The Myth of Having It All Together
Why Your Mess is Meaningful
Let’s just call it: no one has it all together. Not your neighbour with the Pinterest-worthy home. Not that wellness coach on Instagram. Not even your friend who just did a 10-day silent retreat and now radiates like a golden retriever on green juice.
We’ve all got something going on behind the scenes. Life is gloriously, heartbreakingly messy.
But somewhere along the way, we were fed the myth that if we just tried hard enough, meditated long enough, learned the right techniques, or healed all our wounds, we’d arrive at this magical place called “together.”
Spoiler: it doesn’t exist.
Why the Myth Exists
The myth of “having it all together” is seductive. It feeds our perfectionism, our inner critic, our desire for control. It gives us a finish line that keeps moving—and makes us feel like we’re always behind.
It’s the cultural equivalent of dangling a carrot on a stick made of shame. And we eat it up, thinking it will nourish us.
And here’s the kicker: we’re not just mentally conditioned to chase it—we’re often chemically hooked.
Dr. Joe Dispenza talks about how we become addicted to the emotions we experience most often. Our bodies get used to the cocktail of cortisol, adrenaline, and shame. We start to mistake the familiar rush of "not good enough" for truth.
So we go looking for the next dopamine hit—approval, praise, productivity, a spiritual milestone—hoping it will finally make us feel whole. But like any addiction, it only ever delivers a temporary high, followed by a deeper crash.
The irony? We become addicted to the very feelings we say we want to heal from.
But healing doesn’t happen in the high. It happens in the slow, uncomfortable, incredibly brave choice to stop running.
To sit down in your humanness. And breathe.
The Beauty in the Breakdown
Real growth doesn’t look like a straight line. It looks like grief in the grocery store. A spiritual awakening mid-argument. Crying on the bathroom floor because everything is unraveling—again.
That unraveling? That’s not failure. It’s transformation.
Richard Rudd, in the Gene Keys, writes:
“There is a design to your chaos—it’s not random. The chaos is the chrysalis.”
In other words, the mess is the metamorphosis.
Being Seen in Your In-Between
The most powerful humans I know are the ones who can be honest about where they’re not okay. They know that vulnerability is not a performance; it’s a practice.
You don’t owe anyone polished perfection. You don’t have to perform healing.
You can be both in process and powerful.
Let It Be Messy: A Practice
Here’s a simple (but radical) tool to try this week:
Let one thing be messy. on purpose.
Leave the dishes for a while.
Say “I don’t know” when you don’t know.
Let someone see your raw edges.
Notice what stories come up. What does it mean about you if things aren’t perfect? And who told you that story in the first place?
Journal Prompts for getting messy
Complete the sentence: I feel like I need to have it all together because ________.
A part of my life that feels messy but meaningful is ________.
What would I allow myself to feel or receive if I gave up the illusion of perfection?
The last time I grew deeply through chaos or imperfection was ________.