To the high achiever who built the life that was expected of her but is secretly tired of it
On living a life that looks good on paper while feeling completely out of alignment — and what it actually takes to walk away from it.
For some of us, there was a point when our achievements became more than what we do — they became who we are.
You became a machine that depended on achievement to function.
And because of it, you built a great life with plenty of external markers of success, including an impressive resume, accolades, and a good income.
But despite how successful your life appears, you’ve been quietly wrestling with yourself about something that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore.
You’ve realized that much of your life has become one big performance.
A performance built around meeting expectations, collecting achievements, and preserving the image you’ve worked so hard to create. You became so accustomed to being rewarded for performing that your worth became dependent on it.
Yet at the same time, you’ve outgrown the life you’ve been performing.
You’re exhausted from keeping up appearances. You want to pivot. You want to build a life that reflects who you truly are and what you actually want, rather than what looks impressive to everyone else.
But there’s one problem.
You’ve spent so much time performing that you’re not sure who you are without it.
Walking away from the life you’ve built, even when you know you’ve outgrown it, feels like abandoning everything you’ve worked for and stepping into the unknown. It’s like walking into a room where your accomplishments can’t introduce you because you haven’t done anything impressive there yet.
And when achievement has been your identity for so long, that raises a terrifying question:
Who exactly are you if you’re not performing?
…
This is my personal reflection on living that life and walking away from it.
Success while silently suffering…
By 26, I had a six-figure career in finance, a healthy network of corporate professionals, a stellar financial portfolio, and a fabulous lifestyle that included many hobbies, such as tennis, Pilates, golf (occasionally), travel, and attending social events.
I had also started my podcast a little over a year ago after selling the blog I started in college. My podcast was growing in downloads, social channels, and even ranking on the Apple Charts. I was also able to create multiple streams of income from my podcast, including ad revenue and digital products.
Things were going great… I was doing pretty well by all measures and looked like I had my life figured out…
But beneath it all, there was something I was secretly carrying. Something that both scared and confused me. It was the realization that my entire life had become a performance — one built around meeting expectations and chasing a version of success that was handed to me rather than one I had consciously chosen for myself.
I knew I didn’t actually like accounting and finance. I was just good at it, and it was a decent challenge that didn’t bore me. I knew it before I even chose my major in college, and definitely before I signed my first full-time offer for post-grad.
So why was I so loyal to it? Why was I so loyal to the performance — to the life I knew wasn’t for me?
I would wrestle with that question until I finally reached a breaking point in 2023, when the weight of the performance felt like it had reached its threshold.
I felt overwhelmed, restless, confused, and disappointed in myself for being so loyal to a life that drained me just because it looked good to others.
People thought so highly of me because of my track record of achievement. But deep down, I felt like a coward…like a fraud. Because I was too afraid to do the things I actually wanted to do. I was too afraid of what people would think of me if I came off that pedestal they placed me on, which came with expectations on how I should live my life and continue to be the one who “had it together.”
Sometimes I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror because I didn’t recognize the person that I was allowing myself to become to fit the image people had of me.
I was becoming someone who settled.
I always said that I would never settle in life because I believed I was meant to live an extraordinary life. But I didn’t know that settling could also look like having everything you thought you wanted on the outside while feeling completely unfulfilled on the inside because you’re too afraid to pursue the life you actually want. I always assumed settling would look like struggle, stagnation, or constant setbacks, but I learned that sometimes it looks like accepting a life that’s merely ‘good’ when you know you’re capable of greatness.
So when the weight of that became unbearable, I made a bold decision to walk away from my finance career and not go back, no matter what. I was determined to build the life I wanted, do work that genuinely fulfilled me, and create a meaningful impact in people’s lives.
P.S: If you want the exclusive behind-the-scenes of my unravelling after I took that leap of faith — from losing my identity, my closest relationships, and my sense of self… to the death of the version of me that lived for external validation, and the birth of who I was always meant to be — read The Unravelling Series.
