In 2026, the conversation about self-esteem has become more relevant than ever. We live in an environment where every decision — from choosing a career or defining the format of our relationships to responding to a mistake at work — is expected to be evaluated immediately and publicly. Career shifts, the rapid development of artificial intelligence, and the constant comparison of our lives with those of others on social media have turned the question, "Am I good enough?" into a constant background noise.

In response, self-help advice often offers simple formulas: believe in yourself, think positively,
don’t doubt yourself, choose success.

Yet behind this outward confidence often lie anxiety, dependence on external validation, and fear of making mistakes. As a result, the attempt to urgently "boost self-esteem" can turn a living, breathing person into an endless self-improvement project.

The topic of healthy self-esteem has attracted widespread attention for many years. Throughout my clinical practice, I have noticed an interesting pattern: whatever problem people face in life, they often believe its root cause is low self-esteem. This is one of the most common reasons people seek psychological help. It sounds logical — almost convincing.

This question is important to me both professionally and personally, which is why I devote an entire chapter to it in my upcoming book, 10 Steps to Your Calling. The chapter begins with my own story, which is less about self-esteem than about self-worth. Although these concepts sound similar, they describe two very different things.

Healthy self-esteem is not the conviction that everything about you is perfect. It is the ability to recognize that not everything is ideal without collapsing into self-destruction.

A person with healthy self-esteem does not say, "Since I failed this task, I must be a terrible person and an incompetent professional." Instead, they acknowledge the reality: "I didn’t complete the work on time," or "I didn’t do it as well as I wanted."

That is precisely where the trap lies. The moment we attach our sense of worth to a specific outcome, self-esteem ceases to be a source of stability and becomes something fragile.

This mechanism was described by American social psychologists Jennifer Crocker and Connie Wolfe, who introduced the theory of contingent self-worth in 2001.

Their central idea is that the crucial issue is not how high or low a person’s self-esteem is, but what they have tied their self-worth to — physical appearance, approval from others, a sense of superiority, or professional achievements.

If all of your psychological "investment" is placed in career success, then any failure in that area does more than ruin your mood — it threatens your entire identity through the equation: "I am my success."

As early as 1965, American sociologist Morris Rosenberg introduced the Global Self-Esteem Scale, and for many years it seemed sufficient. However, over the decades it became clear that the question "How do you feel about yourself?" does not tell the whole story.

In 2003, American psychologist Michael Kernis introduced the concept of optimal self-esteem. He demonstrated that high self-esteem can take very different forms: it may be stable, or it may be fragile, functioning merely as a psychological defense.

We cannot claim that realistic self-esteem serves as unconditional protection against anxiety or depression. What it can do is reduce a person’s psychological vulnerability to both. This pattern is supported not only by clinical observation but also by scientific research.

A longitudinal study conducted by Ulrich Orth and published in 2013 found that low self-esteem does not merely accompany depression at a given moment — it can actually precede and predict an increase in depressive symptoms over time.

The relationship also works in the opposite direction: depression gradually erodes the way people perceive themselves. When it comes to anxiety, the connection is even more direct. Low self-esteem and anxiety reinforce one another, creating a self-perpetuating cycle in which each intensifies the other.

Why does this happen?

When self-esteem is fragile, any isolated outcome is immediately turned into a sweeping conclusion about one’s identity.

Let’s recall Pushkin’s fairy tale: "Mirror, mirror on the wall…" The difference between healthy self-esteem and narcissism begins with the very question posed to the mirror.

Healthy self-esteem does not lead to selfishness. On the contrary, it frees people from the need to assert themselves at someone else’s expense.

It is also important to distinguish between the everyday use of the word "narcissist" and Narcissistic Personality Disorder. A diagnosis cannot be made simply because someone enjoys taking selfies, has been involved in a conflict, or comes across as overly confident. Diagnosing a personality disorder requires professional assessment and a much broader clinical context.

