The Weight of Shackles We Do Not See

There is a peculiar exhaustion that clings to those caught in the relentless grind of proving themselves. It is not just physical fatigue, it is the slow, merciless erosion of the soul, a suffocating depletion of self-worth disguised as ambition. They wake before dawn, their hearts thudding with anxiety, their minds racing with fear of inadequacy. They work into the night, their bodies trembling with exhaustion, and their spirits weighed down by the crushing burden of unspoken judgment. But what about the cruelest part? They do not even realise they are shackled.

So, they learn to perform. To overcompensate. To bend under the weight of expectations never designed for their success. They internalise the silent rules, the unwritten laws that govern their existence: be twice as good, work three times as hard, and maybe — just maybe —you will be seen. The path is not paved for them; it is laden with obstacles, riddled with traps, designed to exhaust. Yet, they push forward, muscles aching, minds weary, hearts cracking under the unbearable weight of proving they deserve to exist in spaces where others are effortlessly embraced. And no matter how much they sacrifice, how many accolades they collect, how much competence they display, they remain under suspicion—never quite measuring up in the eyes of those who demand their endless performance.

The psychology of the perpetually proving is insidious. The mind, desperate for survival, adapts to rejection by building resilience, but left unchecked that resilience twists into self-doubt wrapped in overcompensation. They become their own captors, tightening the very chains that once bound them unwillingly. They justify the endless toil, convincing themselves that if they just try harder, push longer, endure more, the world will finally recognise their worth. They mistake their suffering for purpose, their exhaustion for value.

Then, one day, the world relents.

After years of clawing at locked doors and chipping away at walls built to keep them out, some finally carved their way through. Not as trespassers, not as lucky beneficiaries of chance, but as rightful heirs to the spaces they long fought to enter. They do not stumble in by accident, they break through, their footprints marking the ground where no path existed before.

But when that long-overdue recognition arrives, it does not come with ease. The weight of the journey lingers, the years of proving themselves leaving scars too deep to ignore. Instead of celebrating, they hesitate. Instead of owning their space, they whisper to themselves: Do I deserve this? Have I truly earned it? Not because they doubt their ability, but because the struggle has conditioned them to believe that nothing, no title, no authority, no success, can ever be enough.

So, they work harder than ever—not just to lead, but to justify their presence. Not just to succeed, but to repay some imaginary debt. And in their quiet, lingering self-doubt, they unknowingly tighten the very chains they once fought to break.

And then, without realising it, they become gatekeepers.

Those who have endured the proving cycle long enough, those who have bled, wept, and sacrificed to survive it, do not always dismantle the system that broke them. No, they reinforce it. Unconsciously, they demand the same rigorous standards from those who follow. They mistake the weight of their own suffering for wisdom, for discipline, and for proof of resilience. They convince themselves that their agony was necessary, that their grueling path was a rite of passage, that anyone unwilling to walk the same brutal road is simply unworthy.

So, they become those who scoff at young talent that dares to seek balance. They roll their eyes at those who refuse to be consumed by the fire of overwork. They uphold the unspoken rules: You must always be twice as good, work three times as hard, and accept that no matter how much you give, it will never be enough. They wear their exhaustion like a badge of honour, expecting others to do the same, blind to the fact that they are no longer victims of the system, they are now its most faithful enforcers.

This is how oppression survives, when those who suffered under it become its most ruthless defenders. It is an insidious, self-perpetuating cycle that convinces the weary that their suffering was not in vain but a necessary blueprint for success.

Perhaps the greatest revolution is not in simply surviving the climb, but in refusing to leave the walls standing behind us. It’s in clearing the path rather than guarding the gates. It's telling those who follow that they do not need to earn their existence through exhaustion. They do not need to prove their worth through endless sacrifice. They do not need scars to validate their greatness. The revolution is breaking the cycle, not perpetuating it.