“You should have it together by now.”
That is the quiet murmur beneath the hustle.
And it is breaking something sacred within us.
The Unseen Weight of Always Becoming
From an early age, I carried a quiet, gnawing sense that something was inherently wrong with me. On the surface, I was just a geeky kid, keeping to myself, trying to avoid bullies and blend in during sports, where I never quite belonged. But inside, it felt different. I had already internalised a subtle yet powerful message: I was not flawed because of what I had done, but because of what I was—a sinner by nature, born broken.
That is the cruel genius of the doctrine of original sin—it does not accuse you of wrongdoing; it convinces you that you are in the wrong.
This belief became the foundation of a life shaped by striving. When you start with the assumption that you are defective, self-improvement shifts from a desire for growth to a desperate attempt at repair. It becomes penance—an exhausting effort to outrun shame you never earned.
Gradually, this mindset reshaped my self-concept, not around potential but rather around inadequacy. Each goal, achievement, and disciplined routine concealed a deeper hope: one day, I might finally be enough to silence the guilt that never should have been mine to bear.
The outcome? Relentless pressure to evolve continually. It wears us down, turning us into fatigue, burnout, and quiet despair.
For me, that pressure stemmed from fundamentalism and the doctrine of original sin. For other men, it might arise from cultural, familial, or systemic factors. However, the effect is similar: a persistent, aching feeling of never being enough.
Today, men—especially those in their 30s—are among history’s most self-aware, self-tracking, and self-helping generations. We have podcasts, morning routines, journaling apps, and Stoic quotes at our fingertips. Yet, more of us report feelings of loneliness, emotional fatigue, and a haunting sense that none of it is enough (Brown, 2012; Mahalik et al., 2003).
This piece is not here to shame your striving.
It is here to ask a deeper question:
When does self-improvement become self-abandonment?
The New Sisyphus: Men in the Age of Constant Betterment
In Greek mythology, Sisyphus is condemned to roll a boulder uphill for eternity, only to watch it tumble back down. Camus reimagines him not as a victim but as a rebel, conscious and defiant in the face of absurdity.
In the ongoing struggle for self-improvement, men have inherited this task.
Self-improvement has become our boulder.
And every time we push it up the hill, it slips away again.
We are told to optimise everything, always keep growing, and become the “best version” of ourselves—no matter the cost. And like Sisyphus, we rarely question it.
As the modern Sisyphus, we push:
- The perfect body
- The successful career
- The mindful mind
- The emotionally intelligent partner
- The spiritual enlightenment
- The endless upgrades
But the mountain always resets.
The metrics shift.
We are always becoming—never arriving.
From the outside, our striving appears admirable. Inside, it quietly erodes our soul. Satisfaction is fleeting; the mind races to the next goal. There is no pause—only pressure. Perfection always remains just out of reach.
What does this cost us?
It costs presence.
It costs intimacy.
It costs rest.
It costs spontaneity.
We have confused striving with meaning.
Where the Drive Begins: A Culture of “Not Enough”
Let us state the truth: the drive to improve does not exist in a vacuum.
From childhood, boys learn to earn their worth through action. We are praised for accomplishments, strength, logic, and composure—but rarely for vulnerability, honesty, or stillness. As we grow older, this transforms into a performance script:
Be impressive. Be productive. Never slow down. Never fall apart.
Psychologist Terrence Real (2003) refers to this as the Performance Imperative—a cultural code that insists men demonstrate their worth through actions rather than mere existence.
This pressure becomes more pronounced in a hyper-curated, hyper-individualistic self-help culture. Social media informs us:
You are your only project—and you are already falling behind.
Carl Rogers (1961) described this dynamic as “conditions of worth”—the belief that love and belonging must be earned through continuous self-optimisation.
So we optimise:
- Our sleep
- Our habits
- Our productivity
- Our emotions
- Our brand
But no matter how much we improve, the finish line constantly shifts.
The Psychological Toll: When Growth Becomes a Grind
The self-help movement seldom discusses the cost of relentless striving.
Research shows:
- Perfectionism correlates with anxiety, depression, and burnout (Curran & Hill, 2019).
