Rushing to Be Worthy

I’ve been noticing a quiet drive under the surface lately — a restless push to get everything done, get my life organised, make it perfect. Not just in a productive way, but in a way that feels a bit anxious, like I need to prove something.

When I sit with it, I realise: this pressure isn’t coming from now. It’s old.

It’s the echo of my childhood — my mum always pushing, always telling me to get it done now. That urgency wasn’t about joy or care. It was about performance. It was about earning love through productivity. And I learnt quickly: being good, being fast, being perfect… that’s how you get noticed. That’s how you stay safe.

But it wasn’t real love. Not the kind that nourishes. It was the kind of love that came when I made her look good to others. I was the evidence she used to prove she was a good parent. And the deeper tragedy is that I adopted that belief and turned it inward — making my worth conditional on what I could do, not who I was.

That belief still lives in me, like a motor. Even now, I catch my inner child trying to perform — trying to be good enough, fast enough, impressive enough — to finally earn something that should never have needed earning.

But the truth is, I am already worthy. I’m enough, even if I never finish the list. Even if things remain a bit messy. Even if I’m still healing.

What do I need to prove?

And to whom?

It’s been beautiful, actually, to notice that something is shifting. My inner child is starting to trust that things can happen in a positive way. That I don’t need to rush, or mask, or earn my place anymore. There’s a sense of becoming. Slow. Unfinished. But deeply real.

I want to trust that the right people and experiences will meet me where I actually am — not where I perform myself into being. I haven’t had a lot of evidence of that yet, but I’m starting to get breadcrumbs. Small moments of resonance. Glimpses of what it might feel like to be truly met.

It’s hard, though. There are still so many spaces where I don’t feel like I fit. Where I shut down and get through it. Especially if I have to be there for my son — like at events he enjoys, where I don’t feel welcome. I wouldn’t choose those places for myself, but I show up for him.

And it’s still not easy dropping the mask. I still perform a bit, especially in uncomfortable environments. But much less than I used to. Because now, no one really holds power over me. I don’t need anything from anyone in the same way I used to. That’s incredibly liberating.

So when I ask myself: Can I let this becoming be enough, even if it’s unfinished? — the answer is yes. Especially when I’m regulated. Even though I feel a little depleted today, I can feel it. And maybe that’s helped by the validation of a big poker win. But it’s also real. The grounded part of me knows this is enough.

When the wounded inner child takes over, though — that’s when it gets hard. Last night was one of those times. I reached for cake. I was totally depleted. I didn’t feel safe. I was sitting with the truth that my ex-partner may carry similar emotional traits to my mum. That I may have been blind to it, and now I’m seeing how she might be using our son to meet her emotional needs — just like my mother did with me.

That’s hard to face.

There’s guilt there too — for letting her have more time with our son. But honestly, I don’t have much choice. I’d burn out if I tried to do more. So I try to focus on what I can do: be a secure base when he’s with me. And maybe, just maybe, this website — this project — can be something he finds one day. A lighthouse, if I’m not here.

Maybe he’ll read these words and know he was always loved. And maybe he’ll learn he doesn’t need to perform either.

Maybe that’s the gift I can pass on.

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