To be or not to be…enough

I’ve seen something on Social Media these days, saying that this is not the year to make everything happen, but it is the year to be thankful for everything you’ve done so far. Cute,  but that was the moment when my inner critic started to tell me again how I didn’t do anything big so far, that’s not about me. But that was also one of those moments when I came to realize that progress will never be reached by constant self-bullying.

If I were a dramatic character, I would be a millennial Hamlet, consumed by anxiety and perfectionism, asking myself Am I, or am I not good enough? But I am not, and I come back and ask myself again: Good enough compared to what, exactly? To who?

And, as a restless perfectionist, I have to admit: that’s a great game-changer when it comes to the old matter of being enough. We often tend to tell ourselves that we’re not good enough period. But when it comes to telling what the other term of comparison is, we often put the story on hold. Because we don’t really ask ourselves with who am I comparing myself this time? And being enough is always about comparing yourself with another person or, even worse, with a whole set of social expectations.

This is where the trap actually is. Comparing yourself with somebody else makes you lose focus and perspective. You are not looking at your journey from the inside, as you should, but you look, instead, from above. You look down to your life, and you look down to the side of the other person’s life that you know about, and compare. And, as expected, you are never winning the imaginary race. Because no one can compete with a well-crafted image. And this is what we mostly know about other people’s lives. Well-crafted lives, created for the public eye. Basically, illusions where everything seems doable, and any failure seems easy to overcome. Unlike actual life.

But no one gets to see things like this from the beginning, it would be too easy. We have to compare ourselves to others, see our self-esteem and self-image be affected, and eventually get tired by everything, to see things clearly. Things that happen with age.

This is, however, the bright side, when you compare yourself to other people. The darker side is comparing yourself over and over again with society’s expectations from you. When you keep in mind that you are supposed to have your life together by 30 years, with a family of your own, a good job, a home, and possibly children, as you get closer to that age you tend to keep looking at your life, and then to look at your socially-imposed check-list.

The fact is you’ll never be on the same page with the never-ending list of social expectations, and this happens because every person has their own pace. There is no standard age for things like buying a house, completing your education, starting a family or a business. It’s true, coming usually from one’s dear people, the confrontation with the standards that society is imposing becomes much harder, as it borrows the voice of the ones you love. That’s why it is the darker, more damaging path to the Union of Never Good Enough.

But there’s nothing as damaging as looking at your life from outside in the long run. It makes you unable to be happy for yourself, and this is by far one of the most toxic things one can do. Because you can’t compare yourself over and over again and reach a balance. You can’t keep asking yourself why you’re not good enough and expect your mental health to be on point.

Mental health is, in fact, severely impacted by all the self-criticism and pressure one has to bear while constantly doubting on themselves. There is relief in accepting that your life and your choices have to only be meaningful to you, as you’re the only one able to access the whole image all the time. And there is joy to be found in knowing that whatever you feel like, is a valid and important feeling to be felt.

The reality is that you are and will always be good enough. No matter where you are in your life, no one could’ve done things better than you did. No matter what your inner mean voice says, it is only background noise. And no matter what you think, there’s a big, big difference between self-criticism and perfectionism, and it comes from the fact that critic comes from the inside, while perfectionism is always an outer voice. You are not too late and not too early either, because this is your life, not some social event to attend. And as long as you’re the MVP of your story, there’s no such thing as someone more worthy than you.

So next time when you want to turn into a modern Hamlet, asking yourself if you are good enough or not, remember what it made you feel like the last time, and ask yourself: Would I deliberately make my close friends feel like that? If the answer is no, then go for a walk, some popcorn and a cheesy movie, a bubble bath, or whatever makes you happy. You’re worthy of feeling good feelings about yourself and the life you’re living, so allow yourself as many occasions to do so as you can. And you’ll start to see why you’ve always been good enough.


I have everything and I will lose everything,
It happened once and it will happen again,
Says the thought that unravels like smoke
With every deep breath taken, every
Moment of pain that I count as disappearing.

I have everything and I will lose everything.
Every single thing that I have upon myself
As dear, beautiful, meaningful, it will,
One day, be gone. A memory
Haunting the nights without the light
And asking me again: What if…?

I have everything and I will lose everything.
This is the curse written deep inside,
On the roots of the soul, where the sun goes to die,
In the cells of my muscles, where life
Throws daily parties, without having a Why?.

I have lost everything after getting to have
And I have been rebuilding myself ever since
Don’t promise me everything, or anything at all
If you know, if you do know that
You’re gonna take away from me your gift,
Leave me cold hearted, empty,
I have no heart to rebuild anymore…

I have everything and I will lose everything
This is an obsession dressed as a mantra,
The history of the losses cutting deep into
My skin, my soul and my ambition,
Stealing the start of the story in the sunny day
When I have lost myself for the first time..
Since then,
Everything and anyone else I’m losing
Is just a pale reflection of that breaking point.
Another wound in the cemetery of the unfinished stories
For when the personal history’s just too Heavy to be carried on.