- Men raised with stoic ideals often suppress emotional needs, leading to identity fatigue (Mahalik et al., 2003).
- Overconsumption of self-help materials can increase cortisol levels and depressive symptoms (Raymond et al., 2016).
Rather than healing us, the culture of betterment often intensifies our shame.
Even restorative practices—mindfulness, therapy, journaling, exercise—can become performative. Self-awareness increases, but self-compassion does not always follow.
We become fluent in the language of healing, yet remain estranged from actual healing.
We feel knackered.
Lonely.
Afraid that stopping might mean falling apart.
This is self-improvement burnout—when the tools intended to heal you become sources of pressure.
The paradox?
We might be more emotionally literate than our fathers were, yet we are more emotionally exhausted than we have ever admitted.
The Quiet Fallout: Relationships and Emotional Isolation
Building connections becomes challenging when a man’s value is linked to performance.
- Vulnerability feels unsafe
- Rest feels like laziness
- Being seen in a struggle feels shameful
This results in emotional under-functioning:
- You are there, but not truly present
- Conversations stay surface-level
- Failure triggers silent shame and withdrawal
Esther Perel (2017) points out that identity collapses into performance. We stop presenting as ourselves—we present as our résumé.
However, closeness demands presence, and presence needs the courage to be unrefined, incomplete, and nonproductive.
When every moment is seen through the lens of performance, even love becomes a performance act.
Many men know how to protect others, but not how to let themselves be held.
When Self-Help Reinforces Shame
We need to ask: Is self-improvement helping men heal?
Or is it just another way to mask pain?
Self-help culture often depicts healing as an individual endeavour. It seldom considers systemic factors, trauma, or cultural influences. Instead, it conveys a damaging message:
If you are not at peace, it is because you are not making enough effort.
This exacerbates isolation. Many men already under-report emotional distress. They are told to manage it, to sort themselves out—in private.
And so, the shame cycle repeats:
- You feel inadequate
- You try harder
- You burn out
- You blame yourself
We do not need more advice.
We need more permission to rest.
We need more mirrors of wholeness, not mirrors of flaws.
From Absurdity to Agency: Reframing the Climb
So, where do we go from here?
Camus offers us a path: do not escape the burden—become conscious of it.
Our worth is not in our hustle.
It is in your presence. Your awareness. Your being.
You Do not Need to Improve—You Need to Belong
You are not broken.
You are just tired of being treated like a machine.
You do not need another 10-step ritual.
You need to stop measuring your worth by your output.
You need connection. You need rest.
You need to be seen when you are not achieving.
True healing does not begin with levelling up—
It begins with letting down:
Letting down the armour. The expectations. The illusion that you need fixing.
Beyond the Fix: You Were Always Enough
You are not a failed project.
You are not a man who did not try hard enough.
You are a man worn out from trying to earn his right to exist.
Your value is not in your upgrades.
Your healing begins when you remember:
You are already someone, even when you are doing nothing.
How to Reclaim Your Climb
Here is how to reclaim your climb:
1. Accept Good Enough
You do not need to be exceptional in every area. Start by being human. Some days will be average, while others will be messy. All are part of your wholeness.
2. Name the Pressure
Chat with other men about this myth. Shame fades in the light of day, and vulnerability flourishes through shared stories.
3. Redefine Success
Select metrics that nurture, not drain. Peace. Depth. Integrity. The capacity to rest without guilt.
4. Prioritise Connection Over Perfection
Real intimacy flourishes in authenticity, not in achievement. Be someone who can be seen in your imperfection.
5. Practice Meaningful Rebellion
Rest with intention. Cry with intention. Say no with intention. Rebellion does not always look like fire. Sometimes it appears as a quiet refusal to keep pushing.
6. Seek Spaces That Honour Enoughness
Join or create communities where growth is built on connection, not performance. Where you are not expected to be a brand, but to be genuine.
Final Words: You Were Always Enough
Self-improvement culture tells men:
“You are not enough—yet.”
Camus reminds us:
“You are here. That is enough.”
You do not have to drop the boulder.
But you can stop letting it define you.
Reclaim the climb—not to arrive, but to awaken.
You were always enough.
You were always worthy of love.
