From the earliest years of my life, I felt as though I was on a stage with the world as my audience, waiting for a performance that had no script. The pressure to perform was relentless, and it felt like everyone had expectations of a grand show. This expectation, however, left me feeling like I had to be better than everyone at everything, a daunting task for anyone, especially a young child.
I can trace these feelings back to my days in preschool. I distinctly remember having to pretend to be asleep during naptime, even when I wasn't the least bit tired. It was as if I needed to act the part of a "good" child, conforming to the expectations placed upon me. One day, my siblings forgot to pick me up, and the idea of being left alone at preschool was so uncomfortable that I hid outside to make it appear as if I'd also been fetched.
To add to the pressure, my mother affectionately nicknamed me 'Ntozonke,' which means 'everything' in our language. While it was meant to be endearing, it created a heavy expectation for me to excel at everything. I carried the weight of being 'everything' to everyone.
As I grew older, this constant pressure to perform took a toll on my mental health. Any time I felt like I was falling behind or not achieving my goals within my self-imposed timeframes, I would sink into a deep state of depression. The challenge was that I couldn't open up to anyone during these moments. It felt like no one cared or understood, and so I wore a mask of strength and resilience.
To the outside world, I appeared strong and capable, always offering advice and answers. But behind the facade, I longed to be heard and understood. My smile became a cover-up for the turmoil inside.
The pressure to perform extended beyond my family. Teachers, friends, and even elders in the church had their own ideas about who I should become. I often rebelled against these expectations, asserting my right to define myself. I recall an incident in church where elders criticized my attire for not being "appropriate" enough. I was wearing a long skirt, but it didn't meet their standards of modesty. In response, I vowed to wear pants, feeling the need to challenge their expectations. Over time, I've learned to embrace dresses and remind myself that I look good in them too.
As I entered university and the workforce, my competitiveness grew. I felt compelled to know and do it all. It was a constant battle to remind myself that I couldn't do everything. After all, if I could handle everything, where would there be room for God in my life?
In this journey of grappling with the pressures to perform, I've learned that it's essential to find balance and authenticity. It's crucial to acknowledge that we are not meant to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. God designed us to rely on Him, recognizing that our worth is not solely determined by our achievements or the expectations of others.
Performance pressure can indeed be a double-edged sword, driving us to excellence but also robbing us of our authenticity and inner peace. It's an ongoing process to navigate these pressures, but it starts with realizing that we are enough just as we are, script or no script.
Shalom!
The Double edged sword performance pressure... I can honestly relate to your story. In as much as we may often try to find our way around it, it often causes more frustration or outbursts in times or spaces where we would normally not prefer. This happened in church as well for me. Where I always sought approval, always wanting to be the best in all that I did no matter how much strain that had on me. I thank God that He led me to this understanding that I can do all things, but only in Him and not by my own means; and also with the right intentions. Not to seek approval from men but from God and doing…