The Weight of Knowledge, the Grace of Acceptance
Two months ago, I published a paper that represented nearly four years of research. Strangely, I never really gave myself the chance to celebrate it.
Instead of feeling proud, I found myself thinking: “This research is mediocre. Really? Four years for this? Even after all this time, I still don’t feel smart enough for my field.” And with that came many other discouraging thoughts.
It was imposter syndrome speaking.
Of course, my research is not flawless. Along the way, there were mistakes, failed attempts, countless revisions, and moments when I had to completely rethink my assumptions. I questioned myself again and again. I learned things, unlearned them, and learned them differently. I came to accept that there is so much I do not know—and that learning is a lifelong process. I also learned that what I believed was the best solution was not always the right one.
In the end, the most valuable lessons were not about the research itself, but about me.
I learned how my mind works. I learned how I respond to setbacks, uncertainty, and failure. I learned how to stand back up and try again, even when I doubted myself. Most importantly, I learned that resilience is not about never falling down; it is about continuing despite the discomfort of not having all the answers.
Today, I am grateful for this journey. And I am grateful to the version of myself who chose not to give up.
This experience also reminded me of something important: we should allow ourselves to celebrate our lives, no matter how small our achievements may seem. We celebrate the big milestones, but we should celebrate the small victories too. They are the fuel that keeps us moving forward.
We do not always need a grand reason to do something. What matters is the intention behind it. Every good intention is a worthy place to begin.
Looking back, I realize that life is built from small moments. Returning a shopping cart. Singing while doing chores. Showing up when no one is watching. These tiny, ordinary actions often feel insignificant, yet they quietly shape who we become.
A younger version of me might have overlooked these small things. Now I know better. It is often the smallest steps, repeated consistently over time, that carry us to places we once thought were impossible to reach.
So today, I celebrate this paper. Not because it is perfect, and not because it changed the world. I celebrate it because it represents years of learning, unlearning, perseverance, and growth.
And that is enough.