Heavy
Your standards point outward as well as in. Sloppy work registers, half-finished things bother you, and you find it hard to respect someone who doesn't seem to be holding themselves to anything. That instinct has a real function — quality survives in a group because somebody is unwilling to let it go, and teams without such a person ship things they later regret. The cost is that a standard applied to other people is a relationship as well as a judgement. People rarely argue with the substance of it; they respond to being measured. The version of this that works long term is the one where the bar arrives as a shared expectation rather than as a verdict.
Moderate
You have a view about how things should be done, and you don't make it everyone else's problem. Poor work registers and you'll say so when it matters, but you're not running a continuous audit of the people around you, and you can take someone else's approach on its own terms rather than measuring it against how you'd have done it. This is a genuinely useful place to be, because it keeps your judgement worth something — a standard raised occasionally carries more weight than one raised constantly. What it costs is the occasional thing you let pass that you'd have been right to name.
Light
You take people's work as it comes. Someone else's carelessness doesn't change your opinion of them, you'd rather a job got finished their way than your way, and you don't spend attention comparing what you got to what you'd have produced. People notice this quickly, and it makes you unusually safe to work near: mistakes get brought to you early, which is precisely when they're cheapest to fix. The exposure is that standards need somebody to hold them, and a room where nobody does drifts. If you're the person others calibrate against, your generosity is doing more than you think — in both directions.