Please believe, I’m trying.
There are periods in my life where I feel unfulfilled — this is one of them. After high school, I got a taste of genuine happiness, a kind of freedom I had never allowed myself before. I decided to take a break from academic stress, step away from the rigid structure of expectations and just exist without obligation. And for a while, it was liberating. But then, the silence set in. The stillness that once felt like a gift started to feel like a void.
I watch people around me secure jobs, earn degrees, and get their licenses — stepping forward in tangible, measurable ways. And even though I know, deep down, that life isn’t a race, that we all move at different paces, that success isn’t defined by how quickly you reach certain milestones… none of that stops the insecurity from creeping in. I try to silence it, to remind myself that I am not behind, that I am exactly where I need to be. But some nights, when the world quiets down and I’m left alone with my thoughts, I wonder if I’m lying to myself.
And the irony of it all? I’ve done so much already. I’ve accomplished things my younger self could have only dreamed of. I assisted at Fashion Week, standing in spaces I once thought were unreachable. I’ve worked with brands I used to admire from afar, built connections, created work that others have resonated with. I’ve taken care of myself in ways I never used to — physically, mentally, emotionally. My depressive episodes, which used to stretch on for months, swallowing entire seasons of my life, now last only days. I’m healthier, stronger. For once in my life, I am mentally stable. And yet, it still doesn’t feel like enough.
I wonder why that is. Why no matter what I achieve, I am always looking for more. Maybe it’s because humans are innately selfish, always hungry for the next step, the next accomplishment, the next proof that we are worthy. It’s an exhausting way to live — constantly chasing something that can never be fully grasped. A part of emotional intelligence is understanding this, recognizing these patterns, acknowledging that these feelings are rooted in something deeper than just comparison. And yet, even with all this awareness, I still can’t seem to defend myself against them. I can rationalize my emotions all I want, but that doesn’t make them any less real.
I think about my younger self often. The version of me who once believed that happiness was something you earned, something granted only after suffering enough to deserve it. I want to tell her that happiness isn’t a prize at the end of a long road — it’s found in the small moments, the quiet victories. In laughing with people who make you feel safe, in creating things that make your soul feel lighter, in being able to wake up and not feel like the weight of the world is crushing your chest.
Maybe that’s why I feel this way. Because I have spent so much of my life measuring my worth by what I do, rather than who I am. And now, in this space where I am simply existing, I don’t know how to feel worthy without a list of accomplishments to prove it.
But I’m trying. Trying to remind myself that growth isn’t always loud or obvious. That sometimes, it looks like healing. Like choosing to take care of myself. Like learning to enjoy the present without worrying about what’s next.
I don’t have everything figured out. And maybe I never will. But I do know this:
