Redefining Success.
- Charlene Iris
- 7 days ago
- 3 min read
Success once meant being seen.
Approved. Chosen.
By others.
By some idealized version of myself.
By the pursuit of prestige.
But approval is a shape you twist into.
Small, tight, uncomfortable.
It demands performance.
Relentless, exhausting.
And no matter how well you hit every mark,
the applause never lasts long enough
to justify the show.
To touch what’s hollow.
That kind of achievement asks everything:
your time,
your energy,
parts of yourself you didn’t know you had.
And even when you give it your all,
somehow, it’s never quite enough
to answer what calls.
...
When I stopped trying to be impressive, something softened.
I stopped chasing what couldn’t hold me.
And I began to notice what could.
Small, steady choices.
The quiet relief of being real.
Fulfillment became something simpler—
honest effort,
quiet joy,
peace that doesn’t need proof.
And in that gentler version of contentment,
I could finally rest.
Maybe for the first time, I felt full.
Full enough to see success differently.
...
Success is showing up for myself.
Again and again.
It’s choosing not to abandon myself when things get hard.
It’s folding the laundry right after the dryer stops—
a task I used to put off for weeks.
It’s launching this platform
without the numbers,
but with all the heart.
And feeling proud
because I created something that matters to me.
That holds more value
than performance ever could.
...
We talk so much about achievement,
but rarely about presence.
Rarely about grace.
I feel most fulfilled when I slow down enough to listen.
When I stay open instead of shutting down.
When I make time for my friends.
When I choose connection over convenience.
When I say hello to strangers.
When I remember
I am a person before I am a project.
...
We chase success
because we’re told it will make us happy.
Build the body.
Land the title.
And sometimes, we do.
But even then, it doesn’t last.
The goalpost moves.
The noise stays.
And you’re back where you started—
measuring,
performing,
chasing.
...
Maybe success was never about outcomes.
Maybe it’s nestled in the process itself—
in small, unseen choices,
in the quiet effort,
in staying with yourself
when it would be easiest to leave.
Maybe the goal isn’t impressiveness,
but intimacy—
with yourself,
with your quiet life.
...
I remember how a number on a page used to undo me.
I couldn’t admit it at the time,
but I didn’t see value in effort or growth—
only in what I failed to prove.
And the irony?
I wasn’t really showing up for myself.
I’d put off the work.
Procrastinate.
Pretend I worked better under pressure—
when really, I was dodging responsibility.
And then shame would engulf me—
believing I deserved pride I hadn’t earned.
I wasn’t disappointed in the effort.
I was disappointed
that I hadn’t succeeded in spite of it.
...
That’s what makes this season different.
I haven’t been perfect.
But I’ve been present.
And I’ve been trying.
That makes me proud
in a way no metric ever has.
Because I’m no longer trying to impress the crowd—
I’m becoming someone I respect.
Someone I can come home to
even after the curtains close.
...
I often think of all who’ve come and gone.
The names we’ll never know.
The lives we’ll never read about—
quietly cradled in the arms of time.
Unknown,
but not without meaning.
Not for the noise they made,
but for what they quietly gave.
...
When we near that final rest,
it won’t be the title that lingers—
but the quiet gifts we gave.
They’ll wonder who we were.
Who we loved.
What mattered to us.
And whether we showed up—
for the people we loved,
and for ourselves.
That’s the real measure, isn’t it?
Not what we built,
but how we stayed—
present, honest, and whole.
...
You are already successful.
Not for your titles,
but for your presence.
For how you keep showing up.
And you are already enough.
Even without the proving.
Even in the quiet.
Just as you are.
For what it’s worth,
Charlene Iris
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