The Fear of Success

Last week, I wrote about the fear of being judged by others. It is undoubtedly one of the most universal fears because it is deeply rooted in our instinct for survival. What has enabled us not only to survive as a species but also to thrive is our extraordinary ability to cooperate with one another.

And in order to cooperate, we must first trust others so that we can accept them into our tribe. That leads us to the powerful sense of belonging; the feeling of being accepted, respected, and loved for who we are. When we feel that we belong, we feel safe. And from that place of safety, we can lower our guard, open ourselves to others, share, and contribute.

From that perspective, the fear of other people’s judgment is perfectly understandable. Being rejected by the tribe once meant, in a very real sense, psychological death—and sometimes even literal death. Today, a growing body of research identifies social isolation as one of the greatest threats to both our health and our longevity.

All of that makes perfect sense.

But what if success itself were frightening?

One fear that has always surprised me—and one I find much harder to understand—is the fear of success. It is sometimes referred to as the fear of completion.

Why would anyone be afraid of success? It’s a fair question. Isn’t success what we’re all striving for? To achieve. To grow. To fulfill our potential. Maslow even placed self-actualization at the very top of his famous hierarchy of needs. It seems like an idea that should inspire us, not intimidate us.

When Success Feels Overwhelming

In reality, what frightens us is not success itself, but what comes with it, or more precisely, what comes after it. Once we’ve finally reached that long-awaited goal, a new question often emerges:

What happens next?

Contrary to what the term might suggest, people who fear success are not underachievers. Quite the opposite. They are often highly driven, high-performing perfectionists.

After completing a project they’ve devoted themselves to for months, or even years, or after reaching a particularly ambitious goal, they experience a kind of vertigo at the thought that they will now have to accomplish something even greater next time. As though the entire world expected them to keep raising the bar.

And so they do.

With every new project, their own expectations become increasingly demanding until the standards they impose on themselves become almost impossible to sustain.

The idea of celebrating the culmination of their efforts, taking time to savour their accomplishment, rest, and recharge doesn’t come naturally to them. As a result, they never fully experience the sense of satisfaction their achievements should bring.

Moving the Finish Line

To avoid the anxiety that comes with completion, they unconsciously find—and create—reasons not to put the final touches on their work. They keep refining, polishing, and revising long after the project is essentially finished.

This is where perfectionism enters the picture.

Perfectionism keeps insisting that the work isn’t perfect, and therefore isn’t finished.

Eventually, however, the project does end. And almost immediately, another one takes its place. What began as a race has become a marathon, then an ultramarathon, without the runner ever having the chance to catch their breath.

Another classic example of the fear of success is the professional who categorically refuses to retire. Because the end of their career feels like stepping into an identity void. So they, too, find reasons to postpone that inevitable day:

• I still love what I do.
• I can still make a difference.
• I’m not ready to spend the rest of my life knitting.

Learning to Be Instead of Do

In both of these examples, people define themselves by what they do, rather than by who they are.

In the first case, they perform. They therefore see themselves as high achievers.

In the second, they define themselves by their job title or profession. Once their career comes to an end, and the business cards displaying their titles and credentials find their way into the recycling bin, they no longer know who they are.

What these people need to learn is how to be, rather than constantly do.

Doing is already one of their greatest strengths.

The real challenge is learning to inhabit their body, appreciate the present moment, and rediscover life’s simple pleasures.

The good news?

That, too, can be learned.