How to Succeed by Not Trying

Most of us have been taught that success comes from effort.

Try harder. Push through. Force yourself to make it happen.

And yet, for some reason, the harder we try, the more stuck we feel.

We overthink every move. We grip so tightly to an outcome that we choke the life out of it. We try to force results, and in doing so, we ignore the reality in front of us.

What if the real key to success isn’t trying harder—but trying differently?

Let’s talk about how not trying can actually help you succeed.

Bukowski’s Advice: Don’t Try

Bukowski’s gravestone reads: "Don’t Try."

A bold life motto, especially from a guy who claimed that drinking alcohol was a necessity for his wellbeing.

Now, I’m not saying to take career advice from a man who lived off whiskey and cigarette smoke—
what I am saying this:

He spent his life doing exactly what he wanted.
He wrote poetry that still resonates decades later.
And whether you love or hate him, he lived a life that was truly his.

He once wrote: "Find what you love and let it kill you."

Maybe the goal isn’t struggling for success. Maybe the goal is living in a way that makes it inevitable.

The Problem With Trying So Hard

Let’s talk about job interviews.

You want the job. You really, really want the job.

So you prepare. You rehearse your answers. You make sure you sound competent, confident, and exactly like the candidate they’re looking for.

And when you walk into the room?

You’re performing. You’re so focused on winning the job that you don’t even notice whether you’d actually want it.

You become hyper-aware of how they see you, overanalyze their reactions, and start adjusting yourself to fit whatever you think they want.

By the end of the interview, you’re exhausted.

And worse? You have no idea if they actually liked you—because you weren’t really showing up as yourself.

This is what happens when we try to force an outcome.

Instead of focusing on who we want to be in a situation, we become obsessed with getting the right result.

And in doing so, we disconnect from reality and lose the very thing that could have helped us—presence.

You Don’t Control Outcomes—But You Do Control Who You Are

Here’s the paradox: The more you try to make something happen, the less control you actually have.

Because you don’t control outcomes.

You don’t control whether you get the job.
You don’t control how others react to you.
You don’t control if things go exactly as planned.

What you do control? How you show up.

• Do I want to lead with honesty or performance?

• Do I want to choose courage or self-doubt?

• Do I want to align with my values, no matter the result?

Because when you focus on being instead of forcing, something strange happens:

You actually see what’s in front of you.

You adapt. You adjust. You take the next step based on reality, not fear.

And that leads to better results than control ever could.

The "Not Trying" Approach to Success

This doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means letting go of forcing.

Take any situation where you feel stuck and shift your approach:

• Instead of trying to prove your worth in a job interview, focus on showing up in a way that reflects your actual skills and personality.

• Instead of trying to get someone to like you, focus on being the kind of person you’re proud of.

• Instead of trying to eliminate anxiety, focus on responding to it in a way that builds self-trust.

And then?

See what happens.

The outcome isn’t something to control—it’s data. It tells you what’s working, what isn’t, and what your next step should be.

When you stop trying to force things, you free yourself to actually respond to them.

And that’s what creates real progress.

Final Thoughts: Success Isn’t Forced, It’s Built

Bukowski was right—"Don’t try."

Not because effort isn’t important, but because effort without presence is wasted energy.

The most successful people aren’t the ones gripping the wheel with white knuckles, desperately trying to steer life in a specific direction.

They’re the ones who stay engaged with what’s actually happening, adjust when needed, and take the next step with clarity.

So if you feel stuck, ask yourself:

Are you trying to force an outcome—or are you focusing on who you want to be in this moment?

Because when you trust that, you won’t have to force success.

It will find you.

You’re Not an Overthinker; You’re a Certainty Maker. A guide to Overcoming Overthinking.

You don’t think too much. You’re not an overthinker.

You think just enough to create a sense of certainty in a very uncertain world. I love that about you.

At some point, you learned that if you could just analyze things enough—if you planned for every outcome, anticipated every risk—you could avoid mistakes, prevent pain, and create safety through certainty.

And that makes sense.

Because uncertainty can feel dangerous. If you don’t know what’s coming, how do you prepare? How do you make sure nothing goes wrong?

So you stay in your head. You run every scenario. You search for the "right" answer.

But here’s the truth:

Overthinking doesn’t create certainty.

It creates a constant fight against uncertainty—one where the only way to feel safe is to think through every possible thing that could happen and try to prevent it.

And the longer you do this, the more your brain learns:

"Uncertainty is bad. The only way to be okay is to eliminate it."

Except—you can’t.

So you stay stuck in an exhausting loop, battling a world that refuses to be predictable.

That’s why overthinking doesn’t bring peace. It brings exhaustion.

So how do you break the cycle?

The Counterintuitive Way Out of Overthinking

Most people think the solution to overthinking is to “stop thinking so much.”

But that doesn’t work. Because thinking isn’t actually the problem.

The problem is what you’re trying to do with it.

Overthinking is about controlling uncertainty.

So the real way out isn’t becoming certain that nothing bad will happen.

It’s becoming certain in your ability to handle uncertainty.

To take action. To allow for whatever happens. To respond in ways that keep you happy and well.

Because the deepest safety doesn’t come from controlling everything.

It comes from proving to yourself—again and again—that no matter what happens, you can take steps to keep yourself safe.

And the only way to do that?

You have to practice.

A Simple Way to Stop Overthinking in the Moment

Next time you catch yourself spiraling into overthinking, try this:

Step 1: Name It.

Say to yourself:
"I notice I’m trying to create certainty through thinking."

Just by naming it, you create a little space between yourself and the thought loop.

Step 2: Shift the Goal.

Instead of thinking to eliminate uncertainty, shift to:
"I can’t know what will happen, I can find out by doing what’s right for me now. What’s the next step I can take with what I know now?"

This helps your brain pivot from "figure everything out" to "move forward with what I know."

Step 3: Take Action and Learn.

Follow through on the step you chose. See what happens.

Then, instead of overanalyzing the outcome, respond to whatever you learn by using that information to take the next step toward peace.

Because clarity doesn’t come from thinking your way into safety.

It comes from doing the thing and proving to yourself that you already are.

Final Thoughts: Certainty Isn’t the Goal—Self-Trust Is

You’re not overthinking because you “think too much.”

You’re doing it because, at some point, you learned that certainty = safety.

And unlearning that isn’t about stopping thoughts. It’s about showing yourself that you don’t need certainty to be okay.

Because the goal isn’t to control life so nothing bad ever happens.

The goal is to know, deep down, that no matter what happens, you’ll have your own back.

Because when you stop looking for safety in certainty—
You find it in yourself.

