I started therapy again at the start of the year. I was feeling the re-emergence of old thoughts and inadequacies and figured therapy would be the proactive way to nip that shit in the bud. On the suggestion of a few friends, I turned to a local counseling center and did some initial research to find someone with DBT (dialectical behavioral therapy) experience. The good news is that our culture is starting to take mental health more seriously. As such, it seems to be an arena where there’s been a lot of progress and advancement.

I quickly read a few profiles and settled on a therapist. I mean, with therapy, you never know what you’re going to get. Sometimes, it takes a few tries to find the right match. I was lucky. My therapist has been wonderful.

The sessions have been enlightening. And I definitely see value in carving out time on a regular schedule. Not surprisingly, much of our time centers around my parents and their style of parenting. Next most discussed is my work (and clients), and lastly, friendships.

I’ve realized that my perfectionism and ideas around achievement may just be a struggle that carries with me my entire life. As I’ve recounted past memories and experiences, themes emerge over and over again. And I’ve also started to see some of the ironies. If you’ve followed along with my blogs, you know my relationship with my family is complicated, coming with all the baggage frequently associated with immigrant parents– responsibility, expectations, demands, comparisons, sacrifice…

In many of the tearful sessions, my therapist tries to convince me that I’m valued and worthy of love, even if I feel I haven’t achieved what I should have. Even if I feel behind and ranked below others who might not have even had the privileges that I had growing up. She tells me the numbers/stats surrounding my career are irrelevant to who I am and whether I deserve to be loved. But damn, the psyche is a complicated thing. In moments, I have full confidence in myself. I know I work hard, and I advocate for my clients. I know I do everything I can to protect them and help them through a complicated process. But at the end of the year, I just have my stats. And even though last year was a record year for me, it still didn’t feel good enough. Bc other people did better. Their achievements showed what is possible. And I didn’t achieve that.

And so the pursuit continues. My therapist says she finds my relentless drive to be exhausting. Somehow in my head, I feel compelled to do more and to be better. I know life is not fair. The outcome is not always commensurate with your effort and your will. And yet, at times, I will drive myself to oblivion trying to force improvement/acceleration from where I am.

Last week, I was in the middle of a challenging transaction with stubborn clients who just would NOT stop bitching and complaining about the appraisal that came in low. Nevermind that I got them into contract on a house for $50k less than the competing offer. They couldn’t get over having to pay $6k to reconfigure the financing to get the house. Meanwhile, my father was calling multiple times about his tax papers and mail and computer problems. I told my father to just FedEx me his stack of papers for the CPA. Back and forth… he didn’t want to mail it bc it was sensitive info. He didn’t want to use FedEx bc it costs more than the regular post. He didn’t want my cousin to scan it bc privacy. Finally, I lost my shit. This is the real world. People scan and mail sensitive documents all the fucking time. Get over it and figure this shit out. Jesus fucking Christ. Do better, bc your best is not good enough. Joe Biden is older than you, and he’s running the goddamn country!!

And there it was. The bullied had become the bully. I realized that the doctrine to which I had been subjected my entire life– the doctrine which has been the source of so much disappointment and pain– was so undeniably ingrained. This is my value system. This is what I believe of myself and now of my parents. I don’t care how much you tried. I don’t care about what else is happening in the background (my mother will be going to a care facility in a few months). Do better bc your best is not good enough.

And as I write those words, I am fighting back tears. I believe those thoughts. I’m good, but I should be better. I should be more. This can’t be all that I am.

So I go back to grinding, striving to hit some higher level I have in my mind, thinking maybe I can attain it through brute force. Here I am: fatigued, frustrated, and damn tired. How do I free myself from this? It seems the answer lies somewhere with acceptance. But to me, acceptance means giving up. It’s a vicious cycle, you see? When I take a day off, I chide myself: that’s why you don’t have more leads in your pipeline. I know, it’s an intense and bizarre form of self-torture and abuse. At least that’s how the therapist describes it.

Granted, some days the thoughts are lighter than others. Still. I know my sweet therapist has her work cut out for her. The damage is real.