Redefining success when you’ve spent your life trying to impress others

I still remember stepping into the lobby of a towering office building, feeling my heart thud against my chest as I smoothed out the creases in my blazer. On the surface, it was just another job interview—another chance to prove I was the right candidate. But something deeper was stirring under that polished exterior.

An entire childhood’s worth of striving for approval felt like it had been funneled into each handshake and forced smile. Long after I left home, I still carried my parents’ voices in the back of my mind, urging me to be impressive, perfect, the best.

That afternoon, I realized this wasn’t just about impressing a hiring manager. It was about impressing everyone I’d ever wanted to please—starting with my parents, who once pinned their hopes on me.

As I nodded at the interviewer’s questions, a tiny voice inside me asked: Who am I really doing this for?

Over time, I began to see how much of my “success” was built on fulfilling expectations that didn’t entirely belong to me. 

It’s an ongoing journey, but along the way, I encountered a Buddhist teaching that spoke directly to my dilemma: Non-self, or Anatta. In exploring how our attachment to a fixed identity can create suffering, I discovered that the person I was trying to become was largely a patchwork of external standards.

This is the story of how that shift opened a door to a life that felt more like mine and less like a performance staged to impress someone else.

Before: The Endless Chase for Approval

Let me start by describing what life was like before I began unpacking my attachment to a rigid self-image.

For most of my twenties, my sense of worth felt intertwined with external validation. Good grades. A “respectable” career path. I can’t recall how many times I told myself, “If I get this job, I’ll finally be happy,” or “If I land a promotion, maybe my parents will see that I’m doing enough.”

Interviews were the most obvious triggers, but the need to impress bled into other areas. If I went on a date, I’d catch myself reciting in my head all the reasons I was a “catch.” If I went to a party, I’d try to steer conversations toward my accomplishments. It wasn’t malicious—I genuinely thought that’s what I was supposed to do to be seen as valuable.

But beneath the surface, I felt uneasy.

Each success was met with fleeting relief that maybe this was enough to earn my parents’ quiet pride—or at least avoid their disappointment. Yet their bar seemed perpetually out of reach. Without realizing it, I’d locked myself into a cycle of chasing approval that never yielded a lasting sense of self-worth.

The Weight of Childhood Scripts

Growing up, my parents had high expectations. Their lessons were often well-intentioned but came across as, “You must be the best or risk falling behind.” In many ways, I internalized their dreams as my identity. Any deviation felt like betrayal.

In Buddhist terms, I was clinging to a “self” that was shaped by external narratives. Non-self (Anatta) teaches that what we consider our identity — our roles, our reputations, even our personality traits—is not a fixed, permanent entity.

Yet I was treating these achievements as though they were the bedrock of who I was, terrified that if I dropped them, I’d be nothing.

Though I wasn’t consciously aware of this dynamic, the constant need to impress weighed heavily on my well-being.

Each new interview or performance review triggered something akin to a fight-or-flight response. I’d ruminate endlessly: Am I enough? Will they approve of me? Am I letting anyone down if this doesn’t go perfectly?

Telltale Signs of Burnout

Eventually, the strain started showing. I struggled to sleep the night before the interviews, replaying potential questions and imagining worst-case scenarios.

At work, I overextended myself, taking on extra projects in the hope of being recognized—only to feel resentful and exhausted.

Outside of work, I found little solace in socializing because even in leisure settings, I felt I had to prove my worth. My relationships, especially romantic ones, suffered. Partners felt I was distant or unrelaxed, always “on,” always worried about proving something.

It was around this time I decided I needed change. The interviews alone were becoming a dreaded chore, but I also felt the entire framework of my life was on shaky ground. I began therapy, wanting to understand why I was so invested in performing a version of success for others.

Through that process, I stumbled upon Buddhist teachings — particularly Non-self — and the concept resonated with me in a profound way.

Embracing Non-Self: The Turning Point

One day, I read a passage describing Anatta not as a denial of existence but as a reminder that our self-image is fluid, constantly influenced by interactions, experiences, and perceptions.

My old worldview—that I had to be this type of person to be worthy—suddenly seemed narrow. If identity is not fixed, I might not have to remain chained to the “overachiever who pleases people” role.

This insight didn’t instantly solve my problems, but it cracked open a window. I could begin to question: What if the version of me my parents wanted is not the only version possible? What if I’m not locked into that storyline, the “I must be impressive” narrative?

Dismantling the Need to Impress

Around the same time, I decided to practice short meditations. I was never a devout meditator, but the idea was simply to observe thoughts.

Every time anxiety about an upcoming interview surfaced—“I have to show them I’m perfect”—I’d label it: “Worry about external approval.” Just labeling it gave me a few seconds of distance from the panic.

That small gap was everything.

If my identity wasn’t this fear, if I could see the fear as an event passing through my mind, maybe I could loosen the grip it had on me. I also started journaling about the difference between wanting something for myself—like a job that aligns with my passions—and wanting something just to keep up an image.

Conversations with My Parents

One of the hardest parts of this shift was talking to my parents. For so long, I’d let their expectations define my path. Confronting them wasn’t about blaming them — it was about explaining my need to find my own definition of success.

