The myth of ‘good enough’

Letting go of everyone else’s idea of success

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What does it take to finally feel “good enough”?

For years, my definition of “being good enough” wasn’t really mine at all. It was shaped by the invisible metrics I borrowed from everyone around me — their achievements, ease, and version of success.

This need to measure up, to reach some mythical version of “enough,” has been a constant thread woven into the fabric of my entire life.

From the classroom to the office, I’ve carried the weight of an impossible standard: one that demands perfection and unrelenting self-improvement, always measured against the expectations of others.

The result was a cycle of overwork and self-sabotage, driven by a need for external validation I could never quite grasp.

It took me years of frustration, burnout, and painful introspection to see the truth. I was trapped in a relentless pursuit of something I could never attain. And the only person who could ever set me free was me.

The roots of perfectionism

At my all-girls Catholic high school, there was no room for insubordination or imperfection. My teachers saw my inattention as disrespect rather than a genuine struggle with focus.

I was quickly branded as a problem child, and no amount of effort could shake that label. I was swimming upstream, trying to keep pace with my peers while the current pulled me under. The message I absorbed was clear — if I wasn’t achieving the same results, I must not be trying hard enough.

I wonder how many of us were raised in environments where productivity and achievement were prized above all else. How often do we internalise these messages and carry them into adulthood without even realising? I know I did.

Confronted by feelings of inadequacy, I chose to rebel by simply not trying. It was easier to believe I wasn’t putting in the effort than to admit that I might not be capable. I would occasionally have flashes of brilliance, but they were fleeting. My efforts felt clumsy compared to the effortless ease with which my peers excelled.

The beliefs I internalised in school didn’t stay behind when I left the classroom. Instead, they followed me into the workforce, where the stakes felt even higher, and the need to prove myself only intensified.

If I couldn’t measure up in school, maybe I could make up for it in my career. I traded in my textbooks for endless projects and late nights, convinced that if I worked hard enough this time, I’d finally prove my worth.

The pursuit of external validation

Entering the workforce felt like a blank page — a chance to rewrite the story I’d been telling myself for years. But instead of feeling liberated, I found myself even more tethered to the belief that my worth was tied to my output.

How often do we convince ourselves that a new job, title, or achievement will finally make us feel ‘enough,’ only to find we’re still chasing that elusive finish line? I was determined to prove myself, convinced I had to outwork everyone around me to compensate for my perceived shortcomings.

I remember sitting in a meeting early in my career, desperately scribbling notes while trying to look confident. My heart raced whenever someone asked a question, terrified I’d be exposed as a fraud. I nodded along, but inside, I was sure they’d soon realise I didn’t belong.

This fear drove me relentlessly. I threw myself into every task, giving 110% because anything less felt like a failure. I would wake up early, stay late, and work through lunch to avoid being seen as lazy or uncommitted.

But no matter how hard I worked, it never felt like enough. I was living on borrowed time, constantly taking from my future self to survive the demands of the present. It wasn’t just about doing a good job; it was about proving, day in and day out, that I was worthy.

Shifting the standard of ‘enough’

Earlier this year, I hit a wall.

I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise the person staring back at me. Her face was grey and sullen, the light in her eyes dimmed by her relentless drive to be “good enough.”

I had been living at an unsustainable pace, pouring everything I had into my work while my wellbeing slipped through the cracks.

During one particularly bad bout of burnout, my therapist asked me, “What would happen if you only gave 80% each day?” The question stopped me in my tracks.

“Well, that wouldn’t be good enough,” I replied automatically.

“Good enough for who?” she asked, her eyebrow raised in genuine curiosity.

Her question wasn’t just about giving 80% at work; it was a challenge to the entire way I’d been living my life. It forced me to confront the lie I’d been telling myself.

I had been so sure I was trying to impress everyone around me — my managers, friends, and family. But as the silence stretched between us, I realised I wasn’t doing it for them. 

As I sat with this realisation, I felt a flicker of something unfamiliar: relief. It was the first taste of freedom from a story I’d told myself for years.

A new approach to self-worth

Around this time, my mum shared a quote with me: “You need to break down to break through.” I rolled my eyes at first, half-joking that she’d joined a self-help cult. But as the words sank in, I started to see the wisdom in them.

I’d hit the wall of burnout many times before, and each time, I picked myself up and returned to the same habits, convinced I just needed to try harder. I didn’t realise that what I needed wasn’t more effort but a different approach altogether.

The next time you find yourself sprinting towards a moving finish line, ask yourself: Who set this standard? What might happen if you chose to slow down, even just a little? You might be surprised by the relief that follows. 

As I start to let go of the invisible metrics I once borrowed from everyone around me, I’ve realised that ‘enough’ is something I get to define for myself, and it’s a definition that evolves with me.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, the journey to being “enough” doesn’t start with doing more; it starts with giving ourselves permission to simply be.