I took the leap of faith, but I cared too damn much about what people thought of me
I threw myself into my content, and I genuinely loved it. It felt like I was finally living from the heart. Whenever I created, whether through writing or podcasting, it felt like I was opening my heart and letting it speak. It felt easy… Natural... It felt like… me.
But despite how passionate I was about it and how consistent I’d been, I knew I was still playing small. I’d post content and worry about how people would perceive me.
I’d make sure my podcast clips had enough context so that I wouldn’t be misunderstood.
I’d proactively block people I worked with and even family and friends because it felt like I was showing a side of myself they hadn’t seen.
I was actively doing what I loved while still shrinking myself and trying to manage my image in the eyes of those who knew me, because they didn’t know that vulnerable side of me. They didn’t know some of the stories I shared on my podcast.
They didn’t really know the real me underneath the performance. Heck, I didn’t even know the real me — I was still figuring it out. And I felt the weight of the pedestal I was placed on — the expectations and the image they had of me — and I knew it wasn’t congruent with how I was showing up online.
You see, online, I was the real me. I talked about things I cared about. I shared from the heart. I created from the heart. I had a genuine desire to help people transform their lives as I did, and I still do.
But it brought issues in my personal life — my family and friends started confronting me about what I was sharing (that’s why I started blocking, lol). People were upset that I was more open online than I was with them. And even though I understood their point, I had a different perspective.
I have always been passionate about self-improvement, and I shared the origin in a recent Substack post. I’d try to have these types of conversations with people in my life, but they would shut me down. People didn’t like that I would try to help them improve their lives and resolve their issues rather than encouraging them to make bad decisions or continuously rant and complain to me about problems that they actually kept creating. They’d see me as ‘the friend who’ll lecture you,’ ‘the boring friend,’ “the friend you don’t go to when you want to make bad decisions.”
I think people grew resentful towards me for being ‘responsible’ and holding them accountable. And I felt it.
But that’s the kind of person I am, though.
I’m not the kind of person who thinks it’s fun to “do it for the plot” and make reckless decisions. I’ve always carried myself like I have something to lose because I always knew what type of life I was meant to live. I stomached the comments from ‘friends’ about being boring and strict. I 100% left the function if things got out of hand or if I felt weird energy, and I did not accept any future invitations. I definitely put restrictions on the environments I’d be in. I had a quiet confidence about myself, and I wasn’t willing to compromise to make people feel comfortable.
But when I saw how it created resentment and tension in my relationships, I simply brought that passion for self-improvement to the internet and kept it out of my personal life. And I was villainized for that too.
But the real problem was that I cared too much.
I still tried to filter what I said online, always keeping people’s potential reactions in the back of my mind. I cared too much.
Too. damn. much.
I was finally doing what I loved, but I was still shrinking and filtering myself to live up to people’s expectations of me.
That made me grow very isolated from most people in my life.
I started building the life I wanted, but it isolated me.
The decision to stop performing and build the life I actually wanted to live made me very isolated — because now I couldn’t maintain the relationships that required any part of the performance.
In the beginning, I’d compartmentalize myself based on who I was around. I knew which sides of me triggered certain people, so I’d withhold them and bring forth the parts of me that made them comfortable.
But the difference between the girl who showed up on the podcast and the girl who showed up in real life was impossible to ignore. And inevitably, the two worlds collided, and only one would survive.
On one hand, you have the performative version of me — constantly shrinking herself to please others and not rock the boat, very passive, overly concerned with other people’s opinions and perception of her, and would occasionally compromise in relationships. She’s the version who blocked people who weren’t comfortable with the authentic side of her in real life because she was nervous about the confrontation it would bring. She’s the one who performed to stay on the pedestal and tolerated relationships where people didn’t offer her support but had criticism readily available when she fell short of their expectations.
