How do you move forward when the person holding you back is yourself?

The lies I tell myself—that my work isn’t valuable or my success isn’t earned—are easier to believe than the truths others remind me of. No matter how often someone tells me my efforts resonate, self-doubt always lingers, digging in deeper than any positive reinforcement can reach.

A few years ago, I started a small side business in web design because I wanted a new tent for camping. My wants and needs are simple, and I rarely live outside my means, but I splurge on camping equipment when I crave a break from everyday life. Camping isn’t about being outdoorsy for me; it’s about finding a way to reset, to step away from the noise.

The business started to take off. Instead of embracing the opportunity, I stopped promoting it altogether. Why? Because I didn’t want to let anyone down. Logically, it makes no sense. Failure feels familiar—safe, even—while success feels like uncharted territory.

It’s a pattern I’ve seen elsewhere in my life. When I completed my first full-length book after publishing a short story, I should have been elated. Instead, I doubted myself at every turn. My short story was accepted, but I convinced myself that it was a favor from the publisher. To “prove” I was good enough, I searched for a new publisher for the novel. When three rejections came in, followed by interest from publishers who weren’t my first choice, I decided the book wasn’t worth pursuing.

While I did eventually publish four novels with two publishers, it wasn’t enough to shake the conviction of failure I carried inside. Success, no matter how real, felt undeserved.

Even when success stared me in the face, I ran from it. For two years, I co-hosted a video podcast that resonated deeply with our local community. It was everything I’d dreamed of doing. But as soon as a hiccup—something completely beyond my control—occurred, I walked away. Looking back, I regret giving up more than any rejection or failure I’ve experienced. All I’d ever wanted was to be seen, but it was so much easier to hide behind a fear of being the center of attention.

By the time I got around to column writing, I’d already built a toxic relationship with my creative abilities. No matter how many words I wrote or how many people said they enjoyed them, I couldn’t believe my work had value. I told myself that my life was too weird, too dark, too over-the-top to matter to anyone else. Who wants to read a weekly trauma dump of how I coped with poverty and bad decisions?

Yet, for every doubt, there are voices that keep me writing. Emails from readers who said I’d made them feel seen or given words to something they knew they struggled with but had never heard someone else talk about. It’s both heartbreaking and heartwarming to know there are others who feel the weight of their own self-sabotage—and who find solace in what I’ve shared.

So maybe it’s time to embrace my strengths as readily as I embrace my weaknesses. If nothing else, it will make good fodder for future columns.

I refuse to enter the next chapter of my life afraid of success. If you’re like me, running from your potential, maybe it’s time we both stop. Let’s embrace the hard work and face the unknown together. This is my first step in accountability: admitting that I’ve been afraid of success—and deciding not to let it define me anymore.