Stories, Mirrors & Struggles
I was addicted to achievement before I even knew what addiction meant. When I was little, I struggled to feel valued, heard, or understood. Nobody seemed to have time for me. Life was already hard, so why add to anyone’s burdens? School changed that. Suddenly, I was the top student, and I got hooked.
It seemed like a fair deal: I got high grades; the teacher was happy, my parents were proud, and I suddenly felt important. Worthy. But hidden underneath that was a quieter truth: this was the only way I felt like I mattered. Everything else in my world suggested otherwise… And it wasn’t just doing well enough. It was about being the best. It was always in comparison to others.
I vaguely remember the anticipation before exam results, the worry that came with each report. That one piece of paper determined how the adults perceived me, and eventually how I saw myself. Now, even as an adult, I still struggle to have fun. Fun doesn’t create a report card. If I’m not in a perpetual state of doing, performing, achieving, what’s left to prove I matter?
Achievement has become my entire identity. Without it, a subtle fear of disappearing, losing value, or being invisible takes over.
I internalized this achievement mindset so deeply that I couldn’t see it for what it was. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t name it. There was always the emptiness that crept in shortly after an achievement, whether in academia, at work, or even after finishing a mundane activity. Satisfaction never lasted. I would immediately seek the next thing. The next destination. I had to stay in motion.
It always struck me as odd when people said, “You have to love yourself first.” I didn’t understand what that meant. How could anyone feel worthy without achieving something first? I couldn’t imagine a version of myself that was enough, just as I am.
Once this pattern unraveled, I couldn’t unsee it anymore. I understand now that the belief that my worth depends on achievement was never the truth. And yet, despite knowing this, I still struggle to feel it. Realization is but the beginning.
Ironically, the hardest part of this journey is learning to be okay with not reaching the destination right away. To accept progress as it is. You, as you are.
As I grappled with this realization, I found myself searching for ways to truly understand it. Not just intellectually, but deeply and emotionally. I turned back to the stories that had guided me, shaping how I viewed myself and the world around me. Stories were the first place I could relate my emotions and learn what it meant to matter. Now they have become mirrors, helping me understand my history.
I find myself turning back to my childhood again. I loved reading Fantasy, especially stories with the chosen-one trope. The stories used to resonate deeply with me because their characters typically received their worth via external means. Protagonists born with dormant superpowers, royal blood, or fulfilling prophecies. They all had one thing in common: their lives were ordinary, often miserable, until the decisive moment when everything changed. Like many children, I dreamt about my moment. But of course, it never came.
As I grew older and my understanding of life changed, my taste in stories evolved with it. I started gravitating toward more modern forms of fantasy, stories featuring more ‘down-to-earth’ characters that feel more authentic and relatable. I no longer daydream about my “moment,” or about suddenly gaining value from an external source. Though a part of me still wishes life could be that simple.
The characters I connect with now feel genuinely human; their flaws and struggles mirroring my own. They don’t neatly fit into the simple duality of good vs evil. Instead, their journeys help me make sense of my own experiences. Through their stories, I can see my own struggles, doubts, flaws, and the painful yet necessary growth more clearly.
In recent years, I’ve been deeply moved by several stories. This coincided with a period when I’ve been actively trying to move beyond my younger self. These narratives became mirrors, allowing me to observe my internal struggles from an external vantage point. It’s often difficult to fully grasp the complexities inside, so instead, I experience them through the journeys of fictional characters. In this way, these fictional characters help teach me truths about suffering and meaning that I couldn’t fully understand on my own. Almost as if I had lived their lives.
Initially, I intended to write specifically about the profound impact the Stormlight Archive[1] has had on my personal growth over the past five years. However, I realize now that its influence on me is so deep that I can no longer clearly distinguish between my own beliefs and those inspired by the story and its characters. Perhaps that alone speaks about the depth of my connection to the story. Its author, Brandon Sanderson, once mentioned in a blog post[2] that he’s only able to express emotions through his stories and characters. I’d like to argue that through these same stories, he’s helped many, me included, to better understand and process their emotions. A quick online search with “Stormlight Archive helped me” might lead you to some of those people’s experiences.
But my journey with stories is more than one series. There are countless stories that have moved me. Some dark, some whimsical, some without magic, and some with entire worlds based on magic. Narratives of good characters that are also bad, villains turning good, and morally ambiguous characters caught somewhere in between. But what draws me to all these stories, above all else, is growth. I’m fascinated by characters who refuse to remain static. They change profoundly and never stop doing so until the end. Watching their journeys unfold, feeling their struggles, failures, and triumphs despite overwhelming odds or persistent setbacks, is what resonates deeply with me.
In this duality between childhood escape and adult growth, stories have consistently provided me with a safe space to question, reflect, and seek meaning. Storytelling remains the same powerful medium through which I reconnect with myself.
I want to close with my favorite passage from the Stormlight Archive:
“The most important words a man can say are, ‘I will do better.’ These are not the most important words any man can say. I am a man, and they are what I needed to say.
The ancient code of the Knights Radiant says ‘journey before destination.’ Some may call it a simple platitude, but it is far more. A journey will have pain and failure. It is not only the steps forward that we must accept. It is the stumbles. The trials. The knowledge that we will fail. That we will hurt those around us.
But if we stop, if we accept the person we are when we fall, the journey ends. That failure becomes our destination. To love the journey is to accept no such end. I have found, through painful experience, that the most important step a person can take is always the next one. I’m certain some will feel threatened by this record. Some few may feel liberated. Most will simply feel that it should not exist.
I needed to write it anyway.”
Art Credit: @lamaery