People often assume that success cures insecurity.
That once you’ve earned the degree or the title, the nagging questions about your worth finally fall silent.
They don’t.
I’m a physician. I care for patients at their most vulnerable, and I’m a proud wife and mother of two remarkable adult sons. On paper, my life looks like a success story. And yet, even now, I have moments where I wonder if I’m enough — smart enough, strong enough, worthy enough.
Self-worth, I’ve learned, isn’t a destination. It’s a practice.
For years, I struggled to understand why certain people seemed intent on making me feel small. Eventually, I realized something liberating: their behavior was never really about me. People who try to diminish others are usually fighting a private battle with their own insecurity. Hurting someone else gives them a brief, hollow sense of relief.
Once I understood that, everything changed. I began repeating four words that became my quiet declaration of independence: “It’s all on them.”
When you extend a hand in good faith, and someone betrays it — it’s all on them. When you offer financial help that’s never repaid, it’s all on them. When you trust someone who then weaponizes your vulnerability — it’s all on them. When you speak your truth, and it’s twisted or dismissed — it’s all on them.
Those words don’t erase the hurt, but they keep the responsibility where it belongs. They keep your spirit from carrying what was never yours to carry.
But reclaiming self-worth isn’t just a mantra. It’s daily work. I’ve had to learn to see myself as human — imperfect, yes, but still enough. I’ve learned to release unhealthy relationships instead of rehearsing their pain. I’m faster now at recognizing when someone or something is eroding my peace.
I’ve also anchored myself in purpose.
Caring for patients has saved my soul more times than I can count. In serving others, I find my own healing. Every patient encounter reminds me that my worth isn’t measured by who chooses to validate me, but by who I choose to lift up.
And when I lose sight of that, I think of my parents.
They’re gone now, but they remain my compass. My father’s courage, my mother’s integrity, their unapologetic pride in being Kurdish — all of it lives in me. My mother never stopped wearing her Kurdish attire, even when it wasn’t fashionable or safe. That kind of quiet bravery leaves a permanent mark.
My parents passed down values that shaped my life:
Honesty. Even when it’s inconvenient.
Non-judgment. I’ve been judged often, but I refuse to pass that pain forward.
Courage. Not loud defiance — steady persistence in the face of fear.
Integrity and generosity. In our home, hospitality wasn’t optional.
Pride in culture. Their heritage taught me to stand firm in who I am.
These are the same values I’ve tried to pass on to my sons. They, along with my husband, are daily reminders of what truly matters: love, loyalty, and grace. My family has been both refuge and mirror, showing me that worth isn’t something you achieve — it’s something you live.
And here’s the truth I want others to hear: you can be accomplished and still wrestle with self-doubt. Carrying degrees doesn’t mean you stop carrying questions. What matters is what you do with them.
Do you let doubt define you — or refine you?
I still have days where the old voices try to return. The difference now is that they don’t stay long. I remind myself that I’ve earned my place. I’ve built a life rooted in service, compassion, and truth. I am my parents’ daughter, my husband’s partner, and my sons’ mother — and their pride is evidence that I am enough.
Self-worth isn’t about perfection or silence. It’s about knowing who you are, even when the world tries to convince you otherwise. And resilience isn’t about being untouched by pain — it’s about refusing to become like those who caused it.
When in doubt, I return to those four words that have become both shield and compass: It’s all on them.
Dr. Reyzan Shali is a physician, author, and speaker who practices at Tri-City Primary Care in Vista.
