Iused to say, “I’m a perfectionist,” with a mix of self-criticism and condescension — as if sacrificing my body and soul to meet deadlines was something to brag about.
There was a time when I would wake up at 5:00 am and complete a full ashtanga practice, read the Economist with a cup of coffee, and then go to the library to work on a thesis. I had this fully formed image of who I had to be to be successful: disciplined, smart, hardworking, driven. Pursuing this idealized version of myself kept me working my body to exhaustion day in and day out. I got so good at ignoring my body’s needs I hardly noticed when my period stopped coming, and I fooled myself into believing that the constant injuries were a sign of discipline (Must be doing something right).
Grind culture’s idea of success centers around constant overworking. Whenever we check that box, we get a surge of validation — starting with our inner judge that congratulates us for working hard—such a good girl.
Tricia Hersey recounts how we are socialized into becoming perfectionist agents of grind culture:
I would volunteer in my son’s third grade classroom weekly and notice the young children being told “hold your pee. Bathroom break isn’t for another twenty minutes.” I watched in horror as an eight year old squirmed, attempting to wait the twenty minutes until he could relieve himself. The teacher, obviously overwhelmed, continued to ignore his cues until he eventually used the bathroom on himself.
The disregard for children’s bodies and the unnecessary embarrassment we suffer in school are how we learn to ignore our body’s needs. Many people believe grind culture is this faceless thing directing our every move when in reality, we become grind culture by internalizing a mechanical standard of perfection.