And that?
That’s a kind of peace that no amount of overthinking can give you.

Trauma Recovery: How to use Awareness to Heal and Recover

This is something I learned the hard way:

Understanding your pain isn’t the same as healing it.

For years, I thought self-awareness was enough.

I believed that if I could just understand myself—my triggers, my patterns, my past—it would fix me.

And in some ways, it helped.

I used to feel like my struggles were random, like I was just fundamentally wired wrong. Gaining self-awareness made everything feel less chaotic. It softened the shame I carried. It gave me words for what I was going through.

But even though I understood myself better, I was still stuck.

For years, I thought that if I could explain why I was the way I was, it would somehow make it okay. I thought that if I could justify my struggles well enough—if I could make my pain **understandable, explainable, acceptable—**then maybe I would finally feel acceptable, too.

But the more I tried to prove my acceptability, the more unacceptable I felt. Because true acceptance doesn’t come from explaining your pain.

It comes from showing yourself—through action—that you were never broken to begin with.

And over time, I realized something:

You don’t heal just because you understand your pain.
You heal when you teach yourself that you’re not stuck there anymore.

Insight Helps You Understand the Wound—But It Doesn’t Close It

If you cut your hand on a piece of glass, the first step is figuring out what cut you.

And that’s important. You need to know where the wound came from so you can clean it, take care of it, and prevent it from happening again.

But if you stop there—if you never bandage it, never let it heal—the wound will continue to bleed, fester, and get worse.

Trauma works the same way.

Understanding what happened to you is an essential first step. But insight alone doesn’t close the wound.

Awareness Alone Doesn’t Create Change

Self-awareness is powerful. It gives you language for your pain. It helps you make sense of yourself.

…but awareness alone doesn’t create change.

Healing happens when you prove to yourself—through small, everyday actions—that you’re not trapped there anymore.

And that takes:

• Becoming aware of the automatic response you learned in order to stay safe.

• Responding differently, especially when it’s uncomfortable.

• Showing yourself, again and again, that despite what your past has told you, you can keep yourself safe now.

It’s not about thinking your way into healing.

It’s about teaching your body and brain that you are no longer living in the past.

You Can’t Just Know It—You Have to Show Yourself That It’s True

This doesn’t mean forcing yourself to “feel better.”

It means giving yourself new experiences—ones that show you, deep down, that you can trust yourself, that change is possible, that you are capable of something different.

Because here’s the thing:

You don’t wait to feel different before you act differently.
You act differently first—and the feelings follow.

Knowing is half the battle, doing brings us to victory and ultimately, peace.

Final Thoughts: The Breakthrough Isn’t in Knowing—It’s in Doing

Understanding your trauma is an important part of the process.

But it’s not where healing happens.

Healing happens when you:

• Take small, consistent actions that prove to yourself that you’re safe.

• Show up in ways that contradict the old story your trauma told you.

• Find a new story beyond the narrative of the old one

Because in the end?

The real breakthrough isn’t in knowing why you do what you do.
It’s in proving—one step at a time—that you can do something different.

And that’s where freedom lives.

Failure Won’t Ruin Your Life—Avoiding It Will

Most of us don’t actually fear failure.

We fear what we think failure means about us.

That we’re not good enough. That we’ll never get it right. That if we screw up once, we’re doomed forever.

And so, without even realizing it, we build our lives around avoiding failure at all costs.

We hesitate, overanalyze, and second-guess every decision. We chase perfection, hoping that if we just plan enough, work enough, and get it right the first time, we’ll never have to feel the sting of falling short.

And that makes sense.

Because at some point, we learned that failure isn’t just something that happens. We learned that it’s a reflection of who we are.

But here’s the paradox:

The people who succeed the most… are the ones who fail the most.

They’re not avoiding failure. They’re using it.

And that’s what no one tells you:

Failure isn’t the problem.
Believing you should never fail is.

I Was So Afraid of Failing That I Failed Anyway

I spent the first three years of my college career avoiding failure, which ironically, caused me to not pass a single semester. At the end of three years, I had a 1.6 GPA.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but unconsciously, I thought:

"If I don’t try, I can’t fail."

So I held myself back. I didn’t push too hard. I left room for the excuse, “I just didn’t put my all in.” Because as long as I had that, I could always tell myself that I could have succeeded—if I really wanted to.

It worked to keep me safe. Until it didn’t.

After three years of scraping by, I got kicked out of university.

Not because I wasn’t capable. But because I was so terrified of failing that I never got to see if I was able to succeed.

At the same time, whenever I actually put effort into something—like writing a paper—and saw it marked up in red ink, shame hit me like a truck.

Instead of reading the feedback, I’d shove the paper in my backpack or turn it in as quickly as possible.

Why?

Because I thought those red marks were proof that I wasn’t good enough. They were evidence that I would never be good enough.

At the same time, here’s what I didn’t see:

Those marks weren’t a verdict. They were a map. They weren’t telling me I wasn’t capable. They were telling me exactly what I needed to know to improve. I was so busy protecting myself from failure that I never looked at them long enough to learn.

And that? That was what really kept me stuck.

When I finally understood this—when I realized that failure wasn’t something to avoid, but something to work with—everything changed.

I returned to university. I stopped trying to look like I had it all together and started actually learning from my mistakes.

And I didn’t just graduate.

I graduated with a 4.0.

Failure Isn’t a Verdict—It’s Data

Failure has never been the problem.

What we’ve been told about failure is.

Somewhere along the way, we learned that failure is a verdict on our worth. That if we mess up, it means something about who we are. That failing once means we’re a failure, destined to fail forever.

But failure is never about who you are.

It’s about what you tried.

It’s just data.

It’s proof that one approach didn’t work—not proof that you don’t work.

And when you see it that way, everything changes.

Failure stops being a death sentence and starts being a stepping stone.

Because when failure is just information, you stop fearing it.
You start using it.

What Happens When You Stop Fearing Failure?

You take more risks.
You say yes to things that scare you.
You stop hesitating, overanalyzing, and waiting for the “perfect” moment.

You realize that failure is just a checkpoint, not a dead end.

You stop seeing failure as evidence of your limits and start seeing it as evidence that you’re growing.

You stop making failure mean something it doesn’t.

And suddenly?

It stops being an obstacle—
And starts being the reason you succeed.

Failure Only Works Against You If You Refuse to Work With It

Failure doesn’t stop you from succeeding.

But fearing failure? Avoiding it? That will.

Because when you refuse to engage with failure, you’re cutting yourself off from the very thing that would move you forward.

You’re rejecting the exact data that would lead you to where you want to go.

At some point, you have to make a choice:

Do you want to look like you’re not failing?

