It seems success does not always bring the peace one expects. In fact, for some, it brings something far more unsettling… the quiet belief that it still isn’t enough.

Today someone said something to me that made me cry.

Not in a dramatic, something-is-wrong kind of way…
but in that weird way where your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

She said:
“It still floors me that you don’t feel good enough. You’re killing it.”

I smiled. And then I sat there thinking… wait.
Why did this make me cry?

If I’m being honest, I’ve noticed something about myself lately. The second I meet someone new or see someone I haven’t seen in a while, the word vomit starts. And it’s not just over-sharing, it’s self-deprecating. Like immediately jumping to “what I do is dumb,” “this is honestly so cringe,” “I don’t even know how I got here.” I go out of my way to explain how I don’t care or how bad I know I am before they can even think it, say it, or judge me.

So where is this coming from?

When you grow up with anxiety, with absolutely no tools to navigate it and no words to even describe what you’re feeling, the effects can be life altering. Then you add in another layer… religion. And not the good kind. The kind that makes you believe that fear, that constant feeling deep inside you that won’t go away, is something wrong with you. Something you just need to pray away.

So you pray. And you pray. And you pray. But the feeling doesn’t go away. So you start to wonder why. Why me? Why doesn’t God love me? Am I not worthy?

I think part of me decided really young that I just wasn’t lovable. The anxious kid. The overweight kid. The one who felt like she was too much and not enough all at the same time. And if God couldn’t even love me as I was, what did that say about me?

So you find ways to numb it. You look for anything that makes the feeling stop. Maybe it’s food. Maybe it’s external love. Maybe it’s something else entirely. At different points in my life, all of those have served their purpose. Or at least I thought they did, but they were really just adding to the chaos.

Until you find something that actually works.

For me, that was sports. And everything changed. Because for the first time, people showed up. People noticed. People were proud of me. Not because I was Paula, but because I was winning. So without even realizing it, I started to connect the two. If I do well, I’m loved. If I win, I’m enough.

With sports, you get first, you PR, you get the scholarship. It’s clear. It’s defined. It’s safe. You know when you’re doing well. You know when you’re enough.

But life doesn’t work like that.

And I think this is the part that followed me into adulthood… and eventually online. Not the sport itself, but the need to prove that I was enough—and the fear of what it would look like if I wasn’t.

You can’t win motherhood. You can’t PR being a wife. You can’t get first place in doing enough. There is always going to be someone doing more, doing it better, looking like they have it more together.

But without that scoreboard… how will people know to love you?

So your brain fills in the blank…
They probably won’t.

So you say it first. I know it’s dumb. I know it’s cringe. I know I’m not that good. Because at least then you’re in control of it.

I’m still working through this. Because there is no “best” in life. There is no gold medal for getting through the day, no scoreboard for being a good mom, no clear win that tells you that you did enough. Most days, it honestly feels like more of a loss than a win.

But that message… “you don’t feel good enough, you’re killing it”… it broke something open in me. Because both of those things felt true at the same time, and I don’t think I’ve ever let those two things exist together before.

So now I’m trying something different.

I’m trying to take care of her. The little girl who thought she wasn’t lovable. The one who thought she had to earn it, prove it, perform for it. The one who was told love was conditional.

Therapy has been a huge part of that.

And for the first time, I’m not trying to win. I’m trying to heal. I’m trying to show her that she was always enough.

Maybe this isn’t self-sabotage. Maybe it’s protection. Maybe it’s what happens when you grow up learning that love is something you have to earn, and then spend your life trying to prove that you did.

And maybe the real win isn’t being the best.

It’s becoming someone your younger self would finally feel safe being… and not caring what anyone else thinks about it.

Dear Curious Reader: Why Do We Self-Sabotage?

Dear Curious Readers: how well do we truly know one another?