Title Chasing: The Trap That Keeps High-Functioning Women Miserable
Sara Burack was the “it girl” in real estate — the top seller, the camera darling, the woman everyone wanted on their team. And then one night she died alone on a cold Hamptons highway, still clinging to the performance that made her “somebody.”
I know that ache. I thought a grad school degree would fix me too — give me something to point to when the doubt got loud. It never does. Not for her. Not for you. Not for me.
Some of you are burning the same way right now. Maybe not with million-dollar listings, but with master’s degrees, extra certifications, “thought leader” posts nobody asked for. More letters, more praise, more proof that you deserve to sit at a table you hate anyway.
If you think this is the post where I’ll tell you to align your root chakra, tape some rose quartz to your chest, or map out a five-year life plan — look somewhere else.
But if you’re ready to get honest about why you’re still begging a piece of paper to tell you you’re enough — keep reading. Let’s drag this thing into the light.
🧭 Your Escape Map
When Titles Become Armor
The early women’s lib movement? Brave as hell. Those women didn’t just want to go back to kitchens and quiet once the war was over. Some couldn’t — abusive husbands, no husbands, no safety net. Some wouldn’t — because once you taste your own potential, there’s no un-seeing it.
But somewhere along the way, that survival turned into performance. The job title that once opened doors became a shield we strapped to our backs — proof we belong. A badge of worth we flash when the old doubt creeps in.
And don’t get it twisted — mean girl drama didn’t magically start at the boardroom table. It’s the same nonsense you saw in grade school:
Who had the best doll? The best grades? The cutest boyfriend? Who made varsity? Who got into the best college? The best sorority?
You thought the chase would end when you got the degree — but your nervous system stayed on that hamster wheel like my son shouting “Gotta catch ‘em all!” with his damn Pokémon cards.
We sip from Stanley tumblers🥤 now instead of cafeteria milk cartons — still side-eyeing each other’s highlight reels, shade of pink, cat-eye liner, matching tote bag. We learned to weaponize our shine against each other when the system doesn’t.
And here’s the lie that keeps you hungry: If I collect enough proof — the titles, the certificates, the praise — I’ll finally be safe.
Safe from what? From yourself.
From that voice that says you’re still not enough without it.
And life loves to remind you that lie’s fragile: The Great Recession should’ve taught us. The 2020 pandemic should’ve buried it. But here we are — eyes bloodshot, credit card maxed out for another certificate, convinced we can out-degree disaster.
The paper never silences the doubt. It just feeds the next chase.
And the next.
Until you forget what you were chasing for in the first place.
What It’s Really Costing You
Your Oura ring might track your sleep, your cycle, your heartbeat — but it can’t track the cost of all this chasing.
The hidden tax isn’t in your inbox. It’s in your nervous system.
You want to know what title chasing actually bleeds out of you?
- Anxiety — the constant hum of “Am I enough yet?”
- Performance friendships — you know the ones. All grins for the ‘Gram, but if you stopped shining tomorrow, they’d ghost quicker than your Uber canceling at peak surge.
- Sleep — you’re up scrolling LinkedIn or the university site, looking for the next thing to fix your fear.
- Sanity — because the longer you perform, the further you drift from your actual self.
People love your hustle — until you break.
Then they vanish.
Poof — like your last contour stick when you drop it on a public bathroom floor. Gone. No three-second rule for fake friends.
Sara’s so-called friends didn’t sleep in that bank foyer with her at the end. They didn’t stand in the dark highway lane where she died alone.
And they sure didn’t rewrite the story for her after.
You’re disposable to them once you stop feeding their image of you.
This chase costs you your life in slow drips — until one day you wake up and realize the only person who never got your truth was you.
How I Almost Fell For It Too
I didn’t just see this in other women — I felt it in my own bones. For decades.
Undergrad was barely in the rearview when the professors started poking: “So where’s grad school? Law school? Med school?” Like staying still was failure. Like “just a degree” was just a warm-up lap.
I watched my friends chase those letters. J.D. M.D. M.B.A.
And I sat there feeling like a cheap knockoff for settling — for daring to breathe without an extra diploma pinned to my chest.
Years later I even pitied myself for not having six figures of debt hanging around my neck like it’d prove I was serious.
Can’t make this shit up.
And you know what’s wild? Some of those same “top” women sitting in C-suites right now — they’re buried in the same debt men are. Quietly drowning behind polished LinkedIn posts about empowerment. Nobody wants to admit the truth — because that would disrupt the narrative that all this advancement is always a win.
I know that ache — the desperation to be credible enough to stop performing.
And I know what it takes to kill it.
Not sure if you’re still trapped in it? Fine — answer these:
If nobody asked for your résumé tomorrow, would you know who you are?
If you couldn’t chase the next promotion or “cert,” could you sit still and feel your own worth?
If you stopped performing — would your circle stay? Or would you find out you’ve been networking, not belonging?
Be honest. That answer’s louder than any degree could ever be.
What Actually Makes You Worthy
It was never your title.
It was never your degree.
It was never your stacked resume, your C-suite seat, or the letters you stitched behind your name to keep the wolves in your mind quiet.
It’s you.
Your soul.
The truths you’ll still whisper when nobody’s clapping.
The relationships that stay when the highlight reel flickers out.
The peace that shows up in your chest when you finally realize you don’t owe the world a performance just to exist.
No piece of paper will hand you that peace.
No certificate will tattoo it onto your bones.
No trophy, no corner office, no TED Talk, no “Forbes Top 30 under 30” feature will hold your hand when you’re sitting alone, stripped of the shine.
What makes you worthy is the version of you that crawls out from under all the titles — raw, honest, and so damn tired of proving herself to people who never deserved that proof to begin with.
You’ve been enough.
Long before the degrees.
Long before the business cards.
Long before the show.
You Need To Know Your Worth — Not Get Another Degree
You don’t need another class.
You don’t need another certificate.
You don’t need another framed piece of paper to keep the ghost of “not enough” quiet for another year.
Chasing “Top” will eat you alive.
The same people clapping for you now? They won’t catch you later.
They’ll milk your shine, quote your hustle, repost your promotions — and they’ll ghost you the second you stop producing the image they crave.
Ask Sara.
Ask any woman who built her worth on a title and died wondering if she was more than her last job description.
You are more than what you collect.
You always were.
The only question is whether you’ll slow down long enough to believe it — or whether you’ll need your own lonely highway moment before you do.
Ready to go deeper?
If you feel this in your gut — good. That means your soul is still louder than the show. Maybe it’s time to stop the chase and come home to yourself instead. If you’re ready — I’m here. 👉 Work With Me
