Breaking Free from the Shadow of Competition

Growing up as a middle child in a highly successful and competitive family shaped me in ways I’m still uncovering as an adult. I was always among the youngest of my cousins, and in every competition—whether it was sports, grades, or even family board games—I was the one most likely to lose. It wasn’t because I lacked effort or drive, but because I was always competing against people who had years of experience, height, and skill over me.

From an early age, I got really good at losing. So much so that I internalized it as part of who I was. I stopped expecting to win, stopped believing that competition was something I could ever thrive in. I didn’t throw tantrums or protest when I lost; I simply accepted it as my role in the family dynamic. It became easier to avoid competition altogether rather than put myself in situations where I knew the odds were stacked against me. If I didn’t have a chance to win, I wouldn’t even try.

That mentality carried over into adulthood, but not in the way one might expect. Instead of embracing competition with others, I turned all of that pressure inward. I created an unhealthy competition with myself—a relentless, never-ending pursuit of self-improvement that never allowed me to feel content. If I accomplished something, I immediately moved the goalpost. If I reached a milestone, I minimized its importance because I had already set my sights on the next one.

I rarely stopped to celebrate wins because, in my mind, they were just stepping stones to something greater. Where others might have taken pride in their achievements, I only saw what was next, what I hadn’t yet accomplished. I was unknowingly making up for all those childhood years of feeling like I was behind, like I wasn’t good enough, like I didn’t measure up. I turned my fear of losing into a fear of complacency, a fear of standing still.

If I could go back and hug little Mariah, I would. I would tell her that it’s okay. That competing with people who are four years older than you isn’t normal or fair, and it certainly doesn’t define your worth. I would remind her that losing doesn’t mean you’re lesser, and winning doesn’t mean you’re whole. That she didn’t have to be the fastest or the smartest or the best to be valuable.

And I would tell her that one day, she will grow into someone who doesn’t need external validation to prove she’s worthy. That she will learn to redefine success on her own terms, not in comparison to others. That she will eventually find peace in knowing that life isn’t a race, and the only person she ever truly has to compete with is the person she was yesterday.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll start listening to that advice myself.