On the other hand, you have the authentic version of me — passionate, creative, loves deeply, loves expressing herself from the depths of her heart, loves sharing her story and helping hers, and is committed to self improvement and living an extraordinary, fulfilled life. She’s the version who’ll hold you accountable to becoming the best version of yourself because she wants to see you win and do amazing things in life. She’s the one who prioritizes her happiness, fulfillment and obedience to God over the opinions of others. She’ll confront you and she won’t shrink to make you comfortable. You can either rise to her level or go somewhere you’re more comfortable.
My content got the authentic version of me, while my relationships got the performative version. My content felt like the fresh start I needed away from the image people in my personal life had of me — I could finally be myself instead of performing. But I’d been that version for so long that I was met with a lot of tension when this new version — the real me — started coming out.
The more I anchored into my authentic self, the more tension surfaced in some of my relationships. The less willing I was to compromise who I was, the more distance grew between us. The more I stood my ground without apologizing for being myself, the more I was villainized.
So I resigned to the isolation until those relationships inevitably fell apart.
My life finally feels like mine 🦋
In hindsight, I think I honestly threw around the word 'authentic' before this chapter of my life. I didn’t really have an encounter with what it meant to be authentic before now. My initial perspective was very surface-level because I hadn’t let the authentic version of me out long enough before I’d lock her up again if it made people feel uncomfortable or criticize me.
But I got to know someone in all of this…
I got to know the beautiful soul behind the performance.
I got to know a girl with a big heart and a genuine desire to make people feel seen, heard, and understood. I got to know the heart of the girl who will make the person who feels overlooked know that someone sees them and cares about their opinion — who’ll ask “what were you saying?” to someone who got interrupted while talking.
I got to know a girl who loves lying in her bed with her pajamas and her bonnet on, writing Substack articles from her heart (yes, this is my current state). I got to know the girl who loves love, is a real yearner, and a sucker for all things “touchy-feely.”
I got to know a girl who learned to love herself after seeing the way God loves her.
I got to know the girl who always knew she was meant for a bigger life — in her purest form. With her raw and unfiltered desires and feelings that I never had the time to explore when I was in survival and performance mode.
I took the time to learn her, love her, and most importantly, be compassionate towards her instead of being her biggest critic. I learned what makes her happy, what makes her tick, how she thinks, and what she hates. I learned to stand up for her so she doesn’t feel the need to retreat.
I got to know the little girl inside of me — who I was before the world told me who I should be.
And now, I get to be her instead of the ‘strong,’ performative, isolated lone wolf I became to protect her.
Since becoming that girl, my life has started looking a lot different now that I’m not performing. I stopped doing things based on what would make me look impressive, and I started doing things that felt aligned with my authentic self.
I learned to detach my identity and worth from what I did and how I performed, and I started creating from within.
I’m still ambitious, but I don’t feel the need to accomplish things to prove my worth or earn my spot anymore.
Relationally, things have felt a lot lighter. My current relationships are truly helping me flourish as this version of myself. I stopped hiding and pretending to be this superhero, and they don’t expect me to be.
I feel genuinely supported by my friends and family, and I’ve been spending more time with them just talking and kiki-ing, and it has honestly helped regulate my nervous system (I’m not even exaggerating).
I’ve truly felt at peace with my life and in my relationships ever since I stopped performing. It’s the best decision I’ve ever made.
My biggest lessons
1. What started as a decision to stop performing in my career turned into a complete unraveling of every area of my life where I was performing instead of being myself
My decision to step away from finance started as nothing more than a career pivot. I was unhappy in my job and wanted to do work that felt more aligned. That was the extent of it. But what began as a career change turned into a complete unraveling of the deeper issue. I realized that if I wanted to create a life that wasn’t dictated by other people’s expectations, I first had to dismantle the performance that had become part of my identity.
And in the process, every part of my life that depended on the performance began to fall apart.
Every relationship that created pressure for me to shrink myself, or where resentment had built from a lack of acceptance of who I truly was, was tested and ultimately failed.
Every other aspect of my life, even things that were on my vision board, was tried and held up the golden question — Am I pursuing this because I genuinely want it, or am I just trying to add another achievement to my arsenal to look more impressive?
And I let go of everything that didn’t pass the test.
