Purism, purity, perfectionism, and other exhausting orthodoxies we need to quit asap!
Let’s talk about a quiet poison. The kind that comes dressed in silk, whispering sweet nothings like “just try a little harder” or “you’re almost there, just one more tweak.”
It’s not loud. It doesn’t storm in. It drips — steadily — like a leaky faucet in the back of your psyche.
A steady hum of: cleaner, better, purer, neater, holier, correct-er…
Today we name it.
Purism. Purity. Perfectionism. Orthodoxy.
These words sound noble, don’t they? A bit stiff maybe, but respectable. They show up in spiritual circles, creative spaces, political movements, even on your plate when you’re trying to eat "clean."
But under the surface, these ideas, and the ways they’ve been twisted, are quietly cutting off the oxygen to our creativity, our humanity, and our joy.
Some quick definitions, so we know what we're dancing with and because naming things is the first step toward disempowering them:
Purity is the supposed state of being perfect, morally untainted, clean, faultless. A concept worshipped in spiritual texts, weaponized in political rhetoric, and sneakily embedded in wellness trends. It’s been applied to everything from food to sex to religion — usually with a heavy dose of guilt and shame.
Purism is the belief that things, language, culture, tradition, art, should stay in their "pure," original, uncontaminated form. Translation: no mixing, no evolution, no fun. I personally believe that purism, aka the fear of cultural mixing, often hides a form of uncertainty about one's own identity.
Perfectionism is the self-imposed pressure to chase flawlessness. The chronic "not good enough" syndrome disguised as high standards but usually comes with anxiety and self-criticism.
Orthodoxy refers to the “right belief” — the correct way to practice faith, politics, identity, or life itself. It’s the rulebook. The club. The checklist of worthiness. Orthodoxy requires the strict adherence to accepted beliefs, often religious or ideological. It’s the club of “this is how we do things,” and spoiler: it doesn’t allow much room for coloring outside the lines.
At first glance, these sound noble. Clean. Ideal. A little lofty, maybe, but what’s the harm in aspiring to better, purer, more correct versions of ourselves?
Oh, only that they’ll drain your soul, fry your nervous system, and rob you of your aliveness. No, I’m not exaggerating, just talking from experience.
Why do we fall for these ideas?
Because they offer us a powerful illusion: control.
They promise that if we can just get it right — perfectly right — then we’ll be safe. Loved. Accepted. Successful.
Maybe even holy.
But here’s the twist: these ideals are impossible. Not because you’re broken, but because they’re not made for living, breathing, feeling humans.
Perfection is a corpse
The only perfect thing is a dead thing.
Yes, I said it. Let it echo.
Perfection is death.
Not in the poetic sense. I mean literal stillness. The absence of movement. The end of becoming. Stillness. Immutability. No surprises, no growth, no breath.
Perfection doesn’t grow. It doesn’t dance. It doesn’t evolve.
It’s fixed. Frozen. Finished.
Which means that if you’re chasing perfection, you’re chasing something inherently incompatible with life.
In contrast, life, glorious, messy, unpredictable life, is change, motion, chaos, contradiction, surprise.
We are change. Our bodies regenerate. Our hearts break and mend. Our minds shift and spiral and spiral again. Even our identities, sacred as they are, are living things.
A "perfect" being would be static, and static isn’t stable — it’s just… over.
We contort ourselves to match impossible ideals — not realizing that perfectionism isn’t about high standards. It’s about fear. Fear of being judged. Fear of not belonging. Fear of being human.
And it’s exhausting.
Perfectionism: The performance of worthiness
This one’s sneaky.
Because it often looks like you're doing well.
Your house is clean. Your to-do list is ticked. Your inbox is zero’d.
You’ve posted the right caption with the right hashtag in the right tone of empowered vulnerability.
But inside? You’re tired.
So tired.
Perfectionism doesn’t let you rest.
It whispers that rest is laziness. That mess is failure. That softness is weakness. That success is measured in tight smiles and flawless execution.
But perfectionism isn’t about love. It’s about earning love — over and over — and never feeling like you’ve paid enough.
And the thing is: you were never supposed to earn love.
You’re supposed to receive it. Just as you are.
Purity sounds clean — until it turns toxic
Purity is a dangerous game. The idea of purity isn’t just personal — it’s political. It isn’t just about soap commercials and spiritual enlightenment. It has a dark underbelly.
