I was about 10 years old. Another year of the speaking competition. And once again, I was chosen to represent the whole class.

My teacher believed in me. We practiced, she coached me, corrected me, and the cycle went on and on until the Big Day.

The day of the actual competition. Then… my rival showed up. And I knew I had lost, before I even began.

It was the same story, year after year. No matter how much I trained, prepared, or gave my heart to it, I just couldn’t beat that bloody amazing girl from the class above.

And second place?Never good enough. I felt like a failure. Like I wasn’t good enough…and never would be. Like not even hard work could replace the talent, the gift I simply didn’t have.

The fact that I placed second didn’t matter to me. It didn’t feel like an achievement—it felt like defeat. I didn’t even tell my parents or family about it. For me, it was just another big failure.

I don’t know where that crazy competitiveness came from, or why. But my childhood is full of those stories: Be the best or you’re a loser.

Nothing less than No. 1 existed in my mind.
You can imagine the cycles I went through:
Working hard, hoping hard… only to crash.
Over and over again. Until it hurt too much. Until I stopped even trying.

What’s the point if I can’t be the best? What’s the point if no one appreciates my hard work anyway? And so, I built layers.
I collected proof to fool others—and especially myself.

I learned to escape, to avoid, to protect myself from the sting of failure. Eventually, even the idea of starting something new lost its fire… before I ever lit the match.

Looking back now, I see it clearly: I wasn’t just chasing trophies. I was chasing love. Chasing belonging. Chasing the feeling of finally being seen.

That hunger for recognition? That need to prove myself through “being the best”? It became an addiction.

Not in the way we usually talk about addiction. But in the way I kept looking outside of myself for a feeling that could only ever come from within.

Every “win” gave me a high. But it never lasted. Because it wasn’t healing. It was a hit. A fix. A temporary relief from a deeper ache. The ache of not feeling enough.

Even when I did things the “right” way, by working hard, showing up, giving my best,
it came from a place of needing to be validated…

I ended up tired, disconnected, and still secretly wondering:
“Do I matter?”
“Is this enough?”
“Am I enough?”

That’s what the addiction to external validation does. It looks noble. But it quietly empties you out.

I had to fall. Hard. To finally find myself again. Not the perfect version of me I was chasing… But the part of me that still loved growth, learning, and becoming.

You see, by attaching my worth to success, I placed it somewhere outside myself. I didn’t realize it back then, but the hard work, the courage, the resilience, it was never about being #1. It was about something much deeper.

It was teaching me who I am. Who I can be.
Where my home is. It’s not about the destination, the title, the profile, or even the goal.

It’s about that little girl inside me who is still willing to take the risk… Take the first step. And then another. And another…

She shows up. She keeps going. Even when it’s not perfect. But what is perfect, anyway? Who is perfect?

I spent so long chasing success through perfection, only to fall into the mess… and realize that’s where the real magic lives.

And if you can relate to this in any way,
just know:

You are already enough.
We are all a little messy.

And that’s the point.
The question is…
Can you see your own perfection in the mess, too?