It’s taken years—and a lot of unlearning—to realise that striving for excellence is not the same as demanding perfection (more on that another time). One is about growth, flourishing and possibility. The other is about fear, control, and conditional self-worth.

As singers and musicians, we need to start talking more openly about the emotional cost of perfectionism. It’s not just a personality quirk—it’s a deeply rooted process that can erode confidence and wellbeing over time. If you’ve ever felt like your best is never quite enough, you’re not alone. And more importantly, there is another way.

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