Breaking out of the mold: How New York changed my self-image and my work

Fourteen years ago, I stood backstage at New York Fashion Week, surrounded by models, designers, and a world so far from my own that it felt unreal. It should have been exhilarating, but instead, I felt like a fraud. Like I had somehow stumbled into a world where I didn’t belong.

Because up until that moment, I had carried a deep, unshakable belief: I was not enough.

Growing up, poverty wasn’t just something my family experienced—it became part of my self-image. When you can’t even afford a thrift store T-shirt, when every choice in life is shaped by what you don’t have, it’s easy to start believing that the lack isn’t just around you—it is you. That somehow, not having enough meant I was not enough.

So when I stepped into that backstage world, surrounded by people wearing clothes I couldn’t have imagined affording, but had always dreamed of, I expected to feel small, unworthy, invisible, yet again.

But something shifted inside me.

For the first time, I saw clearly: poverty had been something outside of me, not something that defined me. It had shaped my experiences, but it had never been the measure of my worth. And just like that, in that surreal surrounding, the weight of it cracked.

I realized that I had been deeply loved and accepted all along—not because of what I had, not because of what I could prove, but simply because I existed. And that realization—that my worth had never been tied to my circumstances—set off a chain reaction in my life.

Because if that belief had been a lie, what else had I been carrying that wasn’t true?

🌊 How my past had held me captive

I believed work had to be draining to be worthwhile.

 Just like I had learned to see lack as part of me, I had believed that work had to be exhausting and self-sacrificing to be meaningful.

🪷 I mistook discomfort for growth.

 I forced myself into environments that overwhelmed me, believing that pushing through exhaustion was the only way to prove I was strong.

🪷 I assumed my deep sensitivity was a flaw.

 Growing up, I had learned to suppress my emotions. Sensitivity didn’t seem practical when survival was the focus. So in work, I ignored how much environments drained me, thinking the problem was me, not the setting.

🪷 I let other people’s work styles define what was 'normal.'

I shaped myself to fit the people around me, believing that if they could thrive in loud, fast-paced settings, then I should be able to as well.

🪷 I was stuck in a mold that wasn’t built for me.

Just like I had let poverty define my worth, I had let the world around me define what kind of work I was supposed to do. I had never considered that I could build a life that fit me.

🌊 How I Broke Out of That Mold

🪷 I stopped forcing myself into work that drained me.

Instead of shaping myself to fit environments that exhausted me, I started shaping my work around who I actually was.

🪷 I redefined success on my own terms.

Instead of chasing what looked good from the outside, I asked: Does this work bring me peace? That question changed everything.

🪷 I honored my sensitivity instead of fighting it.

I stopped seeing my deep awareness as a weakness and started using it as a guide. The more I leaned into work that felt right for me, the less exhausted I became.

🪷 I embraced my introversion as a gift, not a limitation.

I stopped forcing myself into high-energy group settings and started choosing work that allowed for quiet, deep thinking, and one-on-one connection.

🪷 I let go of the idea that I had to 'earn' my belonging.

That moment in New York showed me something I had never fully realized: my worth had never been tied to what I could achieve, what I had, or how well I fit in. I already belonged.

That realization didn’t just change the way I saw myself—it started a snowball effect. If I had been wrong about my worth, what else was possible? What else could I choose instead of just accepting?

Looking back, I can see how much that time in New York shifted something inside me. It wasn’t about stepping into the fashion world—it was about stepping into a new understanding of myself. It was the first time I saw that I could stop living in survival mode. That I could build a life, and work, that actually fit me.

And if you’ve ever felt like you don’t belong in the life you’re living, maybe it’s time to step into something new. Maybe it’s time to break the mold.

Love,

Pia