[Photo by Umair Dingmar on Unsplash]
Trying Too Hard
I’ve never been afraid of working hard for something that matters to me. As the youngest and only girl in my family, I learned early to speak up if I wanted to be heard. One of my earliest memories is my brother blurting out, “I hate your guts,” when I was just three years old. Without hesitation, I shot back, “But you don’t even know my guts.” That moment became one of my first lessons in resilience — standing up for myself before I even understood what resilience meant.
Even then, I wanted to be understood. That determination carried into school, where I quickly learned how easily assumptions can shape expectations. I was labeled the “dumb blonde” before I had much opportunity to show what I could do. By second grade, I struggled with reading and was retained to repeat the year. At the time, it felt like proof that I wasn’t smart enough. In hindsight, it became an early lesson in how easily struggle can be mistaken for lack of potential.
Years later, when teachers suggested my daughter might need the same, my own experience gave me a different perspective. Instead of focusing solely on what she was struggling with, I pushed for solutions that also recognized her strengths. That experience taught me how important it is to advocate, to ask questions, and to make sure a challenge doesn’t become someone’s entire story.
The Words Followed Me
That phrase — trying too hard — didn’t stay in childhood. It echoed back to me at different points in my life, sometimes as criticism and sometimes as advice.
About four years ago, a new friend invited me to her regular hot yoga class. Midway through, the teacher called out, “Denisha’s friend, stop trying so hard.”
The words landed heavily because they felt uncomfortably familiar. But this time, instead of immediately interpreting them as criticism, I paused.
In yoga, trying harder isn’t always the answer. Sometimes effort means pushing. Other times it means breathing, listening, adjusting, or knowing when to soften.
That moment gave an old phrase a different meaning. Maybe the lesson wasn’t that effort was wrong. Maybe it was learning how to use effort intentionally.
The Lesson That Never Goes Away
The same lesson eventually followed me into my professional life.
I’ll never forget a coworker once telling me, “You’re making me look bad.” At the time, I didn’t quite know what to do with that comment. I wasn’t trying to compete with anyone. I was simply approaching the work the way I naturally do: with energy, curiosity, and a desire to do it well.
Over time, I’ve realized that effort alone isn’t what makes someone effective. How that effort contributes to a team matters just as much. Doing excellent work should create momentum for the people around you, not become a competition over who works the hardest.
That distinction has become increasingly important to me as I’ve grown professionally. I still care deeply about the quality of my work. But experience has taught me that sustainable effort also means prioritizing, collaborating, asking for other perspectives, and recognizing when “good” is enough to move something forward.
Giving your best doesn’t have to mean giving everything you have.
Effort Is More Than Intensity
Recently, at my son’s football team parent meeting, his coach talked about teaching the players to bring effort into everything they do — not just football.
Sitting there, I thought about how differently I understand that lesson now.
Effort matters. Discipline matters. Resilience matters. But maturity changes what those things look like.
Sometimes resilience means pushing through something difficult. Sometimes it means changing direction. Sometimes leadership means taking initiative, and sometimes it means creating room for someone else to lead.
The goal isn’t to expend the most energy. It’s to understand where your energy can make the greatest difference.
Owning My Effort
For much of my life, I interpreted “trying too hard” as a criticism of something fundamental about me. Now I see it differently.
I don’t want to stop caring deeply about what I do. I don’t want to become less curious, less persistent, or less willing to advocate when something matters.
But I’ve also learned that effort is most valuable when it has direction.
In my work, that means asking whether what I’m doing actually improves the experience for the person on the other side of the screen. It means knowing when another perspective will make an idea better. It means recognizing that sustainable progress is more valuable than individual heroics.
The same is true in parenting, leadership, advocacy, and even yoga.
So I’m not interested in trying less.
I’m interested in trying with intention.
Because the lesson was never really about how hard I was trying. It was about learning where that effort belongs, when it helps, and how to use it to make something better.