Why am I like this? How to stop proving your worth by moving mountains.

2025 was the year of boundaries for me.

Learning about them. Testing them. Breaking them. Rebuilding them again.

I genuinely thought I was doing well. I could name my limits. I could articulate my needs. I could see, clearly, where I was overextending. And yet — somewhere along the way — something familiar and uncomfortable reappeared.

A habit I thought I’d left behind years ago.

Whenever I find myself in a new environment — a workplace, a community, a social group — I subconsciously establish my value in the same way.

I become the doer. The fixer. The one who moves mountains.

I say yes. To everything. Not because anyone asks too much — but because I do.

The scope creep is enormous. And it’s mine.

At first it feels good. Energising. Purposeful. There’s something intoxicating about being capable, responsive, indispensable. ADHD hyperfocus kicks in. Problem-solving flows. Magic happens.

Until it doesn’t.

Because eventually all those yeses come home to roost at the same time. And suddenly I’m drowning. Overwhelmed. Close to burnout. Wondering how I got here again — and why I feel so alone in it.

“You give off an air of capability.”

Someone said this to me during the year, almost casually. And I couldn’t shake it.

They were right. I do give off an air of capability.

And here’s the uncomfortable part I had to sit with: that air of capability leaves very little space for anyone else to step in.

When I take on everything without naming the cost, I don’t give others a chance to contribute — or even to notice that I’m nearing a wall. Then, when I inevitably hit that wall, the frustration spills outward.

But they didn’t know. Because I didn’t show them.

I was sprinting silently and expecting someone to read the signs.

This isn’t a new pattern

What surprised me most wasn’t recognising this behaviour — it was realising how long it’s been with me.

Years ago, I noticed myself doing this with the people I loved most. My sister. My best friend. I worked my arse off to be indispensable. To be useful. To earn my place by anticipating needs, fixing problems, holding everything together. All the while quietly believing I was a hot mess underneath — and that this effort somehow made up for it.

The wild thing? They had no idea.

This was my private transaction. My internal ledger. My attempt to balance a scale no one else was using.

The ADHD twist

Here’s where it gets sneaky.

ADHD brains are brilliant at this kind of thing. We can hyperfocus. We can see patterns. We can move fast and make magic out of chaos.

And when that ability gets tangled up with self-worth? It can look like competence… while quietly draining the nervous system dry.

What starts as contribution turns into over-functioning. What feels like generosity becomes self-abandonment.

And the burnout that follows feels confusing — because from the outside, it looks like we were thriving.

My commitment for 2026

So this is the line I’m drawing for myself now.

No scope creep. No saying yes to validate my worth. No proving I belong by carrying everything.

I’m practising letting my value exist before my output. Choosing sustainable engagement over burnout-fuelled hyperfocus. Allowing others the dignity of contribution — and the honesty of knowing where my edges are.

And because patterns this deep need support, not willpower — my husband is my accountability buddy in this. A gentle mirror. A circuit breaker. Someone who can lovingly ask, “Is this a true yes?”

If this sounds familiar

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Oh… I do this too” — you’re not broken. And you’re not alone.

This pattern isn’t about ego or control. It’s about safety. Belonging. A nervous system that learned early on that being useful was the way to stay connected.

But you don’t have to earn your place by burning yourself out. You’re allowed to take up space without moving mountains first.

And sometimes, the bravest boundary is letting yourself be enough — even when you’re not fixing anything at all.

If this piece stirred something — that familiar pattern of over-doing, over-holding, and quietly burning out — I want you to know this: coaching with Exhale isn’t about being pushed, corrected, or told how to live your life.

It’s a calm, supportive space to pause. To untangle what’s been automatic for years. To notice your patterns without judgement, and gently experiment with new ways of being that actually feel safe and sustainable for your nervous system.

We talk. We reflect. We make sense of things together. There’s no pressure to perform, fix, or become someone else.

Just space to exhale — and to practise showing up in your life without having to earn your place by carrying everything.

If that sounds like something your system is craving, you’re warmly welcome.