I release all fears of not being perfect.

The shelf in the hallway is three millimetres out and no guest has ever once noticed. You notice. You have noticed every day for four years, and the shelf has held everything put on it the entire time.

Perfectionism is rarely a high standard applied generally. It is a standard applied to one person, by one person, on evidence nobody else can see. The fear underneath it is usually not about the shelf at all — it is a suspicion that being wrong about one thing means being found out about everything, which is a far bigger claim than a wonky shelf can support.