Is enough 'enough'?

Am I Holding Myself to Unrealistic Standards?

There’s a strange thing about the word “enough.” It’s like it’s always just out of reach, no matter how much you stretch for it. You know that feeling when you’re chasing something but can’t quite grasp it? Like trying to hold onto the last drops of rain as they slip through your fingers, or maybe more fittingly, trying to measure how many grains of sand make up a beach—impossible, right? But somehow, we’re all expected to know what “enough” is, like there’s some universal standard I should be able to tick off on a checklist. Everyone around me seems so certain of it—at least, that’s how it looks on the surface. Meanwhile, I’m here, trying to figure out exactly what it is, if it even exists at all. 

The tricky part is that “enough” is often treated like it’s this clear, definitive thing, like a destination you can reach if you just try hard enough. If I’m being completely honest with you, I’ve spent years thinking that, too. The thing about “enough” is that it’s slippery. The more I chase it, the more I realise it’s not a place you can arrive at, not really. It’s more of a feeling—or sometimes, the absence of one—something that shifts and morphs just when you think you’ve figured it out. Every time I think I’ve reached “enough,” it’s as if it moves further away, like some game where the goalposts are always sliding just out of reach. It’s almost like “enough” is a moving target, and if I can just get there today, tomorrow it will be a little further along. A constant race, but no finish line in sight.

But before that, to all the new faces, hello, I am Tanushree Ishani Das (TID). I have a blog piece where I have shared everything about myself. I think you will enjoy it. Life is too short, take that risk and read my blog :)

In some ways, this whole quest for “enough” feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, squinting into the horizon, trying to make sense of a fog that never quite clears. You’re not sure if you should jump, or if you’ve already jumped, or if jumping was even the right thing to do. The line between striving and self-doubt blurs faster than you can keep up with, and suddenly, all the things you once thought made you “enough”—the achievements, the milestones, the moments of grace—don’t feel like enough anymore. They’re like that sandwich you made for lunch that, in theory, should’ve been exactly what you wanted, but now it just sits in your stomach as a vague disappointment. 

The thing is, I’ve never been one to chase vague dreams. I’ve never compared myself to others, nor have I ever allowed myself to fall into that self-inflicted misery of envy. Thank my stars for that, honestly. I’ve always competed with myself, with the version of me I was yesterday. If there’s one thing I’ve come to realise over time, it’s that comparison is an exercise in futility. Comparing myself to the “me” I was five years ago doesn’t make sense, because I’m a different person now—my circumstances, my goals, my priorities have all evolved. Even comparing myself to someone else in the present moment is a losing battle, because the variables they face are unique to them, just as mine are unique to me. Someone very dear to me once said, “Comparison at any timeline is futile.” At first, I thought it was just a nice sentiment. But over time, those words have become a quiet mantra, because when you look at the bigger picture, it’s true. We’re all at different stages of our journeys, and when you try to measure yourself against someone else, you're only ever looking at fragments of their story. You’ll never see the whole picture, and it’ll only make you feel smaller.

For context, I used to run an international vegan (unisex) skincare brand. The role came with its fair share of limelight, press coverage, media interactions and a level of exposure that, at times, felt like too much. But let me tell you something: none of that was ever the driver for me. Fame, accolades, awards—those were just the side effects of doing something I cared deeply about. Sure, recognition helped the brand reach a wider audience, but it did very little to shift the needle on my personal sense of accomplishment or self-worth. I’ve never been someone who’s ever been swayed by the idea of “success” as society defines it. The real drive for me was always about learning, growing, and improving—breaking my own records and expanding my own boundaries. But somewhere along the way, I had to ask myself: when would that be “enough”? 

