Beth Granger

I intend to exercise until the day I die. But not to lose weight or maintain a certain size. I work out for my mental health. It’s the only thing that keeps my anxiety at bay. It’s taken me decades to learn that I don’t need to exercise to prove my worth.

As for every other facet of my life, I’m still learning this lesson. It takes a long time for an overachiever to let go. Even on disability I still feeling pressure to prove myself.

But the universe seems to be on a mission to teach me. It's like I'm earning a PhD in humility.

Some days I achieve next to nothing.

Yesterday, I took a picture of my biggest accomplishment.  Yes, it’s a poop bag by a client’s garage. I wanted to send proof to the dog’s owner that I’d successfully done my job. I didn’t end up sending it. Thankfully, the voice of reason prevailed. But as I was walking the little pug, I noticed that familiar pressure to achieve churning inside me.

What if he doesn’t poop today? Last week I walked him 4 times and he didn’t poop once! Are they going to fire me?

Fortunately, nature took its course. And I was saved from further worry. But the incident made me pause. I marveled at how, even as a nobody, I still feel afraid of failure. It also made me laugh at myself. Look at you Beth, feeling validated by dog shit!

Sometimes you have to laugh. It’s either that, or cry.

Even though I’m no longer in the rat race, I still have goals. I want to keep healing from a traumatic past. I hope to someday see my eating disorder in the rearview mirror. I’d love to share and even sell my art. I dream of publishing my memoir and making an impact. Most of all, I yearn to connect with kindred spirits on a deeper level.

But I am learning that I can’t do any of this by striving. It’s like my body and brain are allergic to the process. As soon as I feel the familiar pressure rising, my creativity shuts down. Finding a bathroom becomes my number one priority. My heart races. I feel off balance, my dizziness intensifies. I also hear the voices yelling You’ll never make it. Who do you think you are? You’re completely irrelevant. You’re just going to fail.

It’s true. The more I strive, the more I do fail. I’m not on disability for nothing.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t contribute. I may no longer have the capacity to be a teacher, but I still have something to offer.

Paradoxically, my greatest gift might be my vulnerability. Personally, I am drawn to anyone who is willing to be expose their pain in a public forum. Over the past few years, I have found solace by listening to authors, podcasters, or influencers who are sharing their struggles and their failures.  These are the people who inspire me. Not the ones who are out there “killing it”.

I can’t be the only one who feels this.

As I face the future, there are many pressures that scare me. For one thing, I’m supposed to build an online platform so that my memoir will succeed. Every time I contemplate self promotion, I feel that familiar panic rising. It honestly terrifies me. However, I can stomach the idea of inspiring others who might have similar challenges. That to me, is a worthy purpose. It’s all the fuel I need.

So, here’s what I’m trying for a change. Instead of being fueled by fear, I’m attempting to tap into curiosity and compassion.

What if I have nothing to prove? What if I’m enough already?

What if my pain might inspire my greatest contributions?

Asking these questions is helping me find peace in the uncertainty. It’s helping me imagine a way to hold on to my dreams while letting go of the need to achieve.

Recently I read somewhere that nobody cares about our accomplishments. What they really care about, is how we make them feel. After everything I’ve been through, I want to make other people feel seen. Understood. Connected. Validated. And I don’t need to be successful to do that.

So, here’s to letting go of the pressure to be a somebody. To quote the fabulous Katy Loftus (you should follow her on Substack), there really is an “unexpected joy in being a nobody”.