Am I good enough?

I keep asking myself this question more than I should—am I good enough for her? She’s amazing. She’s 35, confident, elegant, makes six figures doing something I don’t even fully understand but sounds important as hell. Meanwhile, I’m 31, still figuring my career out, working in a jobb I’m not even sure I want long-term. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely lost—I’ve got a decent job, I pay my rent, I’m not some couch-hopping slacker. But when I look at her and then at myself, I can’t help but feel the gap. And it’s not just the money, even if that’s a big part of it. It’s the way she carries herself, the way people listen when she talks, the way her eyes light up when she’s explaining something she’s passionate about. And then there’s me, nodding along, trying not to sound like an idiot when I chime in.

She’s never made me feel lesser, not once. She’s kind, supportive, loving. When we’re together, I feel safe. But that little voice in my head doesn’t shut up. It whispers that I’m just the fun guy for now. That eventually, she’ll want more—someone who matches her pace, her level, her lifestyle. She takes me to these nice places, introduces me to her work friends, and I’m just there trying to keep up. They all seem so put together. Great jobs, great clothes, expensive watches and inside jokes about client calls and conferences in Zurich. I stand there with my craft beer and force a smile, wondering if they can see through me. If they can tell I don’t really belong in that circle. I feel like I’m pretending half the time. Like I’m her guest in a life that I don’t have the credentials for.

It messes with me more than I want to admit. I start holding back, second-guessing everrything. Like, should I even talk about my problems when hers are clearly so much more important? Should I even suggest where to go for dinner when she can afford places I’ve only ever walked past? It’s not that I expect her to change or that I resent her success—far from it. I admire her. But I’m scared that my admiration is turning into something poisonous. Like I’m not showing up as her partner, but as some guy who's constantly trying to catch up. And how long is that sustainable? I wonder if she notices when I flinch every time the bill comes and she insists on splitting it. Or when she mentions future plans and I pause, not because I don’t love her, but because I don’t know how I’d ever afford the kind of future she deserves.

Sometimes I think maybe I should just let her go. Not because I want to, but because it might be easier than this constant feeling of falling short. Maybe she’d be better off with someone more like her—someone who already owns a place, who already figured it all out. But then we’re alone together, and she’s lying on my chest, laughing at something dumb I said, and in those moments, I forget about everything else. I remember how much she chooses me, how she looks at me like I’m everything. And I start to believe, even just for a second, that maybe I am good enough. Maybe she sees something in me that I can’t see in myself yet. But it never lasts. The moment fades, and the doubts sneak back in.

I know part of this is my own baggage. I grew up thinking men were supposed to provide, to lead, to be the “stronger” one, whatever that even means anymore. And now here I am, with this incredible woman who checks all the boxes and then some, and I feel like I’m the one falling behind. Society doesn’t say it out loud, but it whispers just enough—if she’s ahead, maybe he’s not a real man. And that pressure, that outdated, toxic expectation, it’s crushing. I want to be proud of her, and I am, but I also want to be proud of myself. And right now? I’m not. I feel stuck in this in-between, where I love her so much but don’t know how to let myself feel worthy of being loved back.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring it out. But maybe writing this, admitting this, is the first step. Maybe I don’t have to be perfect to be good enough. Maybe I just need to believe what she already seems to believe—that I have value, not because of my salary or status, but because of who I am with her. It’s not easy. I still have a long way to go. But I’m trying. I’m trying to silence the doubt, to be present, to show up for her and for myself. Because if there’s even a chance that I am good enough, then I owe it to both of us to stop running from the question—and start proving it to myself.

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