Why success feels empty and failure feels like the end of the world
If you're a current, former or recovering overachiever, this one is for YOU my friend
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I started out well.
I used to get 10 out of 10 in all of my spelling tests in primary school. And I absolutely say this to brag – what a timeless flex, after all?
I went on to… keep doing well. I would win handwriting competitions, I led the debating team, got a lead role in the school musical, become a sixth year prefect and eventually, achieved the highest Leaving Cert result in my whole school, which I got a prize (and money!) for. TL;DR: I was, what an onlooker might call, a huge, huge nerd. I did my homework, never got detention, but more than that: I overachieved.
Circling back to my ultimate spelling test flex. 10, 10, 10 across the board, to quote Beyoncé. However. On the startlingly rare occasion I got a 9 out of ten – still an arguably decent score for someone aged 8 who’s still grasping one of the most nonsensical languages in history, I would be crushed. Catastrophically, irretrievably crushed. I would cry, I would question myself, I would feel deep, deep shame. I still remember once getting a 9 and feeling my face BURN when my teacher said “It’s not like you, Aisling!” in a chiding but playful tone. I wanted to cry (but didn’t).
That burning face feeling followed me: When I led the debate team but didn’t win a particular debate? Soul = destroyed. When I got the highest LC result but didn’t get the specific points number I wanted? Mortified. When I got *a* lead role but not THE lead role? Heartbroken.
At this juncture, I’d like to state that I am aware how much of an asshole this particular proclivity makes me sound, but as with all of my writing, I am being honest in the hope that someone reading might feel similarly and this might help in the unpacking process (for me and them!)
I don’t know where this self-imposed pressure came from – it certainly wasn’t my parents, whose ethos was that you should always do your best, and whatever happens, happens. I never felt they pushed me, nor did any of my teachers over the years – rather, I pushed myself. I wanted to make people proud. I felt very intensely that success was what was ‘natural’ to me from a young age, and that anything less was worthy of self-ridicule, shame, deprecation.
If I didn’t do exceptionally well, I wasn’t a good enough child, pupil, friend – that was my mentality. If I wasn’t excelling, I was immediately failing. If I wasn’t the best, the only other option was that I must be The Worst.
As an adult, this has translated to a very special and niche kind of, I guess ‘burnout’? Even though I wouldn’t necessarily call it that, I can’t think of a better word.
It doesn’t come from working hard. It comes from trying to earn your right to exist through relentless succeeding, and still feeling like you’re not doing enough.
At this point, I should be used to the feeling of doing well. Of being someone who gets things done, does them well, and occasionally wins prizes for stuff. I should feel good about things I’ve done. Maybe even a little proud of myself.
Instead, success has become just hollow. It’s just the baseline.
Which is absolutely dangerous, because now, as an adult in a world full of very public overachieving (hey, Instagram) I never, ever feel like I’m doing enough, winning, succeeding or anything close.
On the rare occasion I actually do feel proud of myself, it's usually because I've managed to avoid a failure. Not because I genuinely revelled in the success. It’s more of a ‘phew, I managed to fool them this time!’ sort of thing. It doesn’t feel like thriving, just basic survival.