Or do you actually want to succeed?

Because the people who figure things out aren’t the ones who avoid failure.

They’re the ones who look at it long enough to learn from it.

And if you’re willing to do that?

Failure won’t be what holds you back.

It’ll be what gets you to where you want to go.

Feeling Stuck in Life? You’re Not Broken—The World Is Just Loud.

You keep telling yourself you don’t know what you want.

That you’re lost. Directionless. Stuck.

But what if the problem isn’t that you don’t know your path—
It’s that you can’t see it through all the noise of a very loud, messy world?

Because if the world has become one thing, it’s loud.

Where Did the Noise Come From?

Most of us didn’t lose ourselves overnight.

We lost ourselves gradually—through a lifetime of well-meaning voices telling us who to be.

Parents, teachers, cultures, systems.

"Be responsible."
"Work hard no matter what."
"Here’s what success looks like."
"Here’s what a good person does."
"Here’s what a good life should be."
"Here’s what you should be doing."

And here’s the thing—most of it wasn’t meant to harm us.

Most of it came from people who wanted the best for us.
Who wanted us to be safe, accepted, and successful.
Who, in many cases, were just passing down the rules they were given.

But what happens when those rules come at the cost of our own truth?

What happens when the pressure to be who we should be drowns out who we actually are?

For most of us, it leads to this:

We start looking outward for answers.

And before we know it, our life becomes a collection of expectations, losing the internal sense of what truly matters.

What we should do.
Who we should be.
How we should measure success.

And suddenly, we’re stuck.

Feeling Stuck Isn’t a Personal Failing—It’s a Symptom of Too Much Noise.

Most people assume that if they feel stuck, it must mean something is wrong with them.

That they’re indecisive. Unmotivated. Lazy.

But more often than not, feeling stuck isn’t about a lack of motivation—it’s about a lack of clarity.

When you’re surrounded by external expectations, it’s extremely difficult to hear your own voice clearly.

And if you can’t hear it, how are you supposed to follow it?

You don’t need more willpower.
You don’t need another productivity system.
You don’t need to "figure yourself out" in some grand existential way.

You just need to get quiet enough to hear what’s already there.

If You Stripped Away Every “Should,” What Would Be Left?

If you removed all the expectations—if no one was watching—what would you actually want?

Not what would impress people.
Not what would make your parents proud.
Not what would get you approval or validation.

But what would feel like yours?

If that question makes you panic a little, that’s normal.
If you have no idea what the answer is, that’s normal too.

Because when you’ve spent years—maybe even decades—listening to everything but yourself, it takes time to hear again.

Your Feelings Are the Map.

This is where most people get stuck.

They try to think their way to clarity.
They analyze, strategize, and search for the right answer.

But your brain isn’t where the answer is.

Your feelings are.

Whatever sparks curiosity, whatever brings you joy—these are pointing you toward what matters most.

Whatever brings you pain, frustration, or anguish—these are pointing at the same things, but in reverse.

For example:

• If you feel deeply frustrated by greed and inequality, it tells you that fairness, generosity, and people’s well-being matter to you.

• If you feel resentment every time you sit at your desk job, it might be telling you that stability isn’t enough—you crave meaning, autonomy, or creativity.

• If you feel a quiet pull toward something—a hobby, an idea, a type of work—it’s probably not random.

Your emotions aren’t obstacles.
They aren’t problems to manage or suppress.

They’re data.

And when you learn to listen, they become the compass that cuts through the noise and brings you back to your own path.

So What Now?

Most people are waiting for clarity.

For certainty.
For a moment where their life direction will reveal itself in full detail, perfectly mapped out.

But that moment doesn’t come.

Because clarity isn’t something you find.
It’s something you earn by moving forward.

You don’t need to see the whole path.
You just need to take one step.

One step toward what feels real.
One step toward what feels alive.
One step toward what feels yours.

Because once you stop listening to the noise—
You realize you were never actually lost.

You just couldn’t hear yourself think.

Takeaway Questions (for Reflection or Journaling):

• If no one had expectations of you, what would you want to do with your time?

• What are the things that spark curiosity, excitement, or joy—no matter how small?

• What consistently frustrates or angers you? What does that frustration say about what you value?

• Where in your life have you been following “shoulds” that don’t actually feel right for you?

• What’s one small action you could take today that aligns more with you and less with external expectations?

What Is Recovery? The Truth About Healing From Anxiety, Depression, and Trauma

When You Go to Therapy, What Do You Expect to Get Out of It?

Maybe you want relief. Maybe you want to stop feeling anxious all the time. Maybe you just want someone to finally explain why life feels so damn hard.

And therapy can help with that.

Traditional therapy is built around treating illness. It identifies symptoms, diagnoses conditions, and gives you tools to manage them. And for many people, that can bring great relief.

But what if we’re settling for relief when we could actually experience a completely new and joyful way of living?

What if therapy didn’t stop at symptom management?
What if, instead of learning to live with suffering, you could actually find a life you appreciate along with it?
What if there was a way to move forward—not by getting rid of struggle, but by learning how to live fully, no matter what shows up?

That’s where recovery comes in.

The strange thing? We talk a lot about mental illness, but we don’t talk about recovery.

Which is wild—because not only is recovery possible, many people experience full remission from depression and anxiety.

A study published in JAMA Psychiatry found that 38% of people with major depression achieve full symptomatic remission and 30% of those with generalized anxiety disorder recover completely (source).

Another long-term study found that 78% of individuals with anxiety disorders achieved remission within six years (source).

Yet, no one talks about this.

And when people believe recovery isn’t even an option—they have no reason to look for it.

What the Hell Is Recovery?

For a lot of people, the word recovery instantly brings to mind substance use.

And that’s because the community of people who have found their path out of addiction figured it out first. (Thank you for all that you've given yourself and the world through your recovery, and more on that later.)

As it turns out, recovery as a concept applies well beyond substances—we just haven’t been approaching it that way.

If you’ve ever struggled with anxiety, depression, trauma, or any other mental health challenge, recovery applies to you, too.

The problem? Most people don’t even know it’s an option.

We’re taught that mental health treatment is about coping—learning how to manage symptoms, handle stress, and function despite the struggle.

But recovery is something different.

Recovery isn’t about eliminating all difficult emotions.

It’s about learning how to live a life you actually appreciate—no matter what emotions show up.

And the substance use folks? They've been putting in the effort to understand what it's all about for a long, long time.

Because at its core, recovery isn’t about forcing yourself to feel better and make change. It’s not about endless restriction or white-knuckling your way through life.

It’s about expanding your life beyond your struggle—until it no longer becomes a power struggle for life. (Take it day by day, anyone?)

