The Boxes We Put Ourselves In

The Boxes We Put Ourselves In

My trip to Sri Lanka is officially coming to a close.

It’s kind of surreal to think that these last two months will become one of those experiences I’ll spend years trying to put into words. The kind of experience that quietly changes you whilst you’re living it, only for you to realise its impact once you’re standing on the other side, looking back.

Before I left for Sri Lanka, I remember saying two things:

“I want to come back with a changed mindset.”

“I want something life-changing to happen.”

Big ambitions, I know.

And whilst nothing dramatically life-altering happened in the way I had imagined, something did change.

Some amazing things happened during this trip. I’ve met incredible people. I’ve learned so much from the locals and fellow volunteers. I’ve travelled to places I once only saw on Instagram, and I’ve made friendships that I know I’ll carry long after I’ve left.

But perhaps the most significant thing Sri Lanka gave me was a different perspective of myself.

I realised that I am far more capable than I give myself credit for.

Back home in Australia, I often place myself inside a box.

I’m shy.

I’m withdrawn.

I struggle to talk to people I don’t know.

I’m not naturally outgoing.

I’ve worn these labels for so long that somewhere along the way, they stopped feeling like characteristics and started feeling like facts.

But Sri Lanka challenged that.

Yes, I was still shy at times. Personality traits don’t disappear overnight. But I found myself saying yes more. Initiating conversations. Connecting with strangers. Navigating unfamiliar situations alone. Placing myself in environments that would normally make me deeply uncomfortable.

And every single time, I survived.

More than that, I thrived.

It made me question how much of who I believe myself to be is actually true, and how much is simply a story I’ve repeated for so long that I’ve accepted it as my identity.

When I left for Sri Lanka, I told myself that I was finally going to start building the foundations for my business. I was going to stop talking about the life I wanted and start creating it.

Yet as I sit here writing this, with more free time than I’ve had in years, I’ve done very little.

I’ve kept telling myself, “I’ll start when I get back to Australia.”

But why?

Why haven’t I started now?

If I’m being completely honest, I think I’ve been avoiding a difficult truth.

I’ve been scared.

Recently, I’ve been reading The Courage to Be Disliked, and one conversation in particular stopped me in my tracks. The discussion centred around inferiority and superiority complexes, and almost immediately, I recognised myself.

Most of us know what it feels like to feel inferior.

It’s the voice that whispers:

“You’re not experienced enough.”

“Other people are more talented.”

“Someone else is already doing it better.”

“Who do you think you are?”

According to psychologist Alfred Adler, feelings of inferiority are a normal part of being human. We all recognise areas in our lives where we lack knowledge, confidence, skill or experience.

The problem isn’t feeling inferior.

The problem begins when those feelings become an inferiority complex.

An inferiority complex occurs when we allow our perceived shortcomings to define us. Instead of seeing our weaknesses as areas for growth, we begin believing that we are fundamentally incapable.

We stop ourselves before we’ve even begun.

I think that’s why this conversation in the book hit me so deeply.

Because I recognised myself.

For years, I’ve quietly carried this belief that other people are somehow more capable than me. More confident. More knowledgeable. More qualified. I’ve looked at people building businesses, creating content, launching brands, travelling the world fearlessly, and thought, They can do that because they’re different. They’re naturally confident. They have something I don’t.

But Sri Lanka challenged that belief.

Over the last two months, I’ve navigated a country on my own, adapted to unfamiliar environments, connected with complete strangers, volunteered, stepped outside my comfort zone almost daily and built a life in a place that, only weeks earlier, had been completely unknown to me.

When I look at it objectively, none of those things are small.

So why is it that I can move across the world and throw myself into the unknown, yet struggle to sit down and start the business I’ve dreamed about for years?

I think the answer lies somewhere within this inferiority complex.

Because an inferiority complex doesn’t always look like self-hatred or obvious insecurity. Sometimes it looks remarkably ordinary. It looks like procrastination. It looks like endlessly preparing instead of beginning. It looks like telling yourself you’ll start next week, next month, or when you finally feel ready.

For me, it sounds like this:

“I’ll start when I get back to Australia.”

“I need to learn more first.”

“I’m not experienced enough yet.”

“Who am I to do this?”

And the frustrating part is that none of these thoughts feel irrational when you’re thinking them. They feel responsible. Sensible, even.

But beneath them often sits a deeper fear:

What if I try and discover that I’m not good enough?

Because if I never start, I never have to find out.

The philosopher in the book argued that people often use feelings of inferiority as an excuse not to act. Not consciously, of course. Most of us aren’t aware we’re doing it. We simply become so attached to the stories we’ve created about ourselves that they begin dictating our lives.

“I’m shy.”

“I’m not business-minded.”

“I’m not confident.”

“I’m not the type of person who does things like that.”

I’ve realised that I’ve been living inside those stories for years.

And perhaps that’s where superiority complexes come in too.

Because superiority isn’t always believing you’re better than everyone else. Sometimes it’s a defence mechanism. A way of protecting ourselves from failure, rejection or embarrassment.

If I never launch the business, nobody can reject it.

If I never put myself out there, nobody can tell me I’m not good enough.

Safe.

Comfortable.

Stuck.

The truth is, I don’t think confidence suddenly arrives one morning. I think confidence is built by repeatedly doing things before you feel ready.

Sri Lanka taught me that.

Every conversation I was nervous to have. Every unfamiliar situation I navigated. Every time I chose courage over comfort, I expanded the box I’d placed myself in.

And maybe that’s all growth really is.

Not becoming a completely different person, but slowly collecting evidence that the person you’ve always believed yourself to be isn’t the whole story.

If you’ve ever felt stuck between the life you want and the fear of beginning, you’re not alone.

Maybe the first step isn’t becoming more confident.

Maybe it’s simply questioning the boxes you’ve placed yourself in.

Because you might discover, as I did, that they were never as real as they seemed.