The deck
Your first draft is not a verdict, it is a raccoon digging through the trash of your imagination looking for one good sandwich. Let it be messy, lopsided, and slightly embarrassing. Nobody frames a first draft, but every finished thing you admire started as one. Keep the raccoon fed, keep your hands moving, and remember that ugly is often just early wearing work clothes.
Perfectionism arrives dressed like standards, carrying a clipboard, and somehow it never lets you leave the house. Thank it for the outfit and make the thing anyway. Good enough is not surrender, it is a door, so walk through it with your crooked, breathing, human work. People rarely fall in love with flawless, because they fall in love with the part that sounds like you.
You are comparing your pencil shavings to someone else's framed masterpiece, complete with track lighting and a gift shop. Of course that feels unfair, because it is rigged. Their highlight reel hides a thousand deleted attempts and at least one dramatic cry over soup. Measure your work against yesterday's work, because that is the only contest where both artists actually showed up.