Every time someone speaks of “pure” anything — pure intentions, pure food, pure hearts — there’s an implied opposite: impure, tainted, wrong. That binary leads straight to shame, exclusion, and sometimes worse.
Purity has been used to justify some of the worst horrors in history:
Purity of race — the ideological backbone of fascism, eugenics, and genocide.
Purity of religion — leading to inquisitions, witch hunts, silencing and forced conversions.
Purity of culture or language — resulting in erased identities and banned tongues.
Purity of identity — which erases queerness, hybridity, multiculturalism, and anyone who doesn’t fit the box.
When we internalize these ideals, they don’t just hurt others — they destroy us from within. They whisper: You must be clean, controlled, consistent. And if you’re not? You’re flawed. Dangerous. Disposable.
It sounds like:
“I shouldn’t feel this emotion, it’s not spiritual.”
“I messed up again — I'm impure.”
“I need to cleanse, detox, fast, reset — maybe then I’ll be enough.”
That’s not spiritual growth. That’s tyranny in soft lighting.
Here's the truth: purity is a myth. There is no pure. There is only real. Raw. Alive.
And that is so much more beautiful.
Orthodoxy and the illusion of safety
Orthodoxy, whether religious, political, or social, tells us there is One Right Way. Which immediately creates: the wrong way. And none of us want to end up there.
Religious orthodoxy, political orthodoxy, nutritional orthodoxy, even spiritual or feminist orthodoxy, they can offer clarity, yes. And to be fair, structure and tradition can offer grounding. Ritual can be beautiful. Belief can be anchoring.
But when they become rigid? They shut down dialogue. They kill nuance. They exile the questions. We trade the mystery of the divine for the comfort of control.
Creativity, intuition, and spiritual aliveness don’t thrive in dogma. They thrive in curiosity, contradiction, and compost.
Nature isn’t orthodox. Look at a forest: messy, tangled, full of rot and renewal. Nobody’s pruning the moss into straight lines.
Orthodoxy is about the fear of being wrong and the safety in numbers. But singularity and individuality are your birthrights. What you makes you human. Sacred, even. And that can’t be wrong.
Can we just… let it be raw and real?
Here’s what I’ve learned (the hard way, of course):
You cannot purify your way into peace.
You cannot perfect your way into love.
You cannot perform your way into belonging.
You are not a project. You are not a code to crack or a sin to scrub clean. You’re a living, shifting, stormy, glorious creature.
Messy is holy. Cracked is real. Change is sacred.
Instead of chasing purity, we can choose presence.
Instead of chasing perfection, we can choose connection.
Instead of kneeling before orthodoxy, we can dance with mystery.
So what to do instead?
Rebel.
Quietly. Fiercely. Softly. Creatively.
Opt out of the systems that tell us we’re only lovable if we’re pure, perfect, or correct.
Today, we choose to be just a little less perfect. A little less correct. A little more alive.
Eat the food with the “impure” ingredients.
Write the messy first draft.
Question the rules, even the sacred ones.
Say the prayer your own way.
Just be the you who hasn’t got it all figured out.
Laugh inappropriately.
Wear red lipstick with muddy boots.
Show up incomplete, in progress, unpolished, authentic.
In the end…
You are not a temple that needs cleansing.
You are not a theory that needs proving.
You are not a body to be corrected, a soul to be purified, or a mind to be disciplined into submission.
You are a glorious contradiction. A living question. A sacred mess.
You are motion. Change. Complexity.
You are exactly what life intended.
And that, that imperfect, impure, radically real version of you, is the only kind that can truly love, create, grow, and heal.
So if today you feel broken, wrong, not enough — let me offer this:
You’re not broken.
You’re just not a statue.
You’re alive. And that’s the most perfect thing you’ll ever be.
And that version of you?
She’s the one I want to sit next to in the forest.
Voilà.
I believe that is all for today.
I would be so happy to hear from you.
If this spoke to your heart, I’d love for you to share it with a sister, a friend, a fellow Goddess on the path.
I send, as always, love, light and gratitude.
Isaya
PS: I am now on Substack, sharing my writing adventures over there too… If you’re interested, you subscribe for free here: https://substack.com/@isayabelle
