What happens when the KPIs you set for growth start defining your self-worth
When you’re building something — a startup, a product, a community — it’s easy to blur the line between goals and expectations.
You set targets, track KPIs, dream about growth.
But at some point, the goals that used to excite you start to feel… heavier.
Like if you don’t hit them, you’ve failed not just the business, but yourself.
I think that happens to a lot of us here.
We love progress, but we quietly turn goals into expectations.
And the difference between those two determines whether you stay motivated — or burnt out.
For a long time, I didn’t see a difference at all.
To me, goals and expectations were synonyms.
I’m just now realizing they aren’t.
A goal says I want to.
An expectation says I have to.
I make expectations the way other people set goals. Instead of dreaming big, I write internal contracts and build myself a cage — with success as the only key out.
Both goals and expectations can motivate people. To me, goals sound optional, playful, like “let’s see if we can pull this off.”
Instead, I live in the world of have to — and when a goal becomes an expectation, success stops feeling like excitement; it becomes relief. The kind that lasts five minutes before the next have to shows up.
It started in childhood. My house was chaotic — the kind of chaos that makes you start seeking reliability like oxygen. I learned early that I was my only guarantee, and breaking a promise felt like breaking myself.
The problem is, survival tactics don’t turn off just because the danger does — and my “core value” of being reliable might be going a little too far now.
If I say I’ll do something, I will.
Dinner plans, work deadlines, someone’s moving day — if I said yes, it’s carved in stone.
It’s not about kindness. It’s about control.
If I flake, the world feels unsafe.
That’s why I hate committing — the minute I say yes, I lose freedom.
I’ll rearrange my life to keep my word.
But it’s not about them. It’s about trusting myself.
If I can’t rely on myself, how can I rely on anyone?
Relying on myself means succeeding at everything I set my mind to.
And since goals require room for failure, I don’t really have goals anymore — just expectations.
When I took the ACT, I expected to perform well.
The first time I scored lower than the story I’d already written in my head, I felt sick.
Not because it was bad — it wasn’t — but because it didn’t match the version of me I believed in.
So I took it again, got a 34, and felt… nothing.
No fireworks, no pride — just quiet confirmation that the world hadn’t ended.
And it’s not just goals I set for myself — other people’s requests become instant obligations too.
If someone asks me for something, I assume they’re expecting it.
There’s no such thing as a casual ask in my brain.
Whether it’s helping someone pack, analyzing data for their side project, or listening to their thoughts on a lonely night, I can’t say no.
Their request instantly becomes a responsibility.
My brain hears “don’t let me down,” even when they meant “if you have time.”
The ask itself becomes a promise I’ve already made.
At work, it’s the same story.
If my phone rings, I pick up.
If I see a message at 2 a.m., I respond.
Because what if they need me?
What if I let someone down?
No one expects me to respond, but my brain tells me it’s life or death.
In relationships, it’s even messier.
I’m scared shitless of being a girlfriend because I’m terrified of falling short.
I tell my friends I can’t have a partner because I go backpacking without service and don’t want to give that up.
They ask what that has to do with relationships, and I tell them:
“What if my partner’s mom dies, he calls me, and I can’t pick up? I’d be the worst girlfriend ever.”
That’s where my brain goes — straight to catastrophe — but at least I’m self-aware enough to notice it.
And it doesn’t stop at romantic relationships — it bleeds into futures I haven’t even committed to yet.
People often ask if I want kids.
I say, “Sure — but only if my partner’s the A+ parent, so even if I’m a B, we still average out a 3.5.”
I’d probably be a better mom than the average mother — though that bar isn’t very high.
But I can’t let myself think that way.
Because if I believe I’d be good at it, then being good becomes the expectation.
And expectations don’t allow for bad days or learning curves.
I’d rather keep the bar low and surprise myself than aim high and fall short.
Expectations don’t just cage me in the present — they lock me out of futures I haven’t even tried.
The irony is, working in startups, I live by completely different rules.
I preach the “fail fast” gospel.
You can’t build anything new without breaking a few versions first.
I can handle that kind of failure easily. If a project tanks, I just say “it was a learning sprint” and move on.
Because to me, that’s not my failure — it’s the project’s.
There are a million variables I can’t control: market timing, luck, other people’s decisions.
But when it comes to myself? I’m the only variable.
I know what I’m capable of. I’ve proven it over and over.
Which means if I don’t achieve something, there’s only one explanation: I didn’t try hard enough. Or I’m not who I thought I was.
Startups get to be prototypes. I don’t.
At work, I celebrate the mess.
In life, I fear it.
And I don’t know how to let those two versions of me shake hands.
So I’m trying an experiment and building a nonprofit, ShareSkippy.
I tell myself I don’t care if it succeeds — I just want to learn and have fun.
But I’ve noticed I can’t say that without immediately wondering if needing to have fun is becoming the new expectation.
I’m still figuring out how to work hard and celebrate wins — how to measure success without making it survival.
I don’t actually know how to do that yet.
I just know I’m tired of building cages and calling it ambition.
What about you?
When you’re building, how do you set goals without turning them into expectations?
How do you push hard without making achievement feel like survival?
If you’ve figured it out, I’m listening.
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The only things we have control over, really, is ourselves. I feel that
Sigh... I feel that. I’ve also had moments where trying to do my best turned into trying to prove my worth. Lately I’m learning that showing up, even imperfectly, still counts.
You’re not alone in trying to balance building with just being human.❤️