And that applies to so much more than substances.

Most people assume recovery means:

• Never feeling anxious again

• Never having intrusive thoughts

• Never struggling with emotions

Which sounds awesome, I would love that—and it’s also completely unrealistic.

That’s not recovery. That’s a fantasy.

When you stop trying to feel good all the time—when you stop seeing discomfort as proof that something is wrong with you and start responding to life in a way you feel good about—you actually start to feel better as a side effect.

Not because you forced yourself into happiness.
Not because you finally “fixed” yourself.
Because for the first time, you have a new path forward.

I Thought I Was Broken. I Was Wrong.

For most of my life, I was certain that there was something fundamentally wrong with me—something I would be dealing with for the rest of my life.

I was diagnosed with over five different conditions. I cycled through therapy and medication. I struggled with anxiety, panic attacks, and depression.

And then, there was that day.

I was sitting in class, listening to my professor talk about how likely it was that we were going to fail his course.

My heart started pounding. My stomach churned. I felt like I was about to die.

I left. Made it to the bathroom. Panicked. Threw up.

And as I sat there, hands shaking, one thought hit me:

"I don’t want to be dealing with this anymore."

Shortly after, I was kicked out of university. And for the first time, I started asking myself a different question:

What’s actually causing me to suffer?

It wasn’t just the anxiety. It wasn’t just the panic.

It was the beliefs I held about myself. The way I responded to those beliefs. The way I tried so hard to fix myself that I made everything worse.

I started to see how my own attempts to cope were deepening the struggle.

I wasn’t broken. I was stuck in a cycle that made suffering feel permanent.

And once I saw it? I could do something different.

It’s been over ten years since my last panic attack.

And yet—there is a world where I could have one again.

And I truly believe that this is a good thing.

Recovery Is a Muscle—And That Means You’ll Struggle Again.

Here’s the truth: your moment of struggle is your next opportunity to make your recovery stronger.

Recovery isn’t about never feeling anxious, never having intrusive thoughts, or never experiencing pain again.

It’s about building the ability to move through those moments without them defining you.

Because struggle isn’t the enemy.

It’s the weight that makes you stronger.

Think of recovery like strength training.

If you’ve ever lifted weights, you know that in order to get stronger, you actually need resistance. You need stress on the muscle.

And the same is true in recovery.

Every difficult moment gives you real evidence that you can handle this.

Not by avoiding struggle. Not by making it disappear.

But by showing yourself, over and over again, that you know what to do when it happens.

And that’s when everything changes.

Because when you trust your ability to recover, struggle stops feeling like a threat.

And when struggle stops feeling like a threat?

You stop fearing your own life and start living it fully. That’s where joy is found.

Recovery Is Possible—And It’s Already Happening

We talk so much about mental illness. It's time to start talking about recovery.

Because recovery is real. It’s already happening. And it’s available to you, too.

Your Feelings Aren’t the Problem—Fighting Them Is

Most of us have been taught that emotions exist on a scale of good and bad.

Happiness, excitement, love? Good. Chase more of those.
Sadness, anxiety, shame? Bad. Get rid of them as fast as possible.

And so, we try.

We suppress. We numb. We distract. We tell ourselves we shouldn’t feel this way, as if arguing with our own emotions will make them disappear.

But here’s the thing—your emotions aren’t random malfunctions.

They’re signals.

They don’t show up to ruin your day. They show up to get your attention.

Every feeling—especially the uncomfortable ones—is trying to tell you something.

And when you learn to listen, emotions stop feeling like something that’s happening to you.

They become something you can actually work with.

We Fear Emotions Because We Fear Suffering

Most of us aren’t actually afraid of our emotions—we’re afraid of the story we tell along with them. We’re terrified that the mean something awful about the core of us or our existence.

If I feel lonely, does that mean I’m unlovable?
If I feel ashamed, does that mean there’s something wrong with me?
If I feel anxious, does that mean the world will always feel dangerous?

This is where we get stuck.

Because instead of seeing emotions as signals, we see them as truth.

And when you believe your emotions are truth, you react to them like threats:

• You feel lonely, so you isolate yourself even more.

• You feel ashamed, so you shrink away from life.

• You feel anxious, so you avoid anything that might trigger discomfort.

This is how suffering becomes cyclical.

Not because the emotions are the problem.

But because we assume they’re realities to obey rather than messages to understand.

But what if suffering wasn’t something to be feared?

What if, instead, suffering was a portal?

Your Emotions Aren’t Random. They’re Data.

Your brain doesn’t send you hunger signals because it wants to annoy you—it does it to make sure you eat and stay alive.

Your emotions work the same way.

They exist to drive action toward what you need.

• Loneliness is hunger for connection.

• Sadness is hunger to feel good enough and honor what we’ve lost.

• Shame is hunger for acceptance and self-alignment.

• Worry is hunger for safety and security.

Instead of trying to get rid of your feelings, what if you actually listened to them?

Ask yourself:

"What does this feeling show that I care about and value? And am I living in line with that? If not, what’s one step I could take today to do so?"

This is how your emotions go from something that controls you to something that guides you.

It’s not about forcing yourself to feel good—it’s about using your emotions to build a life that actually works.

And when you do?

Your strongest, most overwhelming emotions stop being something you dread.

They become something you trust.

The Fear of Feeling Disconnects Us From Others

Here’s a strange thing about emotions: the less comfortable you are with your own, the less comfortable you are with other people’s.

When someone around you is hurting, do you immediately try to fix it?
Do you tell them “It’s not that bad” to make them feel better?
Do you avoid deep conversations because you don’t know what to say?

This isn’t because you’re unkind. It’s because you’re scared too.

If you’ve spent your whole life running from sadness, how could you possibly sit with someone else’s?
If you think anxiety is a problem to eliminate, how could you ever help someone navigate theirs?

This is why most people shut down, minimize, or try to distract from deep feelings.

Not because they don’t care.

But because they don’t know what to do with it.

The Gift of Embracing Discomfort

Most people assume that a "good life" means avoiding suffering.

No sadness, no anger, no fear.

But the people who are truly alive aren’t the ones who avoid suffering.

They’re the ones who have learned how to meet suffering with presence.

They don’t run from emotions—they lean into them.
They don’t avoid pain—they extract meaning from it.
They don’t see discomfort as a roadblock—they see it as part of the path.

This isn’t about glorifying suffering.

It’s about not being ruled by the fear of it.

Because when you stop fearing discomfort, you stop fearing life itself.

You’re no longer held hostage by the possibility of pain.
You don’t hesitate to love because you’re afraid of loss.
You don’t shrink away from challenge because you’re afraid of failure.