I remember a specific evening call with my mother. I gently told her I was considering pivoting away from a corporate ladder route. My heart pounded, expecting pushback. But to my surprise, she responded with, “We just want you to be happy.” I’d spent years assuming they wouldn’t accept a different trajectory, but in truth, they wanted to see me flourish on my own terms.

That moment underscored the illusions we build around identity—mine and theirs. Here I was, believing I needed their approval for everything, only to discover that they could support me even if I veered from the path they originally envisioned.

After: Redefining Success on My Own Terms

So what did after look like?

While it’s an ongoing process, there are noticeable changes I can point to.

Easing the Interview Anxiety

Let’s start with job interviews, the original source of my stress.

Instead of obsessively rehearsing perfect answers, I now approach them with curiosity. I reflect on whether the role genuinely aligns with my interests and values, rather than whether it fulfills someone else’s dream for me.

Oddly enough, my interviews have become more authentic. Rather than delivering a polished script meant to dazzle, I speak genuinely about what drives me. I even allow myself to say, “I’m not sure, but I’m eager to learn.”

I no longer treat uncertainty as a sign of inadequacy, because I’m not trying to maintain a veneer of a flawless self.

A Healthier Inner Dialogue

Since embracing the idea that I’m not a fixed identity, my self-talk has softened.

When doubts arise—Am I successful enough?—I can question the premise: What does ‘enough’ even mean? My sense of self-worth no longer hinges on being “the best” but on being aligned with what I find meaningful.

I also give myself permission to fail or experiment. If I pursue a project and it doesn’t pan out, it doesn’t mean “I” am a failure; it just means one particular avenue didn’t work.

Learning to see each experience as part of a fluid journey, rather than a final verdict on my worth, has liberated me to take risks I once avoided.

Shifts in Personal Relationships

By releasing the need to impress, I’ve also seen my personal connections blossom. I’m more present with friends—less busy constructing a successful persona and more tuned into genuine conversation.

With romantic partners, I’m learning to show vulnerability. Rather than listing achievements or trying to appear “perfect,” I’m free to express uncertainty, fear, or joy without filtering it through a performance lens.

To my surprise, this openness has attracted people who appreciate authenticity. I’ve had friends remark, “You seem more relaxed these days,” which is funny because I hadn’t noticed I was wound so tightly before.

The invisible tension of always performing had been my norm, and letting it go felt like breathing fresh air.

Reconciling Non-Self with Ambitions

One question I grappled with was whether letting go of a fixed self-identity would kill my ambition. Would I become apathetic without the drive to impress people?

The answer, I’ve found, is no. Actually, letting go of that pressure has freed me to pursue goals that resonate with my values, not just those that fetch applause.

Where I once felt compelled to climb a certain corporate ladder—because “that’s what successful people do”—I’m exploring a more creative path.

The difference is that I’m motivated by curiosity and passion now, not by fear of disappointing someone. There’s still effort involved, sometimes intense, but it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels purposeful.

This is very much in line with a nuanced reading of Non-self: it doesn’t say we shouldn’t have identities or roles; it says we shouldn’t rigidly cling to them.

We can still navigate life with direction, but remain flexible enough to adapt and evolve.

The Ongoing Journey

I won’t pretend everything is perfect.

Sometimes old habits resurface—like a few weeks ago, when I caught myself bragging in a group conversation about a job offer I’d turned down. Halfway through, I realized I was slipping into the old pattern: “Look how impressive I am.”

But now I can catch myself in the act. Instead of spiraling into shame, I view it as a gentle reminder that transformation is gradual. I mentally say something like, “Okay, that was a slip into an old identity script. Let’s see what that taught me about myself today.”

Each day, I practice short mindfulness exercises, often just a few minutes of focusing on my breath. This helps me stay connected to the present moment, where I can watch thoughts and impulses rise and fall without fully identifying with them.

Slowly, it’s becoming more natural to see each fleeting emotion, like the urge to show off or the fear of failing, as just that: fleeting.

Looking Back—and Forward

Sometimes I think back to that earlier version of me, the one who showed up at interviews with the weight of a thousand familial expectations on her shoulders. I feel compassion for her. She did what she believed was necessary to earn love and security. But I’m also grateful that I don’t have to carry that burden anymore.

Embracing Non-self in a practical, day-to-day sense has meant allowing myself to be many things—a learner, a creator, sometimes uncertain, sometimes bold—without locking myself into a single role.

And if I do step into a role—like job-seeker, partner, friend—I can do it wholeheartedly, but with the knowledge that it’s a fluid aspect of who I am, not a rigid definition.

Conclusion: Growing Beyond the Need to Impress

Redefining success on my own terms didn’t come from a single eureka moment. It emerged from recognizing how my deep-seated desire to impress others was fueling anxiety, blocking authentic growth, and overshadowing my genuine interests.

The Buddhist idea of Non-self gave me language for what was happening: I was clinging to a fixed story—I must be the flawless achiever—which caused me suffering whenever reality didn’t align with that story.

So the next time you find yourself in a high-stakes scenario—be it a job interview, a performance review, or even a tense conversation with loved ones—pause for a moment.

Ask: Whose approval am I really seeking?

Let that question guide you toward the possibility that you needn’t perform to be worthy. In letting go of that performance, you might just discover a kind of success that feels deeply, unmistakably like your own.