Counselling, Psychotherapy and Training, Singapore
I often hear myself saying this to my family every time I prepare to deliver a new webinar, talk, or training session. Despite their best efforts to remind me of my consistent performance, I would easily forget how happy I felt after my last session.
The celebrations would be fleeting, and I would quickly return to the whirlwind of self-doubt: It’s nothing great. Maybe I just got lucky this time. It felt as if I was afraid to acknowledge that my success could last, or that I could be consistent in my delivery. Deep down, my core belief was screaming: I cannot be happy for too long. What if this success was a fluke? What if people find out I’m not as good as they think I am?
As a psychotherapist, I often help my clients regulate themselves and navigate through Imposter Syndrome. However, I was completely blind to the fact that I was doing the same to myself every time I had to speak at a public forum.
One day, my husband pointed it out to me: You seem to forget all your past achievements and are very hard on yourself. This realization struck me like a hammer.
Upon closely examining my behavior, I realized a pattern. At the height of my success, I would feel in flow—experiencing a sense of achievement, even greatness. But the next morning, feelings of emptiness, futility, and even shame or anger would return.
It was as though I was allowing myself to enjoy the fruits of my labor momentarily, only to abruptly pull the brakes on that happiness.
I realized that my fleeting happiness wasn’t just about doing my job well. It was rooted in a substitute attempt to fulfill unmet childhood needs—needs for unconditional love, acceptance, emotional nurturance, and being seen, heard, and supported.
The happiness was momentary because it couldn’t undo or deny the frustrations of my childhood.
As a little girl, I felt parental love was conditional on my academic performance. It wasn’t explicitly stated, nor do I blame my parents for it. Subtle shifts in my emotional environment were very noticeable to me, and I took on the responsibility of ensuring my caregivers’ happiness.
If getting good grades made my parents happy, I was determined to keep working hard to achieve that every single time.
I am absolutely grateful for my parents—they did the best they could to raise me. Their conditional approval was, in their view, in my best interest, to help me excel academically. But this conditioning shaped my beliefs about myself and the world around me.
There was no time to rest or celebrate. Accomplishments in one grade didn’t guarantee success in the next. I had to keep running on the hamster wheel, faster and faster, chasing fleeting moments of happiness.
This huge realization didn’t instantly heal me or stop my conditioned response of grading myself with each presentation. However, it served as a powerful reminder: I am allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress at the same time.
Self-work never ends, and my vulnerabilities are the portals to my healing.
Being a successful therapist doesn’t insulate me from being human. Recognizing this, I have decided to seek support from my own therapist to rewrite my life script and unlearn the conditioned responses that no longer serve me.
Healing is a journey, and I’m ready to take the next step.
