A few weeks ago, I got a small soap order. Nothing too fancy. Just a handful of bars and a warm message from the customer. But when I sat down to ship it, something inside me sank. I had underpriced it, then gave a free bar just to be nice, and then the shipping cost more than I expected. The math didn’t work. And worse, my stomach felt weird. Like I had betrayed myself again.
It wasn’t the soap. It wasn’t the money. It was the pattern.
The same thing had happened just days before with a UX client. I quoted 20k, they negotiated 15k, and I agreed—way too quickly. Then came the flood of expectations, reasoning, screens, logic, structure. I sat with this client brief in front of me and felt like I had sold a part of my voice. Again.
That day, I lay down with a headache. Not from work. From a quiet ache in my body saying, “You did it again. You gave yourself away for less.”
Where It All Began
I grew up with this idea that we had to do hard things to grow. That boldness was being the loud one on stage. That you earned your place by how much you sacrificed, how quietly you endured, how perfectly you performed. I looked at strong people as those who survived more pain, not those who knew how to rest.
So I made everything harder than it had to be. I thought if I just kept doing enough, giving enough, being enough, I’d finally feel enough.
But that feeling never came.
The Turning Point: A Blog, a Cry, and a Realization
Then something surprising happened.
I sat down to write a blog. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t strategize it for SEO or audience reach or AdSense.
I just wrote.
It was titled: “The Girl I Was Saving Things For? I Am Her Now.”
And as I typed the last few lines, I cried. Not the dramatic kind. The quiet, warm tears that feel like a soft release. Like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
That’s when I realized: Maybe growth isn’t in the hard things. Maybe it’s in the softening.
I had begun to use the body butter I bought two years ago. Lit the candle. Wore the socks. Read a book on the terrace as the sun went down. I had started saying no to projects that didn’t feel right. Not out loud at first—but in my body, in my boundaries, in the quiet choices I made when no one was watching.
Maybe healing was already happening.
How the Belief Showed Up
The belief “I’m not enough” is tricky. It doesn’t shout. It whispers.
It says:
- “You should be doing more.”
- “This isn’t that big a deal. Don’t make a fuss.”
- “You can’t charge more. What if they say no?”
It disguised itself as humility. As being chill. As being the “nice one.”
But in reality, it kept me in places where I constantly overgave and under-received.
I would celebrate my blog, only to hear this whisper, “Okay, what’s next? Don’t get too comfortable.” I would set a boundary, and then spiral in guilt. I would price a product, then immediately feel bad about it.
This belief didn’t just affect how I worked. It shaped how I received.
The Tapping That Helped
I started doing EFT tapping not to fix myself, but to talk to myself gently. To hold the version of me that always felt behind.
Here are a few phrases I used while tapping that helped me:
“Even though I said yes too quickly and now feel resentful, I forgive myself. I am learning to value my energy.”
“Even though I fear I’ll keep doing this again, I trust that I’m becoming more aware.”
“I deserve to be paid. Not just for hard work. But because my presence has value.”
Tapping didn’t erase the belief. But it helped me not hand it the mic. It helped me pause, take a breath, and make a new choice.
Rewriting the Script
One day, after saying no to a client project that didn’t align, I sat with this odd mix of fear and freedom. I kept refreshing my inbox, waiting for them to change their mind. They didn’t.
And surprisingly, that felt good.
It meant I had drawn a line. It meant I had chosen myself.
Every time I stood up for my time, my value, my softness—I was rewriting the story.
From: “You have to prove your worth.”
To: “You already have it.”
The Belief Still Exists. But It Doesn’t Lead Anymore.
Let me be clear. I haven’t deleted this belief from my system. It still shows up. When money slows down. When a launch flops. When I see someone doing “better” online.
But it doesn’t drive anymore.
I’m learning to let it sit in the backseat. I acknowledge it. I say, “I see you. I know why you’re here. But I’m choosing differently now.”
I don’t chase money the way I used to. I don’t hustle to feel valid. I don’t make choices just to feel safe in other people’s eyes.
I choose what makes me feel true.
Maybe Healing Is Quiet
I don’t visualize anymore. Not because I don’t believe in it. But because I’m already living a life I once dreamed of.
Every morning I wake up and work on my brand. I write blogs that feel like hugs. I create products I love. I have cozy routines that weren’t always possible. I brush my teeth every night now. That’s a win.
I rest without guilt. I read in the sun. I light a candle just because.
I say no when I mean no. I ask for what I deserve.
Maybe that’s what healing looks like.
Not dramatic. Not viral. Not loud.
Just real. Gentle. Steady.
If You’re There Too…
If you feel like you’re not doing enough. That your boundaries are too late. That you gave away too much again.
Pause.
Take a breath.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming.
And every tiny choice to honor yourself—even if it feels small—is a rewriting of the old belief.
You don’t have to be louder, or faster, or more impressive.
You just have to be true.
From me, with softness.
You are already enough.