You live fully, knowing that whatever comes—joy, heartbreak, uncertainty, grief—you will meet it well.

And that? That is freedom.

When you’re Safe with your Emotions, You’re Safe for Others

Once you stop seeing emotions as problems, you stop panicking every time you feel one.

And once you stop panicking at your own emotions?

You stop panicking at other people’s emotions, too.

When someone around you is feeling deeply, you don’t rush to fix it.
You don’t minimize their pain or tell them to "just stay positive."
You don’t try to control their feelings because their feelings make you uncomfortable.

You simply show up.

Because emotions aren’t obstacles. They aren’t mistakes.

They’re the very thing that leads us where we need to go.

How to find Happiness? Stop Trying to Be Happy. I’m Serious.

We’ve been taught that happiness is the default state of a well-functioning human. That if you’re doing life correctly, you should feel good most of the time.

And if you don’t? Well, something must be wrong with you.

This is a lie.

Your brain didn’t evolve to make you happy. It evolved to keep you alive. To scan for threats, anticipate problems, and make sure you don’t get kicked out of the tribe and left for dead. It’s wired for survival, not satisfaction.

Which is why the harder you chase happiness, the more it slips through your fingers.

Because happiness was never meant to be the goal.

It’s a side effect.

The More You Chase It, the Further It Gets

If you sit in a chair and think really hard about being happy, nothing happens.

Try it.

Go ahead.

Sit there. Stare at the wall. Force yourself to feel good.

How’s that working?

Exactly.

Happiness works like peripheral vision. If you stare at it directly, it disappears. But when you focus on something else—something engaging, something meaningful—it shows up on its own.

Trying to be happy is like trying to fall asleep. You can’t force it. But you can create the conditions that make it inevitable.

Instead of asking, “How do I feel happy?” ask:

• How can I live well, no matter how I feel?

• What would I do today if happiness wasn’t the point?

• What’s worth showing up for, even when I don’t know the outcome?

Because here’s the paradox: When you stop chasing happiness, it stops running.

And in the stillness, you’ll find yourself actually doing the things you love, happily.

Not because you were trying.
But because you were living.

Living Well Is Always Within Your Control

Happiness is unpredictable.

You could wake up feeling amazing for no reason at all. Or you could do everything “right”—eat well, exercise, spend time with loved ones, accomplish a goal—and still feel off.

If your well-being depends on chasing a feeling, then you will always be at its mercy.

But living well? That’s always on the table.

You can be anxious and still act with courage.
You can be frustrated and still be kind.
You can be exhausted and still take a small step toward something that matters to you.

You can’t control emotions.
You can control the way you respond to them.

And that is what actually determines the quality of your life.

Happiness Isn’t Something You Get—It’s Something That Shows Up

Think about the happiest moments of your life.

Not the Instagrammable ones. The real ones.

A late-night conversation that made you forget about time.
The moment you lost yourself in creating something you loved.
Laughing so hard with a friend that you forgot why you were even laughing.

None of those moments happened because you were trying to be happy.
They happened because you were fully engaged in something worth doing.

When you stop making happiness the goal and start living a life you actually appreciate, something strange happens.

You stop chasing. Happiness stops running. Happiness finds you, living appreciably.

The Healing Trap: Why More Trauma Education Isn’t Always the Answer

If it feels like you’re constantly in danger, if your mind won’t let you rest, if certain patterns keep showing up in your relationships—you’re not imagining it.

This is real. Trauma is real.

When something terrible happens, your brain and body do whatever they need to do to protect you. That might mean shutting down, avoiding conflict, staying hyper-aware of danger, or repeating the same patterns over and over because they give you protection from what had hurt you.

None of this is your fault. And if no one ever taught you how to move forward from it, of course, you feel stuck.

I’ve worked with people who have survived some of the worst things a human being can go through. Childhood sexual abuse. Witnessing a murder. Losing everything. Sometimes, an entire life of minor and major instabilities. The kind of trauma that reconfigures your sense of reality.

For many of them, learning about trauma was the first time they ever felt understood. Suddenly, there were words for what they’d been feeling. There was an explanation for why their body and mind reacted the way they did. They had an opportunity to see that they weren’t broken and defective.

And that’s a good thing…

…and at the same time, what happens when understanding doesn’t lead to healing?

What happens when the same language that explains your suffering also keeps you in it?

It’s not that anyone is doing this on purpose. But in an attempt to make sense of their pain, many people end up caught in the loop of it.

How We Get Stuck in the Trauma Loop

Understanding your trauma can be an incredible relief.

The first time you learn about trauma responses, attachment styles, or nervous system regulation, lightbulbs start firing off.

• “That’s why I shut down in conflict.”

• “That’s why I panic when I feel ignored.”

• “That’s why I struggle to trust people.”

It removes shame. What once felt like a personal failing suddenly has an explanation. There’s a reason why you do what you do.

And that can feel like progress. Because in a way, it is.

Here’s where it gets tricky:

The same language that brings relief can also become a kind of quicksand.

The more we immerse ourselves in trauma language, the more it becomes our primary way of understanding ourselves and others.

• It creates a sense of community—we now share a language with others who “get it.”

• It gives us a framework for our pain—we can label our experiences, map our behaviors, and try to predict and control our responses.

• It allows us to feel safe—because instead of stepping into the unknown of change, we get to stay in the familiar world of understanding. Who wouldn’t want that?

Those are all valuable insights—when kept in balance. At the same time, when trauma becomes the only lens you see your life through, your life stops being about living and starts being defined by trauma. Every challenge, every relationship, every difficult emotion gets filtered through the lens of trauma.

And social media? It amplifies this.

The more trauma-related content gets shared, the more platforms push it to wider audiences. It spreads because it resonates.

Trauma educators—many of whom are trying to help—naturally start creating more of what gets engagement. Because when you see that certain posts are reaching people, it makes sense to keep going in that direction. Not only that, they’ve likely had their own recovery journeys and want to spread it to the world. I dig that.

The problem?

The content that gets the most consistent engagement isn’t about recovery—it’s about a constant search for understanding.

Simple explanations turn into hyper-detailed, jargon-heavy deep dives. Trauma responses become overpathologized, until every struggle is framed as a trauma symptom—sorted into attachment styles, nervous system states, or trauma archetypes.

Again, these concepts are legitimate. They provide clarity, context, and validation.

But concepts alone don’t lead to recovery, and sometimes, can keep us in a cycle of explaining symptoms instead of learning to respond to them.

