When I started my bookkeeping business less than a year ago at the age of 45, I already knew about the hard parts. Finding clients, selling my services, marketing myself, taking the risk of leaving a stable career, and betting on myself. Surprising to me, those weren’t the hardest parts at all. The hardest part was believing that I deserved to succeed.
When I started my business, I brought decades of baggage with me. Every belief I’d formed about myself came along for the ride. Beliefs about whether I was smart enough, capable enough, or worth enough. Because those beliefs had been with me for so long, I never questioned them, and I assumed they were facts.
Then I started a business. I love bookkeeping, and that’s what I thought I signed up for. What I didn’t realize was that entrepreneurship would force me to confront myself and the beliefs I had about myself. Every new client and every referral exposed something. Every compliment exposed something. Especially the compliments.
I can handle people complimenting my work. Someone telling me I did a great job on their books or that I’m knowledgeable or organized. But tell me I’m inspiring?!? I’m brave?!? I’m a good person and that you admire me?!? Now, I’m super uncomfortable.
Why is it easier to accept praise for what I do than for who I am? The answer showed up in a voice I knew all too well. Her name is Susan, and she’s my inner critic. She has an opinion on everything. Every accomplishment, every mistake, every risk, and every success. When a new client hires me, Susan says it was dumb luck. When someone compliments me, she says they’re just being nice. When something goes well, Susan reminds me not to get too comfortable. Susan has spent my entire life convincing me that I need to prove myself before I’m allowed to feel proud of myself. The problem is proving yourself never ends. Why? Because no amount of success can heal a belief that says you’re not enough.
When starting my business in my mid-forties, I had already accumulated hundreds of stories about who I am. Some stories serve you, and some of them don’t. Mine sounded something like this: Work harder, do more, be better, don’t screw up, don’t disappoint anyone. And for my entire life, I thought that’s what success required. What I’ve learned over the last year is that success doesn’t create self-worth. It reveals where my self-worth is missing.
Launching a business didn’t create my insecurities and fears. It merely revealed where they were already living. The business didn’t create Susan. It just turned up her volume. The real work hasn’t been building the business. It’s been learning to challenge those stories I’ve believed my whole life. Learning to accept compliments, learning to trust my abilities, learning that my value isn’t determined by my productivity. And learning that I don’t have to earn the right to take up space.
Maybe that’s what being fierce really means. Not pretending I’m fearless, not acting tough all the time, not having everything figured out. Being fierce is having the courage to question the stories I’ve been telling myself for my entire life. It’s being willing to believe that the things people see in me are true, even when that bitch, Susan, disagrees. Because the business hasn’t been the hard part. The hard part is becoming the person who could finally believe she was capable of building it.
