The Day I Stopped Chasing “Enough”

Most of my adult years, I believed being "enough" was something you attained.

Enough was about being on at all times. Being agreeable at all times. Constantly reaching for the next milestone, the next promotion, the next unread email in my inbox. I boasted about my fatigue as a badge of honor, as if running on empty indicated that I was doing something right. Society calls it hustle. I called it survival.

But the reality was that I was falling apart slowly.

The breaking point came quietly. No spectacular meltdown or life-altering meltdown. Just a Tuesday morning that looked indistinguishable from any other. My alarm went off. I woke up groggily, rolled out of bed, booted up my laptop, and glared at the lit screen as though it would answer questions I didn't have enough energy to ask.

Three deadlines. Two client calls. An inbox that simply refused to empty itself.

I pulled out my coffee — cold, left on the counter — and before I had even had time to take a sip, the tears began to fall. Tightly at first. Then more and more constantly. Not out of sadness, but out of sheer exhaustion. I hadn't cried like this in years. Not for me, anyway.

In that moment, it was like something broke open. Like the part of me that had been holding it all together at last understood it couldn't anymore.

I closed the laptop. Not just physically — emotionally. Spiritually. I turned away, not knowing what was to come, but knowing that I couldn't keep going the way I had.

For the first time in a long time, I chose myself.

I stepped out into the world without glancing at the clock. I sat under a tree and just was. No getting things done. No measuring the value of the moment. Just silence — and the uncomfortable beauty of quiet.

I scribbled something down in a journal that I hadn't cracked open in months. I wrote not to be shared, not for clicks or likes, but because I just needed to hear myself think. I had no idea how deafening the world was until I allowed it to become quiet.

And in quiet, I sat down and asked myself a quiet question: Who are you without the hustle?

I didn't know. But I was eager to discover.

Those first few days weren't flawless. I still had duties. But I tackled them differently. I said no to things that were sucking the life out of me. I no longer replied to every text as soon as it hit my inbox. I stripped away half of my to-do list — and lived.

I started redefining what "enough" would actually be. Not as this unreachable standard, but as the daily act of showing up — fully and honestly — for me.

Enough was making space to rest. To create. To connect. To breathe.

I won't be dishonest, it wasn't simple. Unlearning hustle culture is challenging, especially in a world that rewards burning out and then glorifies it as ambition. But with each instance that I chose peace over pressure, I felt even a little bit more myself.

And something amazing occurred: my work was better. My head cleared. My relationships intensified. I had more to give — not because I was sprinting faster, but because I had ceased to sprint in the first place.

I live at a slower pace now. More intentionally. I still work earnestly, and I still rest profoundly. I don't seek "enough" anymore. I build it, moment by moment, in ways that serve me.

So if you're tired — not just in your body, but in your soul — maybe this is your moment.

You don't need to demonstrate you're worth it. You don't need to show you're valuable. You are not a machine created for production. You are a human being. And that alone is enough.

Shut down the computer. Take the walk. Have a cup of coffee before it gets cold. Listen quietly enough to hear yourself talk.

That's where the magic really starts.