Always Almost Enough

There’s a strange place many of us know too well, that in-between zone where you are never quite enough, but also somehow too much. Too good to be overlooked, but not quite the one to be chosen. It’s a frustrating limbo, this “almost enough,” and it can seep into every corner of your life: jobs, relationships, friendships, even the way you talk to yourself.

At first, it feels like a problem to be solved. If only I work harder. If only I’m more patient. If only I change this, improve that, adjust myself into a more palatable version. And sometimes, you do get chosen for the role, the relationship, the opportunity. But the win never feels permanent, because the need behind it never goes away. You’re still asking, “Am I enough for them?” And the answer keeps shifting like sand.

The cruel truth Is that no one will ever find you enough in every context. People have preferences, blind spots, projections, fears. They will see you through the lens of their own insecurities. Sometimes you’ll be overqualified, sometimes under. Sometimes adored, sometimes ignored. And no amount of performing will stabilize something that was never in your control to begin with.

So what’s left? Acceptance. Not the kind that feels like defeat, but the kind that feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. Accepting that you cannot be enough for everyone  and that this is not a personal failure, but the human condition.

This isn’t a revelation that happens once and fixes everything. It’s daily work. Like brushing your teeth or stretching muscles. Some mornings you’ll wake up convinced you’re failing at life. Other days, you’ll feel at peace in your own skin. The goal isn’t to arrive somewhere perfect, but to practice choosing yourself with consistency, even when it feels unnatural.

And here’s where the metaphor of “building your own table” comes in. It’s not about rebellion, or slamming the door on anyone who ever overlooked you. It’s quieter than that. It’s about no longer waiting for an invitation to matter. It’s about saying: “I exist, I am valid, and I will create the space where I belong.” Your table might not be glamorous. It might wobble in the beginning. But it’s yours, and that ownership brings a steadiness no external validation ever could.

We still want to be liked. Of course we do. Humans are wired for it. But there’s a difference between enjoying being liked and needing it like oxygen. The former is pleasant. The latter is a trap. Building your own table doesn’t erase the desire to be chosen it just means you’re no longer starving without it.

So, maybe the work isn’t to become endlessly impressive, endlessly palatable, endlessly available. Maybe the work is to become someone who doesn’t collapse when the world doesn’t applaud. Someone who knows they are already enough, even if no one else is clapping.

Always almost enough for them. Already enough for me.