Am I a Failure or Is the World Failing Me?

How to Keep Breathing When the World Feels Like Quicksand

I woke up on Monday, May 26th, feeling light. The kind of morning where the air smells like possibility, and your to-do list doesn’t feel like a death sentence. I even made my bed, a rare act of optimism.

By Tuesday, the weight was back. Not the slow, familiar creep of stress, but the sudden kind, the way a wave knocks you over before you realize the tide has changed. My LinkedIn account, the one I’d been carefully rebuilding after the last restriction, was locked again. "Suspicious activity," they said. (The activity? Posting. The suspicion? Existing while Nigerian.)

Then the client emails started. The one who’d been silent for weeks was suddenly in a panic, demanding changes, her tone sharp with entitlement. And beneath it all, the old soundtrack: You should’ve known better. You’re not good enough. This is why you’ll never—

I closed my laptop. Sat on the floor. Let the tears come.

"There’s no pretty way to say it. Some days, the weight is just there. (I’d tell you to hang in there, but we both know some knots slip.)"

This isn’t just about a bad week. It’s about the question that haunts anyone who’s ever tried to build something in a world that seems rigged against them: Is it me? Or is it the game?

The truth is, it’s both.

Imposter syndrome doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It thrives in the space between what we’re told we should achieve and the invisible barriers we keep hitting. When LinkedIn flags your account for "suspicious activity" but ignores the real scammers, when clients treat your time as disposable, when the system rewards performative hustle over actual work, it’s not paranoia to feel like the deck is stacked. It’s observation.

But here’s what I’m learning:

You can acknowledge the unfairness without letting it define you. You can say, This is harder for me than it should be, without adding, because I’m not enough.

On the worst days, do these things:

Put your hand on your chest. Feel your heartbeat. That’s proof you’re still here, still fighting.

Text the friend who knows your voice notes sound different when you’re spiraling. Say, I’m in the net today. You don’t have to explain which net. They’ll know.

Do one small, defiant act of care. Wash the mug that’s been gathering dust on your desk. Rewatch the episode of the show that always makes you laugh. Buy the overpriced ice cream.

The world will keep being chaotic and cruel and wildly unfair. But you? You get to decide how much of that chaos lives inside you.

Some days, survival looks like changing the game. Other days, it’s just remembering your own name.

Both are victories.

You’re not failing. You’re being failed. And still, you’re here. Still, you’re trying.

That’s not weakness.

That’s a revolution.

And if no one is there to remind you, to slide a plate of hot noodles and egg across the table, to say your name softly when you forget it matters, then let this be your reminder:

I care that you’re still here.
I notice that you’re still trying.
And if that’s all you can do today?
It’s enough.

You are enough.

Not because you’re productive. Not because you’re “strong.”
But because you exist, and that alone is worth celebrating 💕.