Struggling With Comparison? Rethinking Confidence and Self-Trust
Comparison and competition can quietly shape how we see ourselves. In this conversation, we explore confidence, self-trust, and the beliefs we carry through life.
This is how it might go. You’re scrolling, or reading, or listening to a podcast, and you notice a flicker of feeling when someone else shares good news. A promotion. A book deal. A confident post about work they love. You’re pleased for them — genuinely — and yet something tightens. A question forms that you don’t quite want to look at too closely.
What does this mean about me?
Moments like this don’t usually come with drama. They’re small, everyday, easy to brush past. But they can linger. And over time, they shape how we see ourselves, how we show up at work, and how much space we allow ourselves to take.
This week on A Thought I Kept, I spoke to Nicky Denson-Elliott, and she brought a thought that disrupted that familiar inner pattern:
In order for me to win, no one else has to lose.
It’s one of those ideas that seems obvious when you first hear it and then quietly radical the longer you sit with it.
Because so much of our inner landscape has been shaped by the opposite belief. That success is scarce. That confidence belongs to certain people, not others. That if someone else steps forward, there’s less room for us. These ideas don’t usually announce themselves as beliefs. They show up as feelings: comparison, jealousy, self-doubt, hesitation.
Nicky spoke about how deeply this conditioning runs, especially for women. How it can shape our relationship with money, confidence, and visibility. How it influences the way we price our work — often not based on its value, but on what feels safe. How it quietly sets women against one another, even when connection and solidarity are what we most want.
What’s important here is that none of this is a personal flaw. These are not thoughts we invented. They’re learned. Reinforced. Picked up over time in workplaces, families, schools, media, and culture. When they surface, they can feel intensely personal but they rarely originate there.
And when life already feels full or uncertain, carrying these inherited ideas can make everything heavier. You might notice it in how hard you are on yourself. In the way you second-guess decisions. In the tension you feel around confidence — wanting it, distrusting it, worrying what it might cost.
One of the most grounding parts of the conversation with Nicky was her refusal to replace one set of rules with another. There was no invitation to be bolder, louder, or more confident in a performative sense. Instead, she talked about noticing. About recognising when a familiar reaction appears and asking, with curiosity rather than judgment: Is this actually mine?
That question alone can create a shift.
Because when we start to see that some of our thoughts are inherited rather than chosen, we don’t have to wrestle with them in the same way. We don’t have to argue ourselves out of feeling jealous or small or unsure. We can simply recognise the pattern, and loosen our grip.
This matters not just for our inner world, but for how we move through everyday life. Especially work. Especially relationships with other women. Especially moments where confidence feels like something other people have access to, and we’re still figuring it out.
Letting go of the myth of competition doesn’t mean pretending everything is fair or easy. It doesn’t mean denying ambition or discomfort. But it does open up a different orientation — one where someone else’s success doesn’t automatically diminish our own, and where confidence can be something we grow into, rather than something we perform.
For many of us, this kind of rethinking doesn’t arrive as a neat turning point. It shows up gradually. In small pauses. In moments where we choose not to rush to judgment — of ourselves or others. In the realisation that uncertainty doesn’t mean we’re failing; it often means we’re paying attention.
If you’ve been questioning old ideas about success, money, confidence, or what it means to be doing “well” in life, you’re not behind. You may simply be noticing that the old maps don’t quite match the terrain anymore.
Nicky’s thought offers a steadier way of orienting. It reminds us that life isn’t a zero-sum game. That generosity — toward ourselves and others — isn’t naïve, but grounding. And that self-trust doesn’t come from fixing or perfecting ourselves, but from recognising which beliefs were never designed to support us in the first place.
You don’t need to know what comes next. You don’t need to replace every thought at once. Sometimes it’s enough to notice which ideas make life feel smaller, and to wonder — without urgency — what it might be like to set one of them down.
If this resonates, listen to the full conversation with Nicky on A Thought I Kept.
And if you need help exploring some of the feelings you have around comparison — jealousy, self-doubt, hesitation — or what confidence even means to you, explore our emotions coaching sessions.
When You Think You Need to Know More… But Really Just Need to Begin
When you're feeling lost or stuck, it's tempting to keep learning more. But what if all that knowledge is just a very clever way to avoid starting? Here's how to notice—and gently shift.
We get it. When you're feeling lost, the world starts to look like one big advice column.
Buy this book.
Sign up for that course.
Follow this expert.
Click here, scroll there.
And you? You’re trying to find your way. So you do what you’ve always done: you gather. You research. You prepare.
You stack up ideas like blankets to keep out the cold.
It feels useful. Smart, even. You're learning, right?
But here’s the thing: sometimes the impulse to “know more” isn’t clarity-seeking. Sometimes it’s a very well-disguised form of procrastination.
When Ideas Keep Us Safe (But Still Stuck)
We recently spoke to Emma Lightfoot on our podcast A Thought I Kept, and she shared something that stopped us in our tracks. A friend had gently pointed out that when Emma gets a new idea, she doesn’t immediately start it—she starts learning about it. Endlessly. Widely. Sideways.
Sound familiar?
It’s a common habit, especially for people who care deeply. Who want to get it right. Who fear failure (or being seen as someone who hasn’t got it all together).
Emma called it “learning sideways.” It gave her the comfort of movement, without the risk of failure. And we’ve all done it. Bought the book instead of opening the journal. Signed up for the challenge instead of going for the walk. Listened to another podcast on boundaries instead of actually saying no.
Awareness, Not Shame
Let’s be clear though: we love ideas. Everyday we explore what learning, growth and guidance can look like. We create courses, coach clients, share resources. But we design them with this reality in mind. That people like you might already be overwhelmed. That you don’t need another guru. That you might just need a little spark that helps you begin—right where you are.
So this isn’t a post about stopping learning.
It’s a post about noticing when you’re gathering as a form of safety… and gently asking yourself:
Am I preparing? Or am I avoiding?
What might happen if I just began?
What do I already know that I can trust?
What If You Trusted Yourself?
Emma made a pledge for 2025: no more buying books or courses on self-help. Instead, she wrote herself a list of 25 small things to do this year. She made a mini-zine as a daily reminder. And she started moving forwards—not perfectly, but consistently.
Not because she doesn’t believe in learning. But because she believes in herself now, too.
That’s something we wish more of us were taught.
That wellbeing isn’t something you acquire—it’s something you tend to.
That starting imperfectly is often more powerful than preparing forever.
That sometimes the next best step isn’t another social media scroll, course or quote—it’s a cup of tea, a deep breath, and the first 10 minutes of actually doing the thing.
A Thought to Keep
If you’re waiting to feel ready… maybe ready is a myth.
Start where you are. Begin anyway.
Write the first line. Go for the walk. Cook the simple meal.
Be in motion—imperfectly, bravely, beautifully.
You can always return to the resources later (we’ve got some good ones for when you’re ready).
But maybe the knowing you need isn’t out there.
Maybe it’s already inside you.
You can listen to this episode on Substack or wherever you get your episodes.