We are often captivated by outward confidence and mistake it for charisma, without realizing how much energy is required to maintain the illusion of infallibility. A much more revealing question is this: What happens when the person makes an obvious mistake — or when someone else succeeds?

Imagine the following morning. A young woman repeats to herself, "I am calm, focused, and in control." A few minutes later, she cannot find the phone she is already holding in her hand, leaves the house late, and ends up shouting at her child. For many people, this situation feels all too familiar.

The issue is not a lack of effort.

In a 2009 study, participants were asked to repeat the affirmation, "I am a lovable person." Among individuals with initially high self-esteem, the exercise produced a slight improvement in mood. However, among those with low self-esteem, it had the opposite effect and actually made them feel worse.

As my teacher, Jan Rodway, used to say, everyone has their own map.

Two people may both say, "I'm having problems at work," yet their realities can be completely different. One may lack specific professional skills, while the other is dealing with conflict among colleagues.

That is why we should not dismiss working with language altogether — we simply need to make it more precise.

In cognitive behavioral therapy, we use the STER model:
Situation — Thought — Emotion — Response.

Instead of relying on an anxious statement like, "I'm going to pass the exam," we ground ourselves in observable facts: "I've prepared thoroughly. I know approximately 70% of the material. I’ve successfully passed exams before."

When we write these things down, fragile self-esteem stops interpreting uncertainty as a personal failure. "I don’t know the answer" no longer means "I'm not good enough." Instead, it becomes, "I simply don’t have enough information yet."

Rather than repeating the affirmation "Everything will work out," it is more helpful to ask: "What do I know at this moment? What is my next step? What will I do if I need Plan B or even Plan C?"

To understand where self-criticism comes from, it helps to look at several cognitive mechanisms that cognitive behavioral therapy identifies by name.

Yet self-criticism should not automatically be regarded as something entirely harmful. Sometimes it helps us identify a weak spot and improve our work.

When the thought "Nothing will ever work out for me" appears, the first question to ask is: Is this a fact or a sentence?

Recall a time when things actually did work out. Then reframe the thought: "I wasn’t fully prepared for the report, and I became overwhelmed." Finally, identify three concrete actions: dedicate an hour to preparation, outline the key points, and formulate clear conclusions.

Waiting until you feel "ready" or have the "right mindset" is pointless. Self-worth begins with action.

In cognitive behavioral therapy, we teach clients to become researchers of their own minds. Stable self-esteem is built not by convincing yourself of your greatness, but by accumulating concrete evidence:
"I did this." "I learned that." "I made it through that experience."

Your proposal is rejected, and the immediate thought is: "I've failed." It is this interpretation — not the event itself — that generates anxiety. From there, the thought escalates: "Nothing ever works out for me." "I'm a failure." "Everyone will see that I’m incompetent."

This is the core belief — the root from which everything else grows. It is sustained by assumptions often formed in childhood, such as: "It's all or nothing," or "If I want people to respect me, I must never make mistakes."

Cognitive behavioral therapy restores precision. We begin with the observable fact: "My proposal wasn’t accepted." Then we examine the thought itself. Does one rejection truly prove total incompetence?

From there, a more balanced statement emerges: "I'm disappointed, but this is only one situation. I can improve my proposal, and one rejection does not define who I am."

The next step is behavioral verification — for example, asking for feedback.

As long as we are alive, there is no point of no return. Yes, deeply rooted thinking patterns gradually become stable behavioral habits, and changing them requires considerable effort. But it is possible-step by step, through new ways of noticing yourself, thinking, and acting.

Its foundations are laid in childhood, through our relationships with those closest to us. Sometimes, however, painful patterns also emerge during our first experiences outside the family — for example, in kindergarten, where a child first encounters unfamiliar adults and peers.

It is equally important not to confuse stable self-esteem with constant confidence. A person who appears confident in every situation is not necessarily an example of inner strength.

Whenever I speak about uniqueness, I always emphasize one idea: we are neither better nor worse than anyone else — we are simply different, each with our own combination of strengths, experiences, and limitations.