"So, what have you noticed?" Dr. Chen asked at their next session.
Alex laughed. "Well, I still go to the vending machine after meetings with Steve. But something's different." He paused, searching for the words. "Last week, instead of standing there feeling guilty about it, I just... let myself enjoy the chocolate. Really enjoy it."
"And?"
"It was good for about three bites." Alex shook his head, smiling. "After that, I noticed I wasn't tasting it anymore. I was just eating to stay with that first moment of relief."
"Interesting data," Dr. Chen said.
"Yeah. The next time, I actually sat down with those three bites. Found a quiet spot by the window instead of eating at my desk. And the strangest thing happened – as the chocolate melted, I could feel my shoulders unknotting. Maybe a bit from the sugar, but also maybe from finally giving myself permission to... take a break?"
Dr. Chen nodded. "What else?"
"I started noticing it everywhere. How different my morning coffee feels when I'm not rushing through it. How much more I get from my evening run when I'm not checking my pace every thirty seconds." He grinned. "I even caught myself enjoying a meeting yesterday – one of those planning sessions for our department's wellness initiatives."
"What was different?"
"I wasn't trying to be the perfect HR person with all the answers about stress management." Alex's smile turned wry. "Which, yeah, I see the irony there. But because I wasn't forcing it, wasn't judging every thought before I spoke, I actually shared something real – about how hollow it feels creating programs about wellbeing when we're all just trying to survive, ourselves.”
"How did that go?"
"Steve..." Alex paused, surprised by the memory. "Steve actually opened up too. Talked about his own struggles with it. And suddenly we were having a real conversation about what people need, not just corporate wellness buzzwords." He shook his head. "Which led to this idea about a different kind of program... but I'm still not sure I'm the right person to lead something like that. I mean, here I am, seeing a therapist about my own stress eating."
"And what signals do you notice in your body when you say that?"
Alex blinked, then slowly became aware of a familiar tightness in his chest. "Oh. That's... that's the same feeling I get right before I head to the vending machine, isn't it? That 'not good enough' feeling."
"Can you stay with that feeling for a moment?" Dr. Chen's voice was gentle but intent. "Just notice where you feel it in your body."
Alex closed his eyes, his hand moving to his chest. "It's tight. Heavy. Like a weight..."
"And as you stay with it, what else do you notice?"
"I..." Alex's brow furrowed. "It's not just heavy. There's something... I don't know... something almost electric underneath? Like energy wanting to move, but it can't get through all this..." He pressed on his chest. "I think..." Alex opened his eyes, something new dawning in his expression. "I keep thinking I'm not qualified enough to lead this program, but maybe what I'm actually feeling is how much I care about getting it right. About making something that actually helps people, not just looks good on paper."
Dr. Chen nodded slowly. "And how does that caring feel different from 'not good enough'?"
"It feels..." Alex sat forward, animated now. "Clearer. More alive. Like instead of this heavy weight I'm carrying, it's more like... energy? Like when I was talking with Steve — I wasn't trying to sound smart or qualified, I was just speaking from what I actually care about."
"And what happened in that moment?"
"The conversation got real. Steve opened up too. It's like..." Alex's eyes widened slightly. "Maybe the thing that makes me right for this isn't having all the answers. Maybe it's that I care enough to keep asking the real questions." His enthusiasm suddenly faltered, shoulders tensing. "But... if that's true, if I really care this much... what if I still can't—"
"Notice what's happening right now," Dr. Chen said gently. "How the recognition of caring seems to trigger that familiar feeling of not being enough."
Alex slumped slightly. "Yeah. Like... if this really matters to me, then the stakes are so much higher."
"That makes a lot of sense," Dr. Chen offered. "We don't need to rush into this. It's enough to just notice that these feelings might be signals about what you care about. And perhaps to recognize that somewhere along the way, you learned to doubt your capacity to pursue what matters to you." He paused. "I'm curious — what other ways do you find yourself coping when this feeling comes up?"
"Well..." Alex sighed. "I spend a lot of time on my phone at night. More than I want to admit, really. And during the day, when I'm supposed to be working on the program, I'll find myself doing anything else — answering emails, organizing files, just... staying busy with the wrong things. The chocolate's just the most obvious one."
"And you've already discovered something interesting with the chocolate, haven't you?" Dr. Chen prompted. "About how three mindful bites by the window felt different from eating the whole bar at your desk?"
"Yeah..." Alex nodded slowly. "Like there might be ways to make these moments work better for me, even while I'm using them to cope."
"Just remember," Dr. Chen added gently, "don't make three mindful bites by the window into a rule or a should. One day one bite might feel best, another day the whole bar. One day by the window, another day outside. The goal is to stay alive to what's happening — to keep feeling for what would feel good in each moment."
Alex continued, tentatively, "And maybe notice if there's something underneath that doesn't go away even with the relief? Like that signal that something matters?"
Dr. Chen smiled warmly. "Yes. For now, let yourself fully enjoy these moments — whether it's late-night scrolling or staying busy with emails. See what they're giving you and what they might be telling you. Stay curious about what feels good, without turning any discoveries into rules."
Alex gathered his things, surprised by how much had shifted in one session. The "not good enough" feeling was still there, but it felt different now — less like a wall and more like a door, maybe leading to something that mattered deeply. For the first time after therapy, he wasn't carrying a list of things to fix or change. Instead, he felt a gentle curiosity about what else he might discover, both about his feelings and about what actually feels good, just by letting himself be present with these moments he usually rushed through or judged.