I’ve had my fill of living in fear.
Growing up, I was constantly shadowed by anxiety. Fear of my harsh father. Fear of letting my family down. Fear of not embodying the ideal Asian American child. Fear of my language skills — whether in English or Mandarin — never being enough. I felt the weight of judgment from relatives, teachers, and community leaders.
I was too loud, too bold, too eccentric, too young, too opinionated, too obsessed with boys, too American, too Taiwanese — simply, too much.
The relentless worry that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, or attractive enough consumed me — I was neither enough nor too much; I was caught in an impossible bind.
In my attempts to reshape myself to fit what was deemed acceptable, I found it unsustainable. Not from a lack of conviction, but simply because it was exhausting. I didn’t have the energy (or the talent) to keep up the façade.
Instead, I buried my insecurities beneath layers of arrogance. I convinced myself I was superior to others and nurtured a sense of entitlement regarding their achievements. Jealousy brewed within me. Though I avoided gossip due to my distrust of it, I couldn’t help but be cutting in my remarks about others.
“Who do they think they are?” echoed in my thoughts. Now, I sometimes hear that very question thrown back at me — from critics and occasionally from my own mind, when I let self-doubt creep in.
Who did I think I was? A valid question indeed.
My friends claim that I ‘snapped’ the year I turned 40. While I don’t see a drastic change in myself, I understand their perspective. I’ve always been outspoken, but I became even more unrestrained. I made bold changes to my appearance and finally let go of worrying about others’ opinions. I transitioned from being merely outspoken to being unapologetically myself.
Not everyone embraced this transformation.
For some, I seemed to shift from the “acceptable” kind of outspoken to the “problematic” kind, leaving them unsure of how to interact with me. I was again too much and yet not enough. But this time, I didn’t care anymore.
What happened next? A mixture of everything and nothing.
To clarify, it’s not entirely accurate to say nothing happened — I didn’t vanish. People didn’t abandon me en masse. Instead, I found a newfound sense of happiness and vitality. Opportunities arose, my writing flourished, and incredible individuals entered my life — people I once thought were out of my league became friends.
I had already put in the effort to build my skills and knowledge, so my confidence was well-founded. I stopped feeling threatened by others’ successes.
I learned to be generous with recognition and praise. Witnessing others thrive didn’t hurt anymore; I realized their triumphs didn’t diminish my own. There was ample space for all of us.
The world expanded around me.
I did lose some connections, and that hurt — but I chose gratitude for the time we shared. I accepted that we no longer needed each other, wishing them the best.
Of course, I still care about the opinions of certain people — my family, a few close friends, and mentors whose insights I truly value.
I grapple with worries about being anti-Black, racist, misogynistic, or harmful in any way. I question if I punch down instead of up and if I inadvertently hurt the vulnerable. I fear being unkind and unjust.
When these select individuals point out my missteps, I work through my initial defensiveness, assess their feedback against my understanding of them and the world, and I take ownership. I apologize, learn, and strive to improve.
It can sting, but it helps me release the need for perfection.
I’ve made my fair share of enemies too. But why should I care about the opinions of those I don’t respect? Their disdain amuses me. When I dislike someone, I simply erase them from my life. So when people go out of their way to criticize me — to borrow a sentiment from Regina George — why are they so obsessed with me?
Let them hate; I can’t hear them.
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- How to overcome fear of judgment?
- Transforming self-image after 40.
- Embracing unapologetic authenticity.
- Navigating friendships during personal growth.
- Coping with loss of friendships in adulthood.
In summary, turning 40 sparked a profound shift in my life. I shed the fear that once held me captive and embraced a more authentic version of myself. This journey has led to newfound happiness, opportunities, and connections. While there have been losses, I’ve learned to appreciate the moments shared and to let go of the need for perfection.
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