Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / Finding Peace in Trying Your Absolute Best | Still Standing
Transcript
- You are carrying a weight that isn’t yours to hold, and it’s time to put it down. The exhaustion you feel right now isn’t because you failed; it’s because you’ve been trying to carry the impossible. Take a breath with me. Just one. Deep in through the nose, out through the mouth. Feel your shoulders drop away from your ears for a second. I want to talk about something that keeps so many of us awake at 2 a.m., staring at the ceiling fan, wondering if we’re doing it wrong. It’s this quiet, gnawing suspicion that we are never quite enough. Not enough effort, not enough grace, not enough resilience. We live in a world that loves to celebrate the highlight reel. We see the launch, the promotion, the perfect home, the serene vacation photo, and we assume the person behind it has figured out some secret code to life that we missed. But here is the truth that no one puts on Instagram: most of us are just guessing. Most of us are stumbling forward, tripping over our own feet, trying to keep our heads above water while the rest of the world looks like they’re swimming effortlessly. And when we stumble, when we trip, when we simply cannot make it another step without collapsing, we don’t just feel tired. We feel guilty. We feel like we’ve let someone down. Maybe we let ourselves down. Maybe we let our families down. Maybe we let the version of ourselves we dreamed of being down. That guilt is heavy. It is a stone in your pocket that you’ve been dragging around for years, long after you stopped needing it. Let’s sit in that for a second. Think about the last time you felt truly defeated. Maybe it was a project at work that fell apart despite your best efforts. Maybe it was a relationship that ended not because you didn’t try hard enough, but because it wasn’t meant to be. Or maybe it was just Tuesday. Maybe it was the day you tried to cook a healthy meal for your kids, and the house was messy, the food was burnt, and everyone was cranky. In those moments, what did that cost you? Did you charge yourself with failure? Did you tell yourself you should have known better, done more, been stronger? Society tells us that if we just try harder, if we just optimize our schedules, if we just read the right books and follow the right routines, we will arrive at a place of permanent peace. But that is a lie. Life is not linear. It is messy, chaotic, and unpredictable. And trying your absolute best does not guarantee a specific outcome. This is perhaps the hardest lesson to learn as women. We are conditioned to believe that effort equals reward. If I clean the kitchen, it stays clean. If I study, I pass the test. If I love him, he stays. But people don’t work like that. Opportunities don’t always open up. Bodies get sick. Plans fall apart. And when the outcome doesn’t match the effort, we blame ourselves. We think there must be something wrong with us. Something lacking. But what if the problem isn’t you? What if the problem is the expectation that you can control everything? I spent ten years in corporate marketing before I burned out so badly I couldn’t speak without crying. I thought success was a destination. I thought once I got the corner office, once I hit the sales target, once I bought the bigger house, I would finally be allowed to relax. I thought I had earned my rest. But when I finally got there, I didn’t feel peace. I felt anxious. I felt like I had to do it all again, only faster, better, louder. I was running on a treadmill that kept speeding up. And I realized that I had defined success by external metrics. By titles. By income. By how other people perceived me. But resilience isn’t about the title. Resilience is about showing up when you want to quit. It’s about speaking up when you’re terrified. It’s about loving someone even when they’re difficult. It’s about getting out of bed when depression feels like a physical weight pressing you into the mattress. True success is looking at your life and saying, "I gave what I had." Not what I wished I had. Not what I thought I should have had. But what I actually had in that moment. Sometimes that is a lot. Sometimes that is very little. And both are valid. Both are enough. When you shift your definition of success from the outcome to the effort, everything changes. You stop measuring yourself against others. You stop waiting for permission to rest. You start honoring the work you did, regardless of whether it led to the result you wanted. Because the work itself is sacred. The effort itself is beautiful. It is proof that you cared. Proof that you showed up. Proof that you were alive in that moment, fully present, fighting for something you believed in. There is a grief that comes with realizing that your best wasn’t enough to change the outcome. And we are taught not to grieve that. We are told to "stay positive," to "look on the bright side," to "bounce back." But you cannot bounce back from grief without feeling it. You have to sit with it. You have to let yourself mourn the dream you had. The business you didn’t start. The child you couldn’t have. The job you lost. The friendship that faded. All of these things require mourning. And when you mourn them, you realize that you didn’t fail. You just reached the end of a path. And that is okay. You can honor the path. You can honor the steps you took. You can honor the tears you cried along the way. This is where true resilience lives. Not in the ignoring of pain, but in the acceptance of it. It’s in saying, "This hurt. This was hard. I did my best. And I am still here." That statement alone is powerful. It releases you from the need to justify your struggle. It releases you from the shame of not having all the answers. It allows you to be human. Flawed. Tired. Beautifully imperfect. When you accept that you did your best, you give yourself permission to move on. Not because the chapter is closed perfectly, but because you are ready for the next one. You are ready to trust yourself again. To trust that even if you don’t know the ending, you know how to begin. You know how to take the next step. And that is enough. So how do we practice this? How do we quiet the inner critic that whispers, "You could have done more"? We start by talking to ourselves like we would talk to a friend. If your best friend came to you and said, "I tried so hard, and it didn’t work out," what would you say to her? Would you tell her she’s lazy? Would you tell her she’s not trying hard enough? No. You would hug her. You would tell her she’s amazing. You would remind her that she gave her all. You would validate her feelings. You would let her cry. Why do we deny ourselves this same kindness? Why do we hold ourselves to a standard we would never impose on anyone else? This is the heart of self-compassion. It is not self-indulgence. It is not making excuses. It is recognizing that you are human. And humans make mistakes. Humans have limitations. Humans have bad days. And that is okay. When you treat yourself with compassion, you create space for growth. Shame shrinks potential. Compassion expands it. When you stop beating yourself up for not being perfect, you free up energy. Energy you can use to heal. Energy you can use to create. Energy you can use to love. Try this today. Catch yourself when you’re criticizing. Pause. Ask yourself, "Would I say this to my best friend?" If the answer is no, then don’t say it to yourself. Replace the criticism with curiosity. Instead of "I’m such an idiot," try "I wonder why that happened? What can I learn?" Shift from judgment to understanding. From shame to connection. This small shift can change your entire life. It can turn your inner voice from a bully into a guide. A gentle, steady presence that reminds you of who you are. Reminds you that you are worthy. Not because of what you do. But because of who you are. There is a quiet victory in knowing you tried your best. It doesn’t come with applause. It doesn’t come with a trophy. It comes with a sense of peace. A deep, settling calm that rests in your chest. It’s the knowledge that you didn’t cheat. You didn’t cut corners. You didn’t betray your values to get ahead. You stayed true to yourself, even when it was hard. Even when it was inconvenient. Even when it cost you. That integrity is priceless. It builds a foundation that nothing can shake. When the storms come—and they will come—you will stand firm. Not because you are strong, but because you are grounded. Grounded in the truth of your effort. Grounded in the knowledge that you showed up. So tonight, before you sleep, I want you to do something simple. Look in the mirror. Look into your own eyes. Say to yourself, "I did my best today." Mean it. Feel it. Let it sink in. If you can’t say it yet, that’s okay too. Just plant the seed. Water it tomorrow. Keep watering it until it grows into a tree that shelters you. You are doing better than you think. You are stronger than you know. And you are loved. Exactly as you are. Right now. In this moment. With all your flaws and fears and failures. You are enough. You have always been enough. And you always will be. Thank you for letting me into your space today. I’m Marissa Davidson. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you in the next one.