If You Failed Today, Congratulations

Do you constantly weigh your worth against a standard that is impossible to achieve? Wearing yourself down your entire life trying to exceed that limit, only to end up believing that you were not enough?

Being raised by a perfectionist father taught me the kind of love that was dependent on doing everything perfectly. The kind of ‘good’ that wasn't followed by a ‘but’ did not enter my dictionary.

My father’s intention was never to hurt me but to watch me excel but it didn’t refrain the emotional blueprint from stitching itself.

Every thought began as a small flash of energy that traveled across my mind’s inner ground. Each left its trace behind, so whenever a similar one returned, the ground remembered.

In time, a temporary path became a familiar road, then eventually the easiest passage.

My brain naturally moved a little faster and a little sideways compared to everyone else’s. Having a tendency toward making small mistakes, being forgetful, and leaving tasks unfinished.

When I was asked something simple like, “Take the trash out, then finish your homework,” the trash bag rustled, reminding me of the kitchen, then yesterday’s meal, the stove that cooked it, and finally the quiet wonder of how humans first discovered fire.

Five minutes passed while I stood there wandering, the trash still sitting where it was, until my father walked back into the room and said,

“I just told you to take the trash out. Why do you never listen?”

While I did more than listening, that was not what the task required.

Variations of, “You’re smart but just don’t try hard enough,” followed similar sequences.

Each time I tried harder, there was always room for more. Until trying harder slowly turned into a quiet habit of measuring my worth against every mistakes that turned into failure.

My mind constantly inhabited a place between worry and self-blame, replaying memories and linking possible causes of resentment back to me.

Up until recently I kept asking myself, where does this guilt come from?

Only now I'm realising it was parental reinforcement fusing itself in my ADHD.

When the perfectionist part of me was forced to steer the wheel without a break, it grew tired of the world. The structures I built for survival collapsed leaving me to burn out.

Numbness began to take root.

I stopped trying not just to be perfect, but even to wear clean knickers some days.

In that stillness, something unfamiliar surfaced.

A sudden wave of shock ran through me when I realised I was guilt-free for the first time in my life.

Until, my parents’ recent visit in London.

My father didn’t like the life I had, devaluing the only thing I had built for myself over the past months where I had been my happiest.

Recurring whispers didn’t stall to grow louder, replacing my biggest dream with the biggest disbelief of his.

My breaths fell short while the cursor kept blinking on the screen. Feeling discouraged toward writing cleared the path for existential crisis to creep in.

During a phone talk I had with my mother on Sunday, she mentioned a talk she had with my sister. The one who has been writing a novel that none of us has read a single word of for the past decade.

“Even your father lost his faith in her. He used to tell everyone how proud he was of his daughter writing a book.”

In that exact moment, a quiet but powerful ache lodged itself in my heart.

While I was being criticised for taking action to pursue my dream, my sister was being proud of for doing nothing.

For years I believed effort would eventually earn approval until I saw the pattern clearly.

Approval was not about effort. It was about expectation.

In a world of endless expectations, it is easy to mistake pressure for purpose.

Still, my nervous system rang its alarm bells, returning to the patterns, believing it would keep me ‘safe.’

My passion immediately turned into ambition. Ambition became obsession. Obsession led to dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction forced me to try harder. And once again, the belief of not being enough was reinforced.

On the edge of being sucked out of my passion, words from a person1 I connected recently but value deeply reached me,

“Write for the girl who had a world of her own. Not to make your father smile. Failures and disappointments, from what I see, were the first act of freedom.”

Suddenly, questions long overdue appeared,

Why did I feel the happiest when I was giving the least of my efforts?

Could burnout be a cure for restlessness?

Only then I realised what I called burnout was my rebellion for freedom.

I didn't feel guilty because failures broke the illusion of perfection.

My entire life, I tried to exceed that ‘but’ that came right after ‘good.’

The difference is, I now know I can get there only through failing. And failure is uncomfortable for systems built on predictability.

Society forces us under labels because sameness makes control easier. Grouping makes the world manageable.

The moment we begin to define ourselves according to the way other people perceive, we begin forcing ourselves into boxes that do not fit, until the edges of our authenticity grow tired of being shaved down.

If you failed today, congratulations.

Authenticity is undernourished yet highly cherished in a world exhausted by pretending.