My Answer Was Achievement

How I came to recognize this pattern in my own life

‍ ‍

I base my self-esteem on my academic achievements.  I’ve spent my entire life striving to be successful at school and as an academic.  As the middle of five children, with a father who had serious health problems and a mother who taught school full time while going to college on evenings and weekends, I often felt overlooked, left behind, and starved for attention and affection.

When I was in middle school, my mother taught fifth grade in the same school building. When I won the prize for the best math student at eighth grade graduation, my mother was in the back of the auditorium basking in my reflected glory.  She was so proud of her daughter standing on stage receiving that award. Finally, I understood how to get her attention, and it felt so good. I felt loveable! I think this is when I began to attach my self-esteem to my academic achievements.

My mother was thrilled when I went to Harvard for my Ph.D.  I had the impression that it wasn’t so much that she was happy for me.  Instead, I think she loved being able to tell her friends that I went to Harvard.  My success was good for her image.

After graduate school, I became a university professor.  It wasn’t always easy, but it was the most obvious way to continue my pursuit of self-esteem through academic success.  I worked hard, often working through the weekend to write articles for scientific journals. My efforts were rewarded with professional recognition.  I started to receive honors and awards for my work, and even job offers at prestigious universities.  I was elected to be president of four professional societies.  I not only got recognition and attention from my mother for my accomplishments—I got recognition from the entire discipline of psychology.

What could be the problem with that?

When I attended a workshop at Learning as Leadership, I began to see the problem.

I saw how, because I believed my worth depended on academic success, I wanted to be the smartest person in the room.  This created constant pressure to perform.  That pressure was contagious, creating an atmosphere of proving that affected my students, and even my young son. My desire to prove I was smart and successful interfered with my ability to learn and grow, to connect with others, and ultimately to achieve the goals that most inspired me.  It affected my mental and physical health. 

I began to understand the problem with the way I approached my work.  It wasn’t until I took a hard look at myself and my life that I began to appreciate the price I paid for basing my self-esteem on academic success, and all the things I did—and didn’t do—while chasing self-esteem this way.

In future posts, I’ll share more of what I learned about the costs of pursuing self-esteem, the research it inspired me to do, and how it played out in my life.  For now, consider these findings from my research:

·      Pursuing self-esteem—that is, seeking success and trying to avoid failure in the areas where self-esteem is invested—can undermine the very success people want. 

·      When self-esteem is contingent, people are often afraid of honest feedback, because negative feedback makes them feel worthless.  They are less likely to learn from mistakes, criticism, or feedback.

·      Pursuing self-esteem undermines close relationships, contributing to feelings of loneliness. Other people can become competitors and threats, instead of friends and sources of support. 

I’ve personally experienced all these things.  My research suggests that I’m not alone.