Not because anyone is intentionally keeping people stuck. Simply because content that validates and explains tends to spread more than content that challenges and moves people toward change. Imagine you’re just trying to enjoy your relaxing evening on Instagram and someone tosses you a guide on how to dig into your worst nightmares. That doesn’t sound very appealing. Whereas finding yourself in a neatly explained framework is validating. That feels very good.

And without realizing it, we start maintaining the very patterns we were trying to heal from.

Not because we’re avoiding action. But because understanding feels like action.

Instead of mobilizing toward change, we are able to sit in the space of recognizing why things are the way they are.
Instead of moving towards the uncertainty of change, we refine our ability to explain why we do what we do.

And here’s the paradox: The reward for understanding is more understanding.

Healing starts to feel like an endless loop of understanding and fixing—where fixing itself becomes the goal.

And when fixing is the goal, succeeding means needing to understand more about how we’re broken.

The Missing Link: Post Traumatic Growth

What doesn’t kill you doesn’t necessarily make you stronger. If anything, trauma is profoundly difficult. It breaks things. It uproots your sense of safety. It changes how you see yourself, the world, and other people.

However, healing from trauma? Healing does make you stronger.

The process of rebuilding after pain. The ability to meet suffering with action. The resilience that comes from facing what happened, and choosing to live well anyway.

This is Post-Traumatic Growth (PTG)—the idea that after deep suffering, many people don’t just return to baseline. They come back stronger, more compassionate, and more aligned with what truly matters (Tedeschi & Calhoun, 2004).

But here’s the problem: PTG rarely makes it into trauma conversations.

Instead, the focus has been placed almost entirely on symptoms. On defining what’s wrong, identifying triggers, and explaining why things feel so hard.

And of course, understanding your symptoms is important—it gives language to your experience, removes shame, and makes sense of what’s happening inside you.

But understanding alone doesn’t alleviate suffering.

Because trauma isn’t just a collection of symptoms to analyze—it’s an experience of profound distress that requires real support and focused effort to recover.

Healing requires something deeper than explanation. It requires action, guidance, and a move towards what's next.

And when we center trauma support around recovery instead of just symptom management—when we offer people real strategies for healing instead of just more labels for what’s wrong—we help people actually recover.

The Healing Equation: Understanding + Honesty x Action = Healing

If you’ve spent years learning about trauma, you’ve already taken the first step. Understanding yourself is important. Seeing your patterns clearly is important. Finding language for what you’ve been through is important.

And at the same time, understanding alone won’t carry you forward.

Because insight without action is like a map you never use. You might know exactly where you are, however getting to where you want to go will require movement.

Healing isn’t about fixing yourself—it’s about learning to live, fully and freely, acknowledging and learning to appreciate the reminders of what you’ve been through..

I’ve worked with people who have survived things most people don’t have to endure. People who felt shattered beyond repair, who thought they’d never feel whole again. And I’ve had the profound privilege of watching those same people rebuild their lives in ways they never thought possible.

Not by erasing the past. Not by wishing their symptoms away. Not by trying to heal every pain.

By stepping forward, often imperfectly, and realizing that their pain didn’t get the final say in who they were becoming.

Because healing isn’t just about understanding your pain. It’s about what you do with that understanding.

That’s where the healing equation comes in:

Understanding + Honesty x Action = Healing.

• Understanding gives you clarity, language, and insight.

• Honesty allows you to take count of your life, your response, how you’ve lived, and most importantly and admirably, to acknowledge the truth of some of the darkest moments you’ve experienced.

• Action is the multiplier. It turns everything you've learned into something real. All of that time you’ve spent understanding yourself and having the honesty to look at some of the deepest pain gets compounded by your action.

And that’s what moves you forward.

If you’re consuming trauma content, let it lead you somewhere. Find your people, collect your insights, then work together to apply them. Connect with others, take one small risk, step toward the life you want—all while feeling afraid.

And if you’re creating trauma content, keep going—and don’t stop at validation and education. Many are doing a really good job of helping people mobilize and find recovery, even in the face of criticism. I see you. For those who haven’t yet taken then step, that opportunity is there for you. Guide people toward what’s next. What does healing look like? What does growth feel like? What can someone do today to break a cycle?

Because healing isn’t about fixing what’s broken.

It’s about noticing the legitimate ways our bodies have learned to survive and protect us, responding to that in a loving way, living a life you want, and ultimately proving to yourself that you were never broken to begin with.

How to Talk to Your Partner About Their Video Game and Technology Use

There’s a kind of loneliness that hits different when the person you love is right next to you—but not really there.

Maybe it started as a small frustration, just a few extra hours spent gaming here and there. But now, it feels like the game is getting more attention than you are. Conversations get cut short. Date nights turn into them saying, “One more match” for the fifth time. You try to bring it up, but every time you do, it turns into an argument or an excuse.

And so you sit with it, feeling increasingly disconnected, maybe even questioning your own worth. Am I being too needy? Is it selfish to want more from my own relationship?

It’s not.

Wanting connection, presence, and effort from your partner is not unreasonable. And it’s not about the game—it’s about the fact that you’re feeling neglected and unheard.

The problem is, when conversations about gaming go wrong, they don’t just go wrong. They explode.

You call them out → They get defensive.
You try to set a boundary → They push back.
You argue → They escape further into the game.
Nothing changes.

So how do you actually talk about this in a way that gets through?

Let’s walk through it.

1. Regulate Yourself Before You Try to Change Anything Else

Right now, you might feel frustrated. Hurt. Unimportant.

Those feelings make sense.

But if you try to talk to your partner while you’re still simmering in them, the conversation is going to go exactly how you expect: badly.

Because frustration doesn’t invite listening—it invites defensiveness.

So before you bring this up, process your feelings first.

• Journal.

• Talk to a friend.

• Go for a walk.

• Do something physically intense to shake off the tension.

Then ask yourself:

"Even with these feelings, am I willing to communicate differently to have a chance at a better relationship?"

If yes, move forward.
If not, that’s okay. Just recognize that waiting for your partner to change while refusing to change your approach is a losing game.

2. Lead With Care, Not Criticism

If your partner feels attacked, they will not hear you. Period.

Instead of saying:
"You’re always playing games and ignoring me."

Try:
"I know gaming is something you really enjoy, and I want you to have that time. At the same time, I miss you, and I don’t feel as connected as I’d like to be. Can we talk about that?"

This isn’t about blaming them for gaming. It’s about expressing your need for connection. And when you make it about the relationship, not just the habit, your partner is far more likely to listen.

3. Listen to Understand, Not Just to Be Understood

It’s easy to assume that your partner is just being careless. That they don’t see the problem, or worse, don’t care about how it affects you.

But the reality? There’s a reason they’re gaming so much.