I’ve lost everything and all I have
Are the memories that haunt my mind,
Minute after minute, until the point
Of making my head become a dead place,
Undressed of dreams and colors,
An empty field where nothing ever grows
Anymore. Spinning
Day after day around the same
Three or four sequences that left
Fire traces on the soul
And opened the door to emotions I can’t control

I have everything and I will lose everything,
That’s the only life cycle that I know
And the faithful shadow following everywhere I go.
I am the one who counts losses
Instead of sheep when I try to sleep,
While imagining and recalling all
The ways and the times that I was forced to rebuild,
Just me and that handful of emotions,
Everything left that could be called a life,
Still keeping an eye on the horizon
While remembering now stranger hands
Touching my body and even stranger eyes
Leaving scars on my soul.

Yes, I have everything, but what if
Everything that made life feel alive
Was left in a past where I can not go back anymore?
Does this still count as death, or is it
How everyone else says, just a passenger phase?
How do you know what living from leftovers
Could feel like, when all you have is now?

Yes, I’ve lost everything again,
Trapped in the spiral of the three re:
Remember, relive, relapse
But above all the losses that I count
The ones keeping me up at night
Are just my mind and way to feel
I miss the way they made life real
And hate you for taking away
The little good of every day.


tentația n-are miros,
sau umbră. ea
e doar un chip cald ce
te privește cu un fel de
milă, în timp ce îți șoptește
insinuant, subtil, aceeași întrebare:
“Ți-e frică de mine?”

e un secret pe care-l eviți,
nimeni nu știe
de câte ori ai cedat,
cum se întâmplă,
dacă există semne care
te-anunță înainte de întâmplare
sau cum se simte tentația de fapt

nu e ceva despre care
să vrei să vorbești într-o piață.
nu e comod să-ți dai slăbiciunile
exteriorului non-eu, să le
pictezi în chip de podoabă pe față
și cu siguranță nu in fața judecății
fațadelor perfecte ale celorlalți vrei
tu să te arăți, să te expui.
așa că taci. nimeni nu știe,
iar tu nu spui nimănui…

unora n-are rost să le spui,
știi că n-ar pricepe, că-s încă prea mici.
pe alții nu-i sperii, vezi că umblă năuci
si nu-i mai încarci și cu alte năluci…

păstrezi pentru tine orice ipostază nouă,
cum faci o promisiune ca să încalci două
cum tentația nu-i străină, e doar
o parte din tine. un membru al
anatomiei afective, nedeclarative, cel
legat de durerea mocnită de sub stern
și viața între tentații e-un fel de poem,
cu irizații de adrenalină pe paginile unui infern
sterp, linear, în care orice zi
e trasă la indigo după cealaltă
și unde nimic nu pare să se
întâmple sau să se schimbe de azi pe mâine,
un loc unde nu știi dacă ce înghiți e cenușă sau pâine,
de unde nimeni nu pleacă, deși mereu lumea vine

tot ea te face să te întrebi unde
începe cu adevărat nebunia,
că până la urmă, orice autodistrugere
ajunge self-harm dacă e sistematică
și e greu să nu, când nimic nu te împiedică
pe interior să faci tot ce știi
că distruge fără să ajute la nimic,
dar știi că în fața unei posibile alegeri
vechi între un rău sigur și un bine probabil
se întâmplă să rămâi tot singur și tot mic…

tentația împletește în sine
promisiuni frumoase și minciuni
pe care cei mai slabi le văd minuni
atunci când merg de colo-colo
căutând de zor un loc sub soare
în timp ce se blochează pe câte un petic de cer

e promisiunea răspunsului adevărat
la întrebări ce nu s-au pus niciodată,
e un amestec de ascuns și vină,
de “aș face-o iar!” și “ce m-a apucat iar?”,
un gram de nefericire mascat într-un dar
și niciodată un rendez-vous singular.

de asta dependența de tentații
adună victime ce respiră exclamații
și trecerea timpului le reformează instalații
intravenoase alternative prin care se scurg
la liber amintiri și regrete, pulsează afecte
și-n care se gravează toate nopțile albe
ca într-o istorie a luptelor nepurtate,
a vorbelor neisprăvite, a șanselor nedate.

pentru că doar tentația promite
că o să vindece tot, absolut tot,
doar ea te pupă pe frunte și îți șoptește
când totul e strigăt în jur,
dar nu contează că șoaptele-i sunt
abecedar pentru dezastre mascate,
poleite în exces de vulnerabilitate,
nici că vine cu prețul unei tăceri blamate.
cu urme de șters, cu priviri peste umăr în spate
ca nu cumva cineva să vadă cum ai căzut
în proprii ochi astă-noapte
și-n toate nopțile ce i-au urmat

nu, tentațiile se țin si ne consumă
în privat, acolo unde
timpul se măsoară în secunde
iar singurătatea amplifică tot.
e dulceagă, subtilă, ultima din lot
și ne bate nervii într-o spumă
de nedefinit, baloane de săpun și miros de gumă,
ne ia individual și ne trezim mătrășiți colectiv
de una și aceeași dramă reciclată subiectiv
al cărei ecou e la păstrare în sertar, activ