A raw reflection on growing up, falling short, and discovering that believing in your worth can change everything.
Enough?
He learned early how to measure himself.
Grades on a screen. Likes under a photo. Silence in group chats that used to buzz with his name. He grew up in a house where love existed, but praise was practical, do better, try harder, be more.
His parents wanted the best for him. Still, he translated their worry into a quiet belief:
who you are isn’t enough yet.
So he kept becoming.
He became agreeable in friendships, the one who laughed last and spoke least. He became useful, because usefulness felt close to love. In romance, he edited himself, smoothed the rough edges, hid the parts that might be too much.
When things ended, as they often did, he assumed it was because the real him had leaked through.
Online, everyone else seemed finished, careers launched, families formed, joy curated into highlight reels. He scrolled through success and felt like a rough draft, a human typo still waiting to be corrected.
The worst part wasn’t failure.
It was the exhaustion of auditioning for his own life.
One night, sitting alone with a phone that refused to light up, he thought about the kid he used to be, the one who stood up for classmates being mocked, who told the truth even when his voice shook, who cared deeply without expecting anything in return.
That kid hadn’t been impressive. But he had been good.
It hit him then:
no one had ever asked him to prove his worth except himself.
He had been measuring success by applause instead of alignment. By acceptance instead of integrity.
He realized the parts of himself he tried to hide, his sensitivity, his values, his refusal to become cruel to survive weren’t weaknesses.
They were the point.
Nothing externally changed that night. No messages. No sudden validation.
But something internal did.
He stopped asking, Am I enough for them? and started asking, Am I living in a way I respect?
And for the first time, the answer was yes.
He didn’t need to become someone else.
He needed the courage to believe the truth he had been living all along:
He was always enough.
My God, My Music, My Life 