Maybe it’s how they de-stress. Maybe it’s their way of staying connected with friends. Maybe it’s an escape from something they don’t know how to deal with.

And here’s the part that’s hard to hear: If you don’t take the time to understand that, this conversation will go nowhere.

So instead of just making your case, be curious. Ask them:

• What do you enjoy most about gaming?

• Do you feel like it’s taking up more time than you want it to?

• What do you think would help us feel more connected?

If you can understand why the habit exists, you’ll have a much better chance of finding a solution that works for both of you.

4. Use “I” Statements Instead of Attacks

Instead of:
"You never make time for me."

Try:
"I really enjoy spending time with you, and I’d love to find more ways to connect."

Instead of:
"You care more about that game than you do about me."

Try:
"I feel disconnected when we don’t have quality time together, and I don’t want that for us."

One sparks defensiveness. The other invites understanding.

5. Collaborate on Agreements, not Rules and Boundaries

The moment this conversation turns into you telling your partner what they can and can’t do, it’s over.

Instead of saying, “You need to play less,” ask:

"How much time do you think makes sense for gaming each week? And how much time can we set aside just for us?"

The difference? They’re now part of the solution instead of feeling controlled.

Let them suggest ideas. You might be surprised by what they come up with.

Then, agree on:

• A set time for gaming vs. connection.

• A plan for what to do if the balance starts slipping.

• What each of you will do to make sure the relationship stays strong.

If they create the agreement with you, they’re far more likely to follow through.

6. Expect Slip-Ups—And Know How to Handle Them

Most people expect permanent change from a single conversation.

That’s not how habits work.

If your partner slips up and plays longer than planned, it doesn’t mean they don’t care. It just means they’re human.

What matters is how you handle it.

Instead of letting resentment build up, call it out early—without attacking:

"Hey, I noticed we haven’t been spending as much time together again, and I miss you. Can we talk about how to get back on track?"

No drama. No resentment. Just a simple return to the agreement.

7. If Nothing Changes, Ask the Bigger Question

If you’ve done all of this—calm conversations, mutual agreements, clear boundaries—and your partner still refuses to listen or adjust, then this is no longer about gaming.

It’s about how they show up in the relationship.

At that point, the real question isn’t:
"How do I get them to change?"

It’s:
"Is this the kind of relationship I want to be in?"

And if the answer is no, then that’s the conversation you need to have.

Final Thoughts

Most people approach this conversation by trying to win.

The goal isn’t to win. The goal is to actually be heard.

If you approach this with frustration, blame, and ultimatums, you will get defensiveness, avoidance, and fights.

If you approach this with care, curiosity, and collaboration, you have a real chance at change.

And even if nothing changes, you’ll walk away knowing that you showed up in a way you respect.

That, in itself, is worth something.

I’m a Mental Health Therapist, and I Believe the Way We Talk About Diagnosis Is Making Us Sick

Let me be clear: Mental health struggles are real.

When you’re buried under depression, it’s not just sadness—it’s a complete loss of color in life, a weight that makes every action feel pointless.

When you’re battling anxiety, it’s not just overthinking—it’s an endless loop of tension and fear, convincing you that something bad is always about to happen.

When your brain feels scattered, unfocused, and restless, it’s not just distraction—it’s feeling like you’re constantly falling behind, no matter how hard you try.

If you’ve ever felt like life is harder for you than it seems to be for everyone else, you’re not imagining it.

And when you finally sit down in a therapist’s office, desperate for answers, you’re given a diagnosis.

It can be hugely cathartic and relieving because now, it makes sense. You’re not imagining things. There’s a name for what you’ve been feeling. There’s a reason life has been so hard.

And having that understanding? That alone can be powerful.

It removes shame. It helps you realize you’re not just “failing at life.” It gives you a framework for why things feel so difficult.

But it also has another side effect—one that most people don’t see coming:

When you believe something is a fixed part of you—when you believe your brain chemicals are the problem—you lose the ability to have influence over it.

Because if it’s just a malfunction of your brain, then what’s left to do besides manage it?

This is why people have been told for decades that depression is caused by a “chemical imbalance,” a serotonin deficiency in the brain, a bad roll of the genetic lottery. It’s why so many people, myself included, were left coping with a handful of diagnoses.

But here’s the problem: That theory has never been proven.

In fact, recent research shows that there is no evidence to support the serotonin theory of depression at all.

The Serotonin Theory of Depression Was Never True

In 2022, a comprehensive review of decades of research was published in Nature Molecular Psychiatry, concluding that there is no scientific evidence that low serotonin causes depression.

For years, people have been told that their depression is the result of a serotonin imbalance, a defect in their brain chemistry—something they were born with or destined to have.

And it turns out, that story was just that—a story. A belief. We don’t know if there is a biological cause

That’s not to say medication can’t be helpful. About half of people find great relief from medications, and that’s wonderful. It is important to mention although that this paper suggests that the real relief people feel may not be caused by fixing serotonin deficiency, but instead may actually be a placebo effect (more on that in a moment).

And yet, we’ve built an entire mental health system around this idea.

A system that convinces people that their suffering is hardwired. A system that encourages people to identify as a diagnosis. A system that tells people that their best hope is symptom management—not recovery.

And when you believe that your suffering is permanent, it becomes permanent.

This is The Belief Effect—your mind actively shapes your reality based on what you expect to be true. Back to that placebo. If you believe that you have a chemical balance and you take a pill to fix it, you gain hope and the belief that you can actually be well. Unfortunately, this also comes with a few side-effects (literally and figuratively, the side effects can be brutal): it reinforces that your brain is defective, and for many, that leads to a constant cycle of medication management focused on illness instead of medication being a tool for recovery.

If you believe you’ll never recover, you don’t have a reason to look for ways to. If you believe you’re broken, you find endless proof that you are. If you believe your brain is the problem, you may not delve into the other factors that may be at the root of your challenges.

Even worse, we’re reinforcing it. At the core of depression, you’ll almost always find two beliefs:

1. Hopelessness—the belief that things will never change.

2. Defectiveness—the belief that something is inherently wrong with you.

Now think about how we talk about depression in the mental health world.

• “You’ll always have this condition.”

• “Your brain is chemically broken.”

Our attempts to treat people, while well intentioned, have stopped people from recovering at best, and have made them more ill at worst.

Therapists Are Required to Diagnose

Here’s something most people don’t realize:

If you’re using insurance for therapy, your therapist has to give you a diagnosis—immediately.

No diagnosis? No billing code. No insurance reimbursement.

But it’s bigger than that.

Not only are therapists not taught that people can fully recover, we’re explicitly and implicitly taught that they can’t.

