Every now and then I think about a rather inconvenient truth.

Some of the people you are exhausting yourself trying to impress probably won’t be at your funeral.

And I don’t mean that literally. Some will, perhaps. They’ll stand there, say something lovely, and tell everyone what a wonderful person you were.

But I’ve watched enough people get sick to notice something uncomfortable. When you are vulnerable, some of the people whose approval you worked so hard to earn don’t suddenly become more compassionate. Sometimes they become more difficult.

I’ve experienced it myself.

People who could have made life easier chose, for whatever reason, to make it harder. People who seemed to matter enormously didn’t seem particularly concerned when I wasn’t well. And some of those same people still don’t seem particularly concerned now.

Which makes me wonder. What exactly are we working so hard for?

The promotion. The praise. The approval. Being indispensable. Being the person who never says no, never disappoints, never drops a ball.

Meanwhile, we’re losing sleep, skipping meals, swallowing resentment, and occasionally making ourselves physically unwell trying to prove our worth to people who may not even be paying attention.

Maybe this is the part where I say something deeply unpsychologist-like

“Stop trying so hard.”

Not because your work doesn’t matter. Not because excellence doesn’t matter. But because you matter more.

And if you have to destroy your peace, your health, or your life to convince someone of your value, perhaps they aren’t the audience you need.

Because when the big stuff happens such as illness, loss, crisis, family emergencies, you learn very quickly who actually cares.

And those people?

Those are the ones I’d like sitting in the front row.