For me, “enough” wasn’t about fame or status or winning awards. It was about balance. It meant having a steady and growing clientele with a high retention rate. It meant showing up, not just professionally but personally—being present for my family and friends, making space for my relationships amidst everything else. “Enough” meant managing my work commitments without running myself into the ground, and it meant having enough mental and physical bandwidth to do things that mattered to me outside of my job—like living. Most importantly, “enough” meant having energy left over at the end of the day to take care of my health. As much as I loved my work, I was learning the hard way that burnout was a price I could not afford. 

I’d be lying if I said I got it all right from the start. There were plenty of times when I pushed myself too hard and let my personal life take the backseat, thinking it was all in the name of ambition. And yes, there were moments when I let go of my boundaries, thinking that “enough” meant doing it all—being everywhere, for everyone, all the time. It took more than a few lessons from the school of hard knocks before I started drawing lines in the sand and realising what “enough” really meant for me. But just when I thought I had it figured out, just when I thought I’d finally achieved that elusive sense of balance and peace, “enough” slipped from my grasp yet again. That sly, slippery feeling always finds a way to hand me the uno reverse card, turning everything I thought I knew on its head.

What’s funny—and tragic—is that the thing I most fear, the very thing I tell myself I’m avoiding, is exactly the thing I think I’m chasing: a sense of ‘enoughness’. A sense of having done the work, the right work, the “perfect” work. Because surely, that will make me enough, won’t it? That sense of satisfaction, of having arrived, of knowing deep down that I’ve done my bit in the world and done it well enough to earn some peace. But here's the catch: I keep resetting the bar, like I’m in some cruel, self-imposed version of Groundhog Day. I hit that target I set for myself, and then—just like that—another one appears. There’s always another milestone, always another “next step” that needs to be reached. What’s worse is that everyone around me seems to have their own shiny, polished version of "enough," and they’re flaunting it like it’s no big deal, like it came easily. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if we’re all playing the same game, but none of us knows what the rules are. It's exhausting!

The hardest part is the realisation that all this chasing, this striving, it’s... personal. Too personal. Every time I confront this notion of “enough”, I feel like I’m laying a little more of my soul bare. There’s an intimacy in it, a vulnerability that feels almost dangerous because you’re not just questioning your actions or decisions; you’re questioning your worth. And the most terrifying part of it all? I don’t think I’ll ever get a satisfying answer. I don’t think I’ll ever feel completely sure that I’ve truly crossed the finish line, that I’ve reached that elusive “enough.” There’s a sweetness in striving, in trying to improve, to grow, to stretch beyond your limits. But there’s also a danger in it. A danger in getting so caught up in the chase that you forget what you’re chasing for, or worse, that you lose sight of the fact that you are the one moving the goalposts. It’s not the world, or the people around me, or some grand cosmic force making these impossible expectations. It’s me. I’m the one who keeps shifting the line, creating the game, and setting myself up for endless rounds of trying to catch something that was never really meant to be caught. 

And as I see it, this isn’t just a career thing, or a personal thing, or a relationship thing. It’s an all-encompassing thing. The moment I think I’ve figured out what “enough” looks like, it’s already shifting, already morphing into something else, something bigger. It's the endless tension between being content with what I’ve done and pushing for more, between acknowledging my progress and recognising that there’s always more to do, to be, to achieve. It’s the ultimate paradox, isn’t it?

So, am I holding myself to unrealistic standards? The short answer is probably yes. The long answer, however, is a bit more complicated, like trying to untangle a knot in a string that’s somehow just getting tighter the more I pull. I want to be the best version of myself, always improving, always growing, but at what cost? There’s a delicate balance between striving for greatness and simply burning yourself out trying to get there. For instance, I want to feel like I’ve earned the right to rest—like when I finally collapse on the sofa, I can do so guilt-free, knowing that I’ve earned that moment of peace. But here’s the catch: I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel like I’ve earned enough rest. It’s like an endless cycle, where the finish line keeps moving just a little further away. I rest for a bit, and the second I feel slightly refreshed, the voice in my head says, “Well, you could do more.” It’s a bit of a catch-22, really—no matter how hard I push, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I’ve done enough to warrant taking a break. What if, in the end, the truth is that there is no “enough”? What if it’s just a perpetual chase, like a dog with a ball that will never stop running, no matter how many times it fetches it?

