am I enough?

Am I enough? A good enough friend, good enough daughter, good enough student? Do I dance well enough? I feel sick. Lately the thoughts about being enough for everyone are slowly killing me, I’ve felt like I disappoint people too easily and I don’t know what to do to change it. Is being me not enough anymore? Between friendships that drain the happiness out of my soul and comments thathe back, ust want to feel peace again and find tme.

For as long as I can remember, dance has always been part of my life. I am dance, dance is me. Each injury is one less point on my overall score, I can’t stop. Intense training every day, only for it not to be valued in the end. Rehearsals where I leave drenched in sweat, just to never reach the “dancer of the month” spot. I’ve been trying for months to get there and I work hard, probably harder than everyone who has reached that place so far. They always use the excuse: “it was between you and so-and-so, but I decided to give it to so-and-so because I felt more effort from them.” Sorry, but does this mean I’m good, just never good enough? That’s what it seems like.

Writing is a way of escaping reality and expressing what’s in my soul without having to say it out loud, but lately it feels more like endless stress because I never think my texts are good enough. At school, all the teachers know about this hobby of mine and say I have talent — am I the only one who can’t see it? Every text feels like more proof that there will always be someone who can write better. Mine never seem good enough compared to the thousands of others filling readers’ feeds. I participated for the second time in a local writing competition; last year I came in third place, again proof that I’m good, but never the best or enough. This year the results haven’t been released yet, and what’s worse is I’ll only find out when I’m in a room surrounded by all the other participants. Will they be better than me? Will I be defeated again? And, as I said, the worst part is being there in the moment I’ll most likely be reminded once again that there’s always someone better.

Am I a bad daughter? Every day I’m called out — supposedly I’m too messy, but it’s in that “mess” that I find comfort. My room might look like a market sometimes, but it will never stop being my safe place. The place where I cry, laugh, and write everything I feel. To my parents, this place is shameful, but to me it shows who I am: lost and confused among everything around me, with all my ideas disorganized but, deep down, very present.

School is the worst place ever. My parents are obsessed with my grades, I always have to get the highest possible. Am I happy like this? No, but how can I change it? If I get a B, they say it’s good, but not good enough. This sentence sums up a lot in my life, especially my academic journey. I’m one of the best in the school, but for them, every “mistake” shows I’m not good enough.

Friendships. Am I a bad friend? I have plenty of classmates and people who like me, but only a few close friends. One of those friends makes me feel like I’m never enough. Everything I do somehow upsets her, and at this point I have to mold myself into who she wants me to be, not who I truly am. I always feel stupid when something I do doesn’t please her. I am a good friend, but there are flaws in me. I’m not good enough of a friend.

I’m losing myself in the middle of all this pressure. When will I ever be good enough? Until then, I keep suffering with every failure and unable to celebrate my victories because they’re never as good as they “should” be. This is not the best text you’ve ever read, certainly, but it’s what’s going on in my head.