The Cost of Having Potential

You've heard it your whole life, and you still don't know what it's supposed to feel like.

Potential is a soft, well-meaning cage built from compliments and lined with expectations.

People praise your promise like it’s an achievement.

But promise isn’t peace. Promise isn’t happiness.

And talent isn’t a plan. Talent isn’t results.

And being capable, doesn’t mean you’re okay.

No one ever talks about the space between now and “someday.”

They just assume you’ll get there.

“Keep working hard!”

They don’t see the spirals, the burnout, the procrastination that’s actually perfectionism wearing a hoodie.

They don’t see you staring at a blank page, wondering if your best has already passed

because you were more impressive when you were fifteen and exhausted.

They don’t ask what it feels like to carry that invisible weight –

to know you could do anything, and feel like you’re doing nothing.

They don’t ask what it’s like to have a gift

and still doubt your voice.

To be building a dream and still want to disappear.

To be told you’re “different”

when all you feel is tired.

Having potential is lonely.

Because people fall in love with your future, when you can’t even get back to the honeymoon stage with your present.

Potential is a cage. It’s pressure.

People see a fire in you. But no one talks about the quiet shame you feel when the flame stays small.

I used to think having potential was beautiful. And in a lot of ways it is.

But realizing you have potential?

That’s war.