And here’s where it gets a little ridiculous, a little sad, and maybe even a little funny—because sometimes, I can feel that my version of “enough” is far too demanding. It’s like having an imaginary old auntie who refuses to accept your existence unless you’ve presented your life’s achievements neatly stacked and framed on her mantelpiece. She looks at you with those judgmental glasses perched on the end of her nose, waiting for a list of successes, big and small, like she’s ticking off boxes in a game you didn’t even know you were playing. I can’t help but wonder if I’m just constantly disappointing this imaginary auntie, forever scrambling to prove that I’m worthy of being “enough.” Maybe she’ll never be satisfied, maybe she’ll always need more. I’m sure she’d tell me, “You can rest when you’ve truly earned it, dear,” while I’m over here trying to figure out what that even means. 

And speaking of old, is 36 “old” for you? <Asking for a friend>
Also, just curious, is there ever a moment where you can just stop and think, “Yep, this is it, this is enough”? Probably not, right? Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, writing about it.

2024 was a transformative year for me on the personal front. It felt like I spent most of it doing a deep dive into myself—self-exploration, self-evaluation, and a whole lot of self-awareness. The kind of year where you look back and wonder if you’ve changed at all, or if you’re just living in some loop of repetition. One of the biggest things I wrestled with was trying to define what “enough” meant for me, looking for that solid, clear definition that I could hold onto, like a lifeline. What does it look like? When will I know I’ve reached it? Is there even a moment where I can say, “Okay, this is it”? But as the months went by, one thing became painfully clear: I don’t think I’ll ever truly know. And here’s the kicker—it’s starting to dawn on me that maybe that’s not a problem at all. Maybe that’s exactly the point. Because let’s be honest, what’s the alternative? To be content with certainty? To find “enough” and then just stop, settle in, and be content forever? I honestly can’t picture it. Maybe it’s because I’ve realised I like the chase. I like the constant process of questioning, of searching, even if it’s exhausting. It’s like I’m always standing at the edge of a fog, trying to make sense of what’s just out of reach. And sure, I could change course or take a break, but in the end, it’s the searching itself that feels real to me. It’s the only thing that truly makes sense.

Safe to say, I’m coming to terms with the idea that the real “enough” might be simply finding peace with the fact that I will never feel it fully. That perhaps, the answer isn’t in ticking off all the boxes of what I think I should be, but in learning to hold space for my own imperfections, without judgment, without guilt, and—most importantly—without apology. I’m not there yet, not by a long shot, but I’m starting to realise that “enough” isn’t a destination. It’s not some endpoint that I can cross off a checklist and say, “Well, that’s done.” If anything, it’s the act of being willing to keep going, despite all the doubts, despite the impossible standards I set for myself, despite the fear that it’s all just a bit too much. Maybe that’s where the peace comes from: in accepting that it’s okay to not have it all figured out, that it's okay to not feel “enough” in the way I thought I was supposed to.

In a way, that makes sense, doesn’t it? "Enough" isn’t static. It’s more like this delicate dance with yourself, this constant reevaluation, a balancing act between what you ‘think’ is enough, and what you ‘feel’ is enough. And somewhere in there, maybe that’s where I’ll find my peace. Or maybe I won’t. And, honestly? I’m starting to think I’m okay with that, too.
If “enough” is a mountain, then maybe I’ll never get to the top. But I think I’ll be okay with that, eventually. I’ll learn to love the climb—bitter, sweet, and all the in-between. After all, the climb itself is where most of the stories are.

And if all else fails—because, let’s face it, sometimes it just does—there’s always coffee. and that’s definitely enough.

Thank you for reading. I am beyond grateful.

Love and Warmth,
TID
(Tanushree Ishani Das)

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