When You're Good at Something You're Not Sure You Want Anymore

Have you ever worked so hard to make something your own that you started wondering why it took so much work to feel like yours in the first place?

I didn't recognize that question while I was living it.

When I started building my business five years ago, I believed in what I was doing. I'd experienced firsthand how much changing your habits could change your life, and I wanted to help other people experience that too.

But pretty early on, I found myself wanting to approach the work differently.

I was interested in what happened beyond the physical changes. The way people thought about themselves. The expectations they carried. The patterns that kept showing up even when they knew what they wanted to do differently.

I wanted to understand the person behind the habits and help others do the same.

So I kept building.

I'd create resources, rethink how I worked with people and spend hours trying to find an approach that felt more like me. Eventually, I even built an entire platform around the kind of support I wanted to offer.

Some people thought I was overpreparing. Others wondered whether all that planning was keeping me from doing the actual work.

And looking back, I can see why they might have thought that. There were probably times when preparation felt easier than putting myself out there.

But I also think I was trying to make room for something I didn't fully understand yet.

I was capable of doing the work I'd set out to do. I'd learned a tremendous amount, built meaningful relationships and grown in ways I still value.

So why did I keep feeling the need to turn it into something else?

For a long time, I thought I just needed to find a better way to make it work.

I hadn't considered that the amount of effort I was putting into reshaping it might be worth paying attention to.

It's confusing to be good at something you're not sure you want anymore.

You know how to do the work. Other people recognize your experience. You've developed skills that make you capable of continuing, even when your enthusiasm isn't what it used to be.

And because you know you can do it, you start questioning why you're even having doubts.

You start looking for explanations.

You're tired, so you need a break. You've lost motivation, so you need a better routine. Things aren't working the way you expected, so you need a different strategy.

Sometimes those things really are the issue.

But when you're someone who takes responsibility seriously, it's easy to turn every uncomfortable feeling into another problem you're supposed to solve.

Especially when the people around you see your ability more clearly than they see your uncertainty.

They encourage you to keep going because they know you can.

And you begin wondering whether the fact that you're questioning it means something is wrong with you.

I think that's where we can miss something important.

Being capable of continuing doesn't automatically mean continuing is the right direction for you.

I've felt that discomfort in things I really wanted too.

Starting my podcast was one of them.

I wanted to have those conversations, but putting my voice out into the world felt intimidating. I worried about what people would think and whether I could create something worth listening to.

Even after I started, I was still figuring out what I wanted to say.

But I kept feeling drawn toward it.

At the same time, I was beginning to question the direction of the work I'd already spent years building.

And that was uncomfortable too.

For a while, I couldn't tell whether I was resisting something I needed to push through or recognizing something I needed to pay attention to.

Both experiences involved uncertainty.

Both required effort.

Both made me question myself.

And that was what made the distinction so difficult.

You can be frightened of something that's right for you. You can also be very good at something that isn't.

The discomfort itself doesn't tell you which one you're experiencing.

I think capable women are especially practiced at explaining away their own uncertainty.

We're used to being the ones who figure things out.

If something isn't working, we adjust. We learn more, find another approach, ask better questions, and keep trying.

Those are valuable qualities. They've probably helped us through plenty of difficult seasons.

But they can also make it hard to recognize when the question has changed.

You might begin by asking, How can I get better at this?

Then, somewhere along the way, you find yourself wondering, Do I still want this?

And instead of letting that second question in, you go back to solving the first one.

I can recognize that pattern in my own experience.

Every time something felt off, I looked for another way to improve what I was doing. I kept believing that if I tried hard enough, I'd figure it out. It took me a long time to consider that the discomfort itself might be worth paying attention to.

And even then, I wasn't sure what to make of it.

I wish I could tell you there was a moment when everything suddenly became clear.

There wasn't.

I spent months praying, paying attention, and trying to understand why something I'd worked so hard toward was beginning to feel different.

Some days I wondered whether I was just afraid of doing the difficult parts. Other days I wondered whether I was holding on because I'd spent so much time believing in where I was headed.

And sometimes I still didn't know.

That's part of what makes discernment difficult.

We want the feeling itself to give us an answer. We want fear to mean one thing and uncertainty to mean another.

But the same feeling can show up for really different reasons.

You can feel afraid when you're starting something that matters to you. You can feel frustrated when something needs to change. And you can begin to realize something no longer fits, even when you're perfectly capable of doing it.

There isn't a simple test that sorts those experiences into neat categories.

Sometimes it takes time, prayer, and paying attention to what keeps mattering to you before you begin to understand.

And sometimes you make the best decision you can with the understanding you have, knowing you'll keep learning along the way.

One of the things I'm learning is that my ability to do something doesn't have to determine what I choose to do with my life.

I can appreciate what an experience taught me and recognize that I want something different now.

I can see that something works really well for other people without needing to make it work for me.

And I can pursue something that frightens me without assuming the fear means I'm making a mistake.

That's changed how I think about growth.

For years, I was quick to assume that if something felt difficult, the answer was to become better at handling it.

Sometimes that still is the answer.

But I'm learning to pay attention to the person doing all that striving too.

What matters to her?

What kind of work draws her in?

What is she trying so hard to make fit, and why?

You might not have answers to those questions right away. But asking them can help you notice things you've been overlooking while trying so hard to prove what you can do.

Just because you can keep becoming better at something doesn't mean you have to keep building your life around it.

You get to consider what you want your abilities, effort and attention to serve.

🎧 Listen to Ep. 74: Good Hard or Wrong Hard? When You Can’t Tell What Your Discomfort Means →