Enough

Happy New Year, guys!

I was told we can wish people a Happy New Year until April, so I’m leaning all the way into that. LOL.

I hope you’re having a gentle and beautiful start to the year.

Lately, I’ve found myself scrolling through old drafts and journal notes, rereading a post I once wrote titled “I Am Enough.” It’s a little humbling to realize that even now, with more grey matter and more grey hair, I still need that reminder. And I’ve decided that’s okay.

Back then, “I am enough” was something I hoped was true. It was a mantra I whispered through survival, through trying to prove, perform, and earn belonging.

I was learning.

I was unlearning.

I was shedding old versions of myself—grieving some, holding onto others too tightly.

That season came with heartbreak and disappointment, quiet prayers and loud tears. It came with the slow undoing of the belief that love had to be earned. I was trying so hard to be worthy. Instead, I learned to simply be and let God.

Some of this journey, I’ve realized, traces all the way back to childhood. If you grew up in an African household anything like mine, you’ll understand that it’s often taboo to talk about trauma—especially the kind that doesn’t leave visible scars. TBH, certain things weren’t even considered traumatic. They were just ‘normal’. But the truth is, our traumas shape us. They teach us how to survive, how to please, how to contort ourselves in the hope of being seen.

But I’ve learned to stop striving. I no longer strive to be chosen by people who cannot truly see me. I no longer chase or stay in spaces where I’m merely tolerated. I no longer want things that aren’t meant for me or align with my values. I’ve let go of people-pleasing, perfectionism, and the lie that I need to prove my value to be loved. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea—and that’s perfectly okay. I was never meant to be. I am champagne, baby 🥂

For a long time, I tried to prove I was a “good child,” a “great friend,” a “supportive partner.” I wanted to be the person who never disappointed, never failed, never needed too much.

I'm not doing that anymore.

I know now, deep in my bones, that I am all those things. I care deeply. I love fully. I give with intention. But I am no longer living to prove that I am worthy of the love I freely give. It is an incredible privilege to know me, love me, and experience my energy. I am pure magic. Like… have you met me? 🤪

I’ve stopped trying to prove myself in every room I walk into.

As a doctor, I show up for my patients. I work hard. I study. I stay curious. I do the best I can with what I have—and that is enough. I know the sacrifices I've made to get here; you don't. So, you don't get to judge me. I no longer worry about whether my hair is “professional” enough, whether I’m quiet enough or likable enough. I belong here. I’ve earned it. All of it. If you don't like my hair or my style, that’s on you. I am not sorry.

My nervous system can finally exhale.

I’ve stopped shrinking to fit.

Stopped bending over backwards.

I no longer fear the silence that comes after a goodbye, or the weight of being misunderstood.

There comes a moment when striving no longer feels sustainable. When shrinking feels heavier than standing fully as yourself. When peace starts to matter more than approval.

My worth is not found in being chosen by others; it is found in being known and loved by God. He has placed dreams in my heart that are still unfolding. He has walked with me through every valley and shown me that I am whole, even with my broken parts. He has surrounded me with a community—imperfect but undeniably beautiful—who see me, hold space for me, and walk this life with me. I believe the people I need will come and, more importantly, they will stay.

This year, I’m carrying peace but I’m also intentionally laying things down. I'm rewriting the narratives that once held me back. I'm done over-explaining, shrinking to be palatable, or feeling guilty for resting or saying no. I'm donee clinging to timelines that were never mine to carry.

Today, I feel so proud of myself. Not just for the degrees or the milestones or the visible wins, but for the invisible ones:

For the boundaries I’ve set.

For leaving people and places that triggered my anxiety.

For holding myself through the hard days when no one was watching.

For choosing peace over performance.

For finally caring for myself the way I once begged others to.

I’m learning to hold space for both grief and gratitude. I’m grieving the life I once imagined—the people I thought I’d have forever but didn’t, the death of my sister and loved ones along the way, the version of adulthood I once envisioned. I miss chapters of my life I thought I’d still be living. But I am deeply, deeply grateful for the life I have now—for love, for growth, for experiences, for community and for the freedom of being me.

I am enough. Not because I’ve done or achieved enough. But simply because I am. If you’re reading this wondering whether you need to keep proving your worth, you don't! You already are enough. You always have been.

“You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.” (Song of Solomon 4:7)

I don’t know what this next chapter holds. But I’m walking into it whole, soft, grounded, and ENOUGH. My prayer for myself, and maybe for you too, is that we stop bartering our value and start resting in it. We have already been chosen. We have already been called. We are already enough.

Until next time,

XOXO