For so many of us, life has been one long audition. Get the grades. Get into the school. Land the internship. Build the résumé. Earn the promotion. Become the dependable one. The productive one. The one who has it together. The one everyone describes as, “I don’t know how she does it all.” (For the record, neither does she.)
We learned early that achievement didn’t just open doors. It earned approval. The gold star. The “I’m proud of you.” The family group chat congratulating you before immediately asking what you’re doing next. Somewhere along the way, accomplishment stopped being something we experienced. It became the way we introduced ourselves to the world. And maybe... to ourselves.
So what happens when one day you wake up and realize you don’t want to keep chasing the same things? Not because you’re lazy. Not because you’ve lost your ambition. But because the life you’ve been sprinting toward suddenly feels like a pair of jeans you can technically still button...they just don’t fit the same anymore without you jumping into em like that one Meg The Stallion and Beyonce song said…(he-he)
It’s disorienting. It’s rare to have discussion about what comes after the chase. We’ve built entire personalities around striving. Then one day the striving loses its sparkle. The promotion comes and by Tuesday you’re answering emails like nothing happened. You hit the milestone you swore would change everything. It changes your direct deposit. Not necessarily your inner dialogue. You finally become the version of yourself you’ve been working toward...only to discover she still worries she’s behind.
That’s a confusing kind of grief. Because you didn’t lose anything. You just stopped believing it could save you. I wonder if that’s why so many of us think we’re stuck. The motivation isn’t there anymore. The validation doesn’t hit the same. Even posting the win feels...different. You stare at the caption longer than the accomplishment.
“Am I sharing this because I’m proud...or because I need proof that this mattered?”
Well, Damn!.., that thought stings when it first hits. It’s not judgment. I’ve asked myself the same question before.
Maybe what we’re calling “stuck” isn’t actually stagnation. Maybe it’s withdrawal. Withdrawal from needing every accomplishment to answer the question, “Am I enough now?” Withdrawal from constantly refreshing our worth like it’s an inbox waiting for new messages. Withdrawal from believing our value increases every time someone claps.
Withdrawal feels uncomfortable before it feels freeing. Your body reaches for what it’s used to. Your mind does, too. When you’ve spent decades measuring your worth by productivity, resting feels suspicious. When you’ve spent years earning love by being useful, saying “no” feels selfish. When you’ve built your identity around being the strong friend, admitting you’re struggling feels like you’ve broken some unspoken contract.
No wonder the valley feels so quiet. For the first time in a long time, the applause has faded. And at first, silence can feel like emptiness. But silence isn’t always empty. Sometimes it’s just unfamiliar. Maybe we’ve mistaken the absence of constant validation for the absence of purpose. They’re not the same thing. Because if we’re honest...I don’t think our generation was ever really taught purpose. We were taught performance.
Perform well in school. Perform well at work. Perform emotional intelligence. Perform wellness. Drink the green juice. Journal consistently. Have boundaries, but not too many boundaries. Be authentic, but make it aesthetically pleasing. Even down to how we choose to heal. It’s exhausting af .
No wonder so many of us don’t know what we actually want. We’ve spent so much of our lives becoming impressive, we never stopped to ask what we actually give a fuck about! And those are two very different questions. Maybe that’s what “The Valley” season is about. Not punishing you. Not delaying you. Not asking you to become someone new. Maybe it’s simply removing the noise long enough for you to hear a voice that achievement kept interrupting.
Your own.
What are you actually grieving? The dream... or the applause that came with it? And if no one was watching, what would you still choose?
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