2. My identity reinforced performance, not authenticity
I didn’t know who I was without the achievements. Somewhere along the lines, my wins became more than just what I do — they became who I was.
It’s the reason I could feel truly passionate about content creation, but even more consumed by how people would perceive me. It’s the reason why, after putting out some of my most vulnerable content, I’d wrestle with myself on whether I should take it down because I felt too ‘exposed.’ It’s the reason I could hate a career so much yet still be resigned to it because it looks good on paper and makes me look impressive. It’s the reason why I always protected my vulnerability like my life depended on it, because I was afraid of how it would make me look compared to the expectations people had of me.
The things that made me feel like me were not good enough to be embraced and publicly shared unless it was impressive. Anything that threatened the image of who I was expected to be was quietly hidden, while I was loud about the things that reinforced it.
I had to stop tying my identity to performance and external validation before I could fully embrace who I really was.
I had to come off the pedestal, strengthen my boundaries with the people who put me there, and create a safe space for the real me to finally emerge.
3. The externally validated, performative version of myself deserves compassion too
When I think back to how I let people walk all over me or have power over me with their expectations, it honestly infuriates me. The version of me that I became on the other end of this unravelling is a lot more confident, strict, and unapologetic — not out of spite but rather a deep understanding of who I am, WHOSE I am, and what I carry. She wouldn’t go for the foolishness that old version of me allowed.
But I have to remember that the version of me who kept up the performance deserves love too.
She did what she had to do to survive. She thought she was protecting herself. She loved deeply and gave the benefit of the doubt because she cared about those people she felt betrayed by. She handled the pressure really well considering everything she had on her plate. And she did the best she could. And that’s good enough for me.
I won’t be overly critical of her like other people were. I won’t judge her based on how she measures up to this version of me now. I won’t kick her off the pedestal, nor will I place her on one.
I feel nothing but love, compassion, and gratitude towards her — for enduring, for protecting me, for getting back up all those times she got knocked down, and for being brave enough to set things in motion for this version of me to emerge.
4. You can either step into the greatness you were meant for or settle for ‘good’ because it looks good to other people
It doesn’t matter how successful the life you build is — if it’s not the one where you’re operating at your highest potential and being true to your authentic self and what you were created to do, no amount of success will make up for that. You will always feel it.
You will have to lie, hide, and perform to maintain it. You will deplete yourself mentally and emotionally and have to bear the weight of fighting that fight in isolation because you don’t feel safe being honest about how you really feel because your life looks good on the outside.
You will wrestle with the truth — the inner knowing that you don’t actually want this life you built anymore. Knowing that you built it based on expectations, not authenticity. Knowing that it requires you to perform to keep it up and that it’s weighing on you.
I wrestled with that truth for years before I was finally brave enough to stop settling and stop prioritizing the image people had of me over who I actually was. And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.
It’s so much easier to just be yourself and move through life from that place. And it’s possible to dismantle the externally validated identity that keeps the performance alive, step into your authentic self, and build a life around what you genuinely want. A life with work, relationships, and community that support who you truly are, not who people expect you to be.
Because if you got this far by performing and being who everyone expected you to be, how much further will you go when you become who you were created to be?
A Special Invitation 💌
If you're ready to dismantle the performative identity you've built and finally step into the woman you were created to be, you can work with me directly inside Become You 2.0. Enrollment for the next cohort is now open.
And if this resonated with you, the Unravelling Series is where I go even deeper…
It’s the behind-the-scenes of what actually happened after I took that leap of faith — the parts I don’t share publicly. From losing my identity, my closest relationships, and my sense of self… to the death of the version of me that lived for external validation, and the birth of who I was always meant to be.
Available exclusively for paid subscribers. Upgrade for full access to all parts.
I can relate in soooo many aspects. My Substack and podcast have been my outlets in this very way as well. And much of what you’ve shared here, I’m still processing for myself as well. Thank you for writing & sharing!
reading this felt like a conversation with myself 🥹 thank you so much for sharing!