I used to describe myself the same way.
“Nothing special. Just average.”
Not in a dramatic way. Not in a self-hating way.
Just… realistic.
I wasn’t the smartest in school.
I wasn’t the most confident in the room.
I wasn’t the person people described as “naturally gifted.”
I was just there.
Doing okay. Not terrible. Not extraordinary. Just somewhere in the middle.
And the worst part? I didn’t even hate myself. I had just quietly accepted it. That’s what made it dangerous.
I would see someone launch a business and think, “Yeah, but they’re different.”
I’d watch someone speak confidently in a meeting and think, “That’s just not me.”
I’d see someone in great shape and tell myself, “They’ve always been disciplined.”
Do you see the pattern?
I was constantly writing other people’s success stories as destiny… and my own as limitation.
The Day It Hit Me
One random evening, I was scrolling. You know that numb scroll. Achievement. Promotion. Engagement. New car. Fitness transformation.
And I remember feeling this dull ache in my chest. Not jealousy exactly. More like… disappointment.
Not in them.
In me.
Because deep down, I knew something.
I wasn’t “average.”
I was playing small.
There’s a difference.
Average means that’s your capacity.
Playing small means you’re afraid to test it.
That realization stung. Like really stung.
Because suddenly I couldn’t hide behind the “I’m just a regular person” excuse anymore.
Let Me Ask You Something
When was the last time you didn’t try because you assumed you’d fail?
Be honest.
- Didn’t apply for that job because “they won’t pick me.”
- Didn’t post your idea because “who cares what I think?”
- Didn’t approach that person because “they’re out of my league.”
- Didn’t start the gym because “I’ll probably quit again.”
That’s not average behavior.
That’s fear dressed up as humility.
I know because I’ve done every single one of those.
I once stayed in a role I had outgrown for two years because I told myself, “I’m not leadership material.”
Meanwhile, I was already mentoring two colleagues informally. They literally came to me for advice. And I still didn’t see it.
Why?
Because in my head, leadership looked loud. Charismatic. Bold.
I’m quiet. Thoughtful. Analytical.
So I disqualified myself.
How many ways are you disqualifying yourself right now?
The Truth About “Average”
Most people who think they’re average are actually:
- Self-aware
- Capable
- Slightly insecure
- Afraid of looking stupid
And that combination? It can either keep you stuck forever… or turn you into someone dangerous in the best way.
Because here’s what I’ve learned the hard way:
The “exceptional” people you admire?
They felt average too.
They just acted anyway.
They sent the email while doubting themselves.
They showed up to the gym while feeling out of place.
They posted their first awkward video.
They applied before they felt ready.
They didn’t wait for confidence. They built it through embarrassment.
I remember the first time I spoke up in a group setting. My voice literally shook. I replayed it in my head for hours afterward, convinced I sounded stupid.
No one else even remembered it the next day.
That was the moment something cracked open.
I realized most of my “average” identity was just fear of being seen.
Here’s the Part That Might Hurt
Sometimes calling yourself average is comfortable.
It protects you.
If you’re average, you’re not expected to win big.
If you’re average, failing doesn’t sting as much.
If you’re average, you don’t have to try that hard.
It’s safe.
But safe slowly turns into regret.
And regret is heavier than fear.
I’ve felt that weight. It sits in your chest at night. It whispers:
“You could have tried.”
That whisper gets louder with time.
So I Did Something That Terrified Me
I started a YouTube channel.
Not because I felt confident.
Not because I thought I’d succeed.
But because I was tired of hiding behind “I’m not that kind of person.”
The first videos? Awkward.
I overthought everything. My voice felt weird. I re-recorded sentences ten times. I cringed watching myself back.
And guess what?
Almost nobody watched.
Which hurt.
But it also freed me.
Because I realized something powerful:
The world doesn’t end when you try and it’s imperfect.
I kept going.
Today that same channel has over 50,000 subscribers.
If you had told the “average” version of me that, I would have laughed. Not in disbelief. In dismissal.
“That’s not me.”
But it is me.
Not because I’m special.
Because I didn’t quit.
And It Didn’t Stop There
At some point, I thought,
“If I can learn YouTube, why can’t I learn how to build a website?”
I had zero background in web development.
Zero.
I Googled everything. Broke things. Fixed things. Stayed up late trying to understand basic stuff that probably looks simple to professionals.
And eventually, I built my own website from scratch.
Not perfectly. Not like a Silicon Valley engineer.
But I built it.
And every time I publish something on it, I remember the version of me who thought I wasn’t capable of things like that.
That version underestimated herself.
If You’re Still Thinking “But I Really Am Average…”
Okay. Let’s say you are.
You’re not the smartest.
Not the most attractive.
Not the richest.
Not the most connected.
So what?
Consistency beats raw talent every single time.
The person who works out 3 times a week for 2 years beats the naturally athletic person who quits after 2 months.
The person who reads 10 pages a day beats the “gifted” person who never opens a book again.
The person who saves a little every month builds more wealth than the one waiting for a big break.
Average effort compounded daily is not average.
It’s unstoppable.
Read This Slowly
You are not “just” anything.
You are someone who hasn’t fully tested their ceiling yet.
And most people die having never tested theirs.
That’s not dramatic. It’s common.
So if you feel average right now, maybe that’s just your starting point. Not your limit.
You don’t need to become a different person.
You need to become a braver version of the one you already are.
Apply once.
Speak once.
Start once.
Try once more than you feel like.
That’s how it begins.
And one day, you’ll look back at this version of you, the one who thought they were average, and you’ll realize something powerful:
You were never average.
You were just early in the story.
