Optimising my health has been my greatest saviour and my biggest enemy. For years, it helped me get of my ‘dark’ moments. Sleeping better, training more, thinking more clearly, gaining confidence. I looked and felt healthier than I ever had, and every line on every chart was moving the right way. I had turned my body into a machine I could be proud of, but somehow it didn’t feel that way.

More input doesn’t always lead to more output. At some point the effort started to exceed its purpose, and the stress of keeping it all up became more deadly for my body than all the toxins, fats, chemicals and diseases I was trying to avoid. The thing that had saved me was becoming the thing depleting me.

How it started

To find out what works for me, I’ve been doing research since I was 15. From diets and nutrition, supplements and movement, to more specialised areas like the nervous system, hormones and the gut microbiome. Biohacking is truly a passion of mine, a way to optimise myself in every area of my life. So I treat myself as a living experiment, trying to perfect the formula each year.

On paper, with all this health and wellness knowledge, I have everything I need to live a long and happy life. But only if I follow the exact recipe. And the recipe has a strict list of rules, routines and guardrails that have to be adhered to at all times. If I don’t, I sleep badly, feel bloated, can’t concentrate, gain weight, fail at life and die an early death. At least that’s what this inner health police agent keeps telling me. Because the more you learn, the more rules you need to follow.

It felt literally criminal to drink coffee after 12pm. To eat dinner without three hours to digest before bed. To skip protein. To take a rest day. To use the microwave. To scroll first thing in the morning. There are hundreds of rules like these, and they keep piling up.

A data-driven approach

To know whether these rules were