Self-awareness is a bitch. Well, I’m not self awareness's bitch so I've stumbled into a revelation that tastes as horrifying as day old soda—overcompensation. It’s woven into everything I do, every gesture, every word. Even here, on this page, it bleeds through like ink too heavy for the paper.

I’ve always believed that to get ahead, you need to lean in, push harder, and take more than your fair share. Perhaps that belief has seeped too deep into my bones. It’s not just ambition; it’s an obsession to be enough—or maybe too much.

In writing, it’s the flourish of adjectives, the twisting of sentences into shapes too ornate for their own good. In life, it’s the excessive nods, the forced smiles, the promises that echo louder than they should.

But now that I see it, I can’t unsee it. Overcompensation is a crutch, not a weapon. And crutches are for the weak. I won’t let weakness define me. From here on, restraint will be my sharpest blade. A whisper instead of a shout. Simplicity over spectacle.

I’ll recalibrate. No more trying to impress; no more gilding the lily.  The soft sell is always been when the buyer bites.