In graduate school, we’re trained to help people cope with their symptoms, not to guide them toward a full recovery.

The messaging is clear: Mental illness is chronic. Symptoms can be managed, not eliminated. Coping is the best we can do.

And if you’ve never personally recovered from mental health struggles yourself, what frame of reference would you have to question that?

How would you know any different?

This isn’t about blaming therapists, life coaches, or psychiatrists. Most enter the field because they deeply want to help people.

But the system they’re trained in is flawed.

And that realization? It was painful for me. Deeply painful.

Because as I worked with more clients, I started seeing something I couldn’t ignore:

The way I had been diagnosing people wasn’t just giving them answers—it was keeping them stuck.

I wasn’t helping them recover. I was reinforcing the belief that they never could.

That’s a hard thing to admit.

And for any provider to move forward from this, they would have to admit the same, a truth that will likely make this cycle hard to break.

Therapy Is an Institution. The DSM Is a Bible.

The field of mental health was built on a foundation of treating illness instead of promoting wellness.

Instead of focusing on the wisdom of the person in front of us, it’s been aimed at pathologizing people and positioning therapists as the experts.

We, as therapists, have been trained to believe that we hold the knowledge, that we have the answers, that our job is to diagnose, label, and treat.

And without realizing it, that framework—one built on good intentions to help—has also served as a way to reinforce our own egos around being a helper.

Because when you believe you are the expert, you also believe your clients need you. For many of us who are motivated by helping, that can be intoxicating. It can also leave you in an ever lasting loop of wondering whether or not you’re truly helping, and doing everything that you can to prove that you are (even if that means calling the client resistant and blaming them for their lack of progress).

You become the person who “understands.” The one who “sees what they can’t.” The one who knows what’s best for them.

But the truth is, our clients are the ones who hold the answers.

And the moment we stop positioning ourselves as the authority over their experience, the moment we stop believing that the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical manual, the tool that we use to diagnose) has the final say in who they are, is the moment we actually start helping them recover.

How I Recovered

At my lowest point, I had been kicked out of school. I had cycled through therapist after therapist, medication after medication, and nothing seemed to work.

But then, something happened.

I started reading Feeling Good by David Burns.

One day, while going for a walk, I had a realization that changed everything:

"My belief that I’m a failure is just that—a belief."

I used to fear that I would end up on the streets, because that’s what failures do.

But then I stopped myself.

I don’t see people without homes as failures. I don’t see my friends who have struggled as failures. In fact, I don’t think anyone is a failure.

So why did I believe that about myself?

And if that belief wasn’t true, what else wasn’t?

That I would always be depressed? That I would always be anxious? That I would always be stuck?

At that moment, my certainty crumbled.

And uncertainty? That was the most powerful thing I’d ever felt. I became certain in my ability to live differently.

After a lifetime of struggling with school, I returned and graduated with a 4.0. I knew I would spend the rest of my life guiding others to find this relief as well, and went on to practice therapy.

Final Thoughts: We Don’t Treat Diagnoses—We Treat People

The more I worked with people—people with PTSD, OCD, panic attacks, anxiety, depression—the more I saw something I couldn’t ignore.

They were recovering.

Not just managing symptoms. Recovering.

Because when people stop seeing themselves as permanently broken, they start responding to life differently.

And when they start responding to life differently, they start healing.

The mental health world needs a shift—not one of blame, but of understanding.

Therapists, life coaches, and psychiatrists: We have to move beyond pathologizing people and toward actually helping them navigate their experiences in a way that leads to lasting change.

Instead of reinforcing the idea that suffering is permanent, we can help people understand what their symptoms are actually telling them.
Instead of focusing solely on diagnosis, we can guide people toward responding to their experiences in a way that leads to growth.
Instead of acting as the authority on people’s lives, we can trust that they already hold the answers—we just need to help them uncover them.

The best way we can do this? By doing our own work.

If we’ve recovered from our own suffering, we can guide others from a place of truth, not just theory.
If we’ve done the deep, uncomfortable work of questioning our own beliefs, we can help others do the same.
If we’ve moved beyond identifying with our struggles, we can help our clients move beyond theirs.

That’s how we change lives—not just theirs, but ours too.

Because at the end of the day, we don’t treat disorders.

We treat people.

How to Succeed in Life when Success Is a Rigged Game—Redefine It

Most people spend their whole lives chasing success without ever stopping to ask: Who decided what success even means?

And more importantly—why are we all playing by the same rules?

If success means hitting the goal, getting the outcome, and achieving the result… what happens when you don’t? I spent the first 25-years of my life feeling like a failure. I literally failed my first three years of university straight, dropping out with a 1.6 GPA. I returned in 5-months and received a 4.0 GPA for the first time in my life, all because I realized something simple:

If success is entirely based on what happens after you act, then you are never truly in control.

You can work harder than anyone and still not land the job.
You can create something incredible and still not have it take off.
You can love someone fully and still lose them.

If your sense of success depends on factors outside of you, you will always be chasing something that isn’t fully yours to hold.

Proud Action: The New Success

Instead of measuring success by what happens, measure it by whether you took action in a way that you feel proud for.

Not proud of what you accomplished—proud for the way you showed up, regardless of the outcome.

If you apply for the job, whether or not you get it is out of your control.
But showing up fully, writing the best application you can, and submitting it anyway? That’s yours.

If you have a tough conversation, how the other person reacts is out of your control.
But being honest, speaking clearly, and holding your ground? That’s yours.

You can’t control whether your work is well-received.
You can control whether you did work that felt meaningful.

And here’s the paradox: when you stop chasing external success and start showing up for the process, you often get better results anyway.

Not because you’re forcing them.
But because you’re actually engaging with life instead of anxiously managing outcomes.

Your Definition of Success Determines Your Life

Most people live in a loop of waiting to feel successful.
They tell themselves, “Once I achieve X, I’ll finally feel accomplished.”
Then they get it, and the bar moves.

Instead of being relieved, they just find another metric to chase.
The cycle repeats. The goalpost never stops shifting.

But when success is measured by whether you showed up in a way that aligns with you, you are never waiting.

You don’t have to reach some far-off milestone to feel like you’re enough.

Your metric is entirely within your control, right now.

Your success is the way you respond to this moment—not what happens after.

The One Question That Changes Everything

After any situation, instead of asking:

"Am I successful? Did I succeed?"

Try asking:

"Did I take action in a way that I feel proud for?"

Proud for choosing growth over comfort.
Proud for responding instead of reacting.
Proud for moving forward when you could have stayed stuck.

The rest?
That’s just life unfolding.