I'm strong... enough

Redefining the meaning of strength by facing my greatest fears

I’ve always been told that I’m a strong person, someone who can face adversity with a can-do attitude and a plan. I’ve taken pride in this, and I like this about myself. I have many “doer” parts that actively jump into action when things are chaotic and a critic part that evaluates them to ensure they’re doing “enough.”

But behind these parts is another more fragile part: a wounded little girl tired of always holding it together. A girl who feels like she's never enough no matter what she does. A girl who cries when she gets specific feedback.

A girl who is weak.

I’m just a girl, trying to hold it together for the world.

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One feedback that sticks in my mind like a sore thumb: when my manager at my first startup told me I needed to handle uncertainty better.

The entire two-hour conversation, I struggled to hold it together, and I was pissed off at how much I struggled to hold it together. Rationally, I knew he was right: It was my first time working at a startup, and I needed to adjust how I approached my job. But emotionally, I felt like a wreck. It felt personal, even though I knew it wasn’t. Why did this hurt me so much? How can something so small hurt me so much?

Looking back, I realize the little girl was probably hurt, which is even more confusing. Why couldn’t this little girl accept that life is about survival? Sometimes, things don’t go our way, and we need to buckle up and do something about it.

Even though this response is harsh, I realize it’s a survival mechanism. It’s how I can protect myself against my greatest fear: loss of control.

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As I explore this inner dynamic, I keep asking myself, “Why do I need control?”

It’s not surprising that my desire for control is my core driver. After all, I am a control freak. I like having things organized in a specific way. I’m the friend who will send you a Google Calendar invite to hang out. I’ll make it seem like it’s so I don’t forget to show up (partially true), but it’s really to make sure that there’s some guarantee that I’ll see you again.

This desire to seek control made me a good product manager and contributed to my identity as a “strong” individual. I’m not afraid to go after what I want and say what needs to be said.

If I’m being honest, I’m ashamed that I need so much control. That’s part of why feedback like “You need to navigate uncertainty better” feels so hurtful: It reinforces that my need for control is wrong. That needing this control all the time makes me weak.

However, I also recognize that my life has been volatile. Growing up in four countries with little stability and other hardships, it makes sense that I’d want control as an adult. After all, stability is nice, especially if you haven’t had much of it growing up.

But the truth is, there is no control in life. No matter how much power, money, status, or love we have, there is no control in this life. Anything can happen, so does this make the desire for control futile?

How do I reconcile my inherent need for control with the realities of the world?

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The answer lies in one of my favorite therapy lessons: allowing space for two contradictory beliefs rather than needing one to “win.”

Wanting control and agency over your life is a fundamental human need. We all want to be seen/heard/express ourselves in the way we want, to make choices that reflect who we are at our core. Nothing is wrong with this desire, and my parts work hard to make this a reality.

At the same time, there are inherent limitations to what these parts can do. The world operates stochastically, which means many things are often outside our control. This is a sad and frustrating reality of our world, and a core tension of the human experience.

So, what does it mean to hold both these ideas together?

It means I can desire control and agency in my life and accept that the outcome will be out of my control. When things don’t go how I want, I hold space for my parts— instead of forcing myself to stop being weak and “get over it” or punishing myself because “I didn’t do enough.”

Perhaps, living with this mindset means the little girl will become wounded again, which will hurt. Feeling the hurt doesn’t mean I’m weak. It’s a part of the process, helping me get ready to try again.

Being strong enough means that you can face your fears while accepting that you might never overcome them. It’s accepting that showing up to fight another day is the victory itself.

What should I write about next?

I’m trying a new thing where I ask for more community input into my next post (because let’s be real, all these topics are juicy). Which topic are you most interested in hearing about next?

Thanks for reading!

I’m on a journey to create a blended career across the creative arts, tech, and business. This newsletter is my way of sharing my reflections, thoughts, and advice. Here are some ways to support my work:

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