When Every Accomplishment Feels Like Relief, Not Pride

Am I alone in this? I can't be, right?

I was scrolling TikTok a few nights ago, not even paying close attention. I couldn’t tell you what the video was about, but a line in the comment section caught my eye and stopped me cold:

“Every accomplishment feels like relief, not pride.”

I kept scrolling, but a few minutes later, I realized I was still thinking about it. It was like someone had put words to a feeling I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying. I opened my Notes app and typed it out. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

Whoever wrote that—some random stranger in the comment section—I wanted to thank them.
Because in that moment, I felt seen.
And if they feel that way, and I feel that way, then I know—some of you must feel it too.

I stewed on it for a few days—it kept popping into my mind at random moments, even waking me during the usual 3 a.m. witching hour. And that’s when it hit me:
I don’t think I’ve ever truly felt pride in myself.

Not for the big things. Not even for the little ones.

Every time I hit a goal or cross a milestone, it’s not pride that comes. It’s relief.
Relief that I didn’t mess it up. Relief that it’s over. Relief that I held it together—barely.
And that relief? It’s short-lived. The moment passes, and I’m already bracing for whatever comes next.

There have been times when I’ve tried to hype myself up—especially when I’m staring down yet another challenge. I’ll go through the long list of things I’ve done, the things I should be proud of. I’ll say, You’ve done hard things before, you can do this too. Even then, the feeling isn’t pride. It’s more like: You’ve won these fights, you can win one more.
It’s a survival speech. A pep talk. Not a celebration.

And here’s the thing—I have felt pride before. I know exactly what it feels like.

As a mom, there is no greater feeling than the pride I feel watching my girls. I’m emotionally in step with their journey. You know that saying—when your baby is born, it’s like your heart starts living outside your body, just running around in the world? I get it. Completely.

When they win their battles—big or small—or even when I’m just watching them from a distance, my God, does my heart explode.
I cry on sidelines, beam from the back row of school auditoriums, and feel like the whole world lights up when they find their stride.
It’s not just what they do—it’s who they are.
That’s pride. Pure and unfiltered.

I’m also self-aware enough to know: those are their accomplishments. I don’t want to live through them or take ownership of their shine. That feeling of pride belongs to them, and I’m lucky enough to witness it.

What I’m realizing, though, is that I don’t know how to feel any of that for me.

And what’s so frustrating—what feels almost cruel—is that it’s not because I haven’t done anything worth feeling proud of. What’s undeniable is that I’ve accomplished a lot. I’ve weathered my storms—both the external ones and the ones that swirl through my head, which, of course, are often the hardest to outrun.

Bri and I built a life from nothing.

We walked down the aisle as babies, with no money—less than no money.
About $100,000 in student loan debt, jobs that barely covered our minimum payments, and—honestly—not a clue how to be people.

We got scrappy. And thanks to our very on-brand mix of relentlessness and sheer stubbornness, we fought our way toward stability.

Over the years, we’ve bought homes. Built businesses. Prioritized our girls’ education.
All of it—the financial wins, the career growth, the daily logistics of keeping everything afloat—has felt like a battle. One we keep showing up for.

And then there’s the other part.

Through it all, we’ve created a family that’s close, joyful, and deeply connected.
That part doesn’t feel like something I accomplished.
That part feels like I hit the lottery.

Intellectually, I know I’m at least partly responsible for that—for the tone of our home, the relationships we’ve nurtured, the love and safety that hold us together.
So why is it so hard to feel proud of it?

I don’t know if I’m the only one who feels this way. But I have a feeling I’m not.

Here’s where I’m really at—and I’d love to hear from you, too.