Good "On Paper"
When "doing better" doesn't equate to feeling better.
Read time: Approx 5 mins.
There’s a peculiar form of grief that tends to slip under the radar.
It’s not the sharp sting of loss, nor the ache of failure. It’s something quieter, trickier…a kind of melancholy that creeps in after you’ve “made it.” You know…when you finally land the life you clawed your way toward…and you still kind of want to disappear.
If that line hit like an uppercut, that’s not a bad thing. It means you might be part of a quiet, unspoken tribe…the ones who aren’t “just surviving” anymore, but still can’t quite find the pulse of joy in a life that, on paper, looks enviable. It’s the disorienting space of thriving indifference. And yes, it feels just as bizarre as it sounds.
We all inherit a narrative early on—one with crisp packaging and a feel-good finale:
“Just graduate from a good school, get the job, the relationship, the house, the kids, the health, the Facebook-worthy beach vacation. Do the trauma work. Once you’ve checked the boxes, the fog will lift. Life will finally make sense.”
And when you're deep in the mud, yeah..that idea feels like a lifeline. Even if you don’t totally buy it, it gives you something to aim for. A “maybe.” And sometimes, that “maybe” is the only thing standing between you and oncoming traffic.
Then, slowly, methodically, you get “there.” Session after session, promotion after promotion, you patch things up. You find your footing. People even start calling you “resilient.” Then, out of nowhere, and with startling quiet, you realize:
“This still feels hollow.”
The crisis is over, but the ache remains. And now, because there’s no emergency to treat, the world around you doesn’t quite know what to do with you…You become a walking contradiction. A narrative glitch.
How can someone have everything society deems important and still feel like they’re fading?
We humans just LOVE shoving ourselves into neat little categories: struggling or succeeding, miserable or grateful, broken or fixed.
But life...from what I've gathered…doesn’t color inside the lines. There are at least two mashups nobody really talks about:
Struggling, but happy – The chronically ill artist or musician who radiates joy. The broke college kid who’s spiritually wealthy. The war vet who laughs louder than anyone at the table. These folks inspire us, but they also confuse us…because they don’t fit the script.
Thriving, but lost – The CEO who can’t feel joy. The mother of three who gives her children the world, yet quietly wonders why she wakes up. The friend who’s “doing great” but is secretly rehearsing ways to vanish from existence. These stories don’t get shared because they’re inconvenient. They shake our idea that success and milestones equal salvation.
The uncomfortable truth…winning at life doesn’t immunize you against despair.
This is where suicidal thoughts take on a softer, yet still subtly present edge. It’s no longer “I can’t take this pain.” It becomes, “Even when life works, I still feel broken. So what’s the point?”
Psychologists have named this post-achievement depression. You’ll find it lurking in Olympians, valedictorians, new parents, high-level executives, world-renowned surgeons…Anyone who hit a major goal only to be greeted by... silence.
And no, it’s not ingratitude. It’s just biology and wiring. Your brain and body don’t always update in-sync with your circumstances. Trauma has a longer shelf life than triumph.
Worse still, when things finally look better, everyone assumes the healing’s done. “Good. You're better now, so can we just move on?” You might assume that too. Until you’re standing on the summit…looking out…all you see is fog.
Though I've not read, nor do I care to read, the Old Testament, there are a number of passages that have been alluded to in the texts I have enjoyed. Ecclesiastes, ancient wisdom literature about a guy who basically had it all, sums it up better than any TED Talk:
“I had riches, wisdom, lovers, power… and it was all vapor. A chasing after wind.”
You don’t need to believe in sacred texts to hear the truth in that. This emptiness isn’t new…not merely a Gen Z side effect or Instagram-era dysfunction. It’s primordial. It lives in the bones of our species.
When self-help feels like a parody, and “doing the work” doesn’t touch the sense of nothingness, where do you turn?
Here are three places I’ve found helpful:
Self-Actualization
We love Maslow’s pyramid meme, but the real juice is at the top: self-actualization. Becoming who you actually are, beyond survival, beyond success. Chasing your unique wiring, your musts, your soul’s itch.
So many of us spend decades proving we can be what others need us to be. And then, when the proving’s done, we realize we’ve abandoned our freak flag. Our art. Our old notebooks. The weirdness we buried to fit the narrative.
You don’t need to monetize it. Just resurrect it. That thing that made you feel alive before the world told you to be “realistic.”
For me this has been playing music, time alone in nature, and writing. It can be rough, it can be raw, and sometimes it can “sound” depressing as f**k. But it's real. And it’s mine.
Values
A shiny life built on values you don’t believe in? That’s slow-motion betrayal.
Sometimes it’s not that you’ve done something “bad.” It’s just that you’ve drifted…into roles, relationships, or routines that make your soul wrinkle its nose.
This has been referred to as “moral injury” by psychologists—a kind of spiritual indigestion. A trauma syndrome resulting from witnessing, failing to prevent, or engaging in acts that violate one's moral beliefs or values. This has hit the medical field with a vengeance over the past few decades, particularly in the wake of COVID-19.
Realignment of these values is messy. It might mean quitting. Or telling the truth. Or being misunderstood. But it also means finally breathing without flinching.
Spirituality
Look, I get it. Spirituality can feel like a loaded term, packed with trauma, manipulation, or just plain cringe. I have, for most of my life, kept a firm grasp on my beliefs of agnosticism and atheism. This has slowly shifted over the last couple of years through various life experiences…
The nihilism that often crept in when I’d been “doing well but feeling nothing” was ruthless. It was tidy, sure. Logical. But also… deadening.
I’m not here to sell you on religion…as someone who struggles with authoritative power structures, I'm not personally sold on it, either. But I am saying that some form of “something more”…whether it’s God, Buddha, awe, mystery, or connection…it might be the only thing that stands up to the existential shrug.
If nothing matters, then nothing will ever be enough.
But if something matters…no matter how small…then everything else starts to shimmer with possibility.
Stay open. Stay curious. Don’t let cynicism be your only belief system. It's almost like I'm talking to myself…
What if that weird, aching emptiness inside isn’t a bug, rather a signal?
What if the goal isn’t to be happy 24/7, but to be real? To craft a life that feels honest, aligned, and fully yours…even if that includes grief, doubt, or days that feel numb and, frankly, pointless?
If this resonates, hear me clearly: you are not a problem to be solved. You don't need more gratitude journaling. Your mindfulness routine is not broken. This isn’t a lack of downward dog. You’re not “crazy.” You’re not a contradiction.
You’re simply someone who got to the destination and realized that maaaaybe it wasn't the full purpose of your existence.
That’s not failure. That’s living. Just not an Instagram-worthy version.
So keep going.
On your best days and on your worst—you deserve that.
MORE FREE ARTICLES HERE