The air crackled with anticipation, fireworks painting the night sky above Disneyland. My daughters, faces smeared with melted ice cream, were pressed against my side, their eyes wide with pure wonder. This was meant to be the happiest place on Earth. Then, a line from the movie *Encanto* drifted from the speakers: “I will never be good enough. Will I? No matter how hard I try.” In that moment, surrounded by thousands of joyful families, something within me fractured. I found myself sobbing, a quiet, chest-aching cry that felt deeply personal, echoing the sentiment that had long resided in my soul: I will never be good enough. No matter how hard I try.
This wasn't just a movie lyric; it was a stark reflection of my own internal narrative. For years, I’d been living by that mantra, even amidst moments of supposed perfection. My mind would relentlessly replay its familiar script: You could have done more. Planned better. Been better. Despite meticulously orchestrating the trip – coordinating outfits, sourcing matching ears, planning surprise treats – all I could see were the perceived flaws. The husband who stayed home to allow us this joy, the work deadlines I’d juggled, the growing credit card balance, the school days my girls missed – the list of my invisible failures felt endless (Unknown, n.d.). This pattern of turning success into a shortcoming had become my default.
The Weight of Unrealistic Expectations
This relentless internal pressure isn't unique. Many of us operate under the assumption that our worth is tied to constant achievement and flawlessness. We chase an ever-moving target, believing that only by reaching some unattainable peak will we finally be deemed “enough.” This mindset can be particularly damaging when it stems from early life experiences or societal pressures that emphasize external validation over internal peace (Dweck, 2006). The fear of falling short can paralyze us, preventing us from even starting, or worse, leading us to a state of perpetual dissatisfaction.
A few months after that Disneyland trip, I found myself in a job that drained my spirit. It demanded everything and offered little in return. Late nights, missed family dinners, and a constant internal justification that the sacrifices would eventually pay off. The company’s “unlimited leave” policy was a cruel joke, each day off tinged with guilt and suspicion. I poured my time, peace, and confidence into it, only to feel hollow when it ended. While relieved to be free, I also blamed myself for not thriving, telling myself I should have been tougher, smarter, better. The voice of that job still echoed in my head: Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.
Extending Grace to Others and Ourselves
The profound irony is that I would never impose such harsh standards on anyone I cared about. I remember when my daughter came home with a “1” on a test, the school's equivalent of an F. She was devastated, convinced she was stupid and not good enough. My response was immediate and full of compassion: “Sweetheart, you were sick last week and missed school. You did your best, and that’s what matters. We’ll talk to your teacher and figure it out.” I never told her she should have studied harder; my only goal was to remind her she was loved, safe, and inherently enough.
Later that night, tucking her into bed, the realization hit me with the force of a lightning bolt: I don’t speak to myself that way. When I miss a goal, make a mistake, or fall short, my internal dialogue is one of scolding, criticism, and relentless pushing. I would never dream of speaking to my child with such unkindness, so why was I treating myself so poorly? This stark contrast became a powerful catalyst for change, a quiet whisper reminding me of my internal inconsistencies every time I uttered a “should have” or “could have.”
This realization was my true turning point. If I wanted my daughter to grow up believing in her inherent worth, I needed to model that belief. Children learn from observation, not just instruction. This understanding prompted a fundamental shift in my self-talk. I began to ask a new, radical question: What if my best, on any given day, was simply enough? Not perfect, not extraordinary, just enough.
Redefining Your Best is Enough
For most of my life, “my best” was a mythical creature – a demanding ideal that required me to give until I was utterly depleted, and then somehow find more to give. It meant equating the final outcome with my intrinsic worth; if the results weren't stellar, the effort was invalidated. This perspective is a common trap, often fueled by a fear of failure and a deep-seated belief that we must constantly prove our value (Brown, 2018). It leads to burnout and a perpetual sense of inadequacy.
However, I am learning that “my best” is a fluid concept, adapting to the circumstances of each day. Some days, my best manifests as peak productivity and creative energy. On others, it’s simply showing up, tired but willing to try. And sometimes, the highest form of my best is choosing rest – honoring my body and heart’s need to heal rather than pushing through exhaustion. Embracing this nuanced definition means understanding that doing my best isn't about ticking every single box perfectly. It’s about showing up with integrity and self-compassion, even when the outcome falls short of an imagined ideal. It’s about whispering to myself, You did what you could today. That’s enough.
Consider a writer facing a creative block. Their “best” might not be producing a masterpiece, but rather showing up to the page for fifteen minutes, or simply outlining a new idea. Or perhaps a parent navigating a particularly challenging week with a sick child. Their “best” is maintaining patience, providing comfort, and ensuring basic needs are met, even if the house is a mess and meals are simple. These acts of consistent effort, even when imperfect, are profoundly valuable.
Practical Steps to Breaking Free
I wish I could claim mastery over this journey, that the old patterns of comparison and self-criticism no longer surface. But cultivating self-kindness, like any significant growth, requires ongoing practice. Here are strategies that help me when I begin to stray:
- Speak to yourself as you would a loved one. When the inner critic starts listing shortcomings, I consciously reframe those thoughts as if I were speaking to my daughters. This instantly softens my internal tone. Instead of “You failed again,” I shift to “You tried so hard, and I’m proud of you.” This isn't about excusing mistakes but about allowing myself the grace of being human.
- Seek evidence of effort, not perfection. Some days, my “proof” of a good day might be a completed project or a tidy home. Other days, it’s simply ensuring my family felt loved and cared for. Both demonstrate effort and hold value, even if they aren't externally recognized.
- Measure progress, not just performance. I remind myself that healing and growth are rarely linear. The goal isn't to win every single day but to keep moving forward with compassion. Some seasons of life involve inches of progress, while others involve miles. Both are valid and count.
- Cultivate gratitude over guilt. When regrets surface, I consciously pause and offer myself gratitude for the effort made. Gratitude and guilt cannot coexist; choosing gratitude effectively quiets the relentless inner noise.
On particularly challenging days, I add a fifth, quiet mantra: You are learning. You are allowed to be learning. This simple acknowledgment can be incredibly freeing (Kristin Neff, 2011).
Choosing Enough, Today and Tomorrow
There are still days when the ghosts of past jobs, imperfectly planned trips, or burnt dinners resurface. The whisper of “not enough” can still be heard. But then I look at my daughters – their infectious laughter, their boundless curiosity, their unwavering love – and I remember what is fundamentally true: they don’t need a perfect mother. They need a present one.
They need to witness a woman who sometimes falters but always perseveres. A woman who can apologize, laugh at her own foibles, and try again. A woman who understands that doing her best, even when it’s messy and imperfect, is profoundly enough. Because “enough” isn't a destination to be reached; it's a conscious choice we make daily to embrace ourselves as we are, trusting that our efforts matter intrinsically (Unknown, n.d.).
The next time Mirabel’s voice echoes through the fireworks, perhaps I’ll hear it differently. I hope I’ll smile, squeeze my girls’ hands, and think, “*We are good enough. We always were. And tomorrow, we’ll keep trying.”* Maybe, just maybe, that’s the truest definition of “enough.”
