I built my self-worth around winning, but adulting had other plans 

“If you think you will never fail in life, you are absolutely wrong,” my dad said, sitting me down one evening three years ago. It was an intervention now that I think of it. He had seen just how dejected I was because I hadn’t received a response to an internship application that I had been really excited about.

This wasn’t the first sit-down either. He had given me a similar lecture back in school when I refused to participate in a cricket match at summer camp. I didn’t know how to play, and I was afraid I would lose and make a fool of myself.

For almost 18 years, I was like Hermione Granger, always needing to be the best at whatever I did. I didn’t know how to deal with failure or rejection because (at the risk of sounding boastful) I hadn’t faced much of either. Being as I was a hyper-focused, do-it-all overachiever throughout school.

A dance competition? You would find me on stage. A special assembly? I was there holding the mic. Extra-curricular activities? Storytelling, drama, choir, basketball…I participated in it all and flourished. And none of it at the cost of academics either, because scoring well used to be my top mission. So naturally, I developed the taste and the drive, and most importantly, the self-imposed expectation, for excelling at anything I undertook. And with it, my self-worth began to become entangled with my achievements.

Then I went to college, and my shell broke. This was a much bigger pond, and there was always someone doing the things I thought I did best, better than me. It began to erode my confidence. In a group project, when a classmate appeared to know more than me and started dividing responsibilities, I silently took a step back and did the bare minimum because I didn’t know how to deal with not being a leader. I also remember auditioning to be a part of the dance team for an inter-collegiate competition and forgetting the steps on stage. I wasn’t selected obviously, and took it really badly. Soon, I stopped participating in activities altogether.

The compulsive need to be good at things, to overachieve, led me to cut myself off from anything that didn’t directly lead to a win. And to prove I was still worthy, I pushed my limits in other areas, like academics and amassing internships, often investing more time and energy than I had.

“We (overachievers) have internalised that our value increases with each accomplishment and diminishes with each perceived failure. This creates an exhausting cycle where enough is never enough,” explains career management expert Ginny Clarke.

I felt that. I had crossed the line, from being extremely driven, into self-sabotage. And though I had survived college in this way somehow, now that I was about to step into the professional world, I knew the self-doubt would only increase. So when my dad tried to caution me that second time, something clicked.

The reset

The professional world is brutally competitive. When I started looking for work opportunities in journalism three years ago, I quickly understood that I would likely face many failures. So it became my quest (you can’t take the ambition out of the girl) to prepare myself for them through these conscious changes in how I approached work and life:

Rule 1: Try everything

I stopped saying ‘no’ to new experiences. When I tried activities without feeling the need to master them, I realised I started enjoying myself. I went trekking knowing that I’d probably be the last person to reach the top, and discovered that the sunset view was far more valuable than the tag of being the fastest person there. My art skills are questionable (except for the classic mountain-and-river scenery, which I have mastered). But I started doodling and drawing mandalas nevertheless, and that proved to be a great stress-buster. Even in my professional life, I didn’t turn down any assignments even when they pushed me out of my comfort zone. Now I was imperfect, but so much happier. Like Rancho in 3 Idiots, I started prizing curiosity and learning over performance, and success automatically followed.

Rule 2: Celebrate small wins

I decided I needed to be kind to myself, and show appreciation for even the little victories. Being a ‘MVP’ or ‘employee of the month’ weren’t my goals anymore. Instead, completing a pet project was a win, and deserved to be celebrated with ice-cream. As a journalist, someone saying to me “I was moved by the story you covered” was a win. And even quitting my job when I felt stagnant and overburdened—something the old me would never have even considered—counted as a victory. I took my parents out for dinner that day.

This small but important mental switch shifted my focus from only big achievements and outcomes (over which I didn’t have much control anyway), and redirected it to being present and attentive to the journey.

Rule 3: Take regular time-outs for self-reflection

I realised that instead of chasing everything, I had to define what success actually meant to me. Just because a former classmate got a job in an MNC, or someone else went to study abroad, did not mean that I had to do those things to feel a sense of achievement. I had read the book Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life when I was 16, but it was only two years ago that I applied its principles to determine what mattered to me.

I started journalling to clarify my own ambitions, breaking down my bigger professional goals into smaller steps and a clearer plan of action. The book Atomic Habits by James Clear, which talks about setting everyday goals and habits instead of directly chasing the ultimate goal, helped me develop this mindset. So now every time I take one step in the direction I want to go, it feels like I have achieved something and that adds to my confidence.

It hasn’t been easy taming my perfectionism, but I am not giving up (I know how to achieve what I want, after all). As a 23-year-old professional, competition is intense for me. Temptations to give in to the rat race abound. But now, if I had to choose between going on a trip with friends or working overtime on a project just to impress my boss, I would choose the former (so would anti-hustle Gen Z professionals). Because I am starting to realise that my achievements don’t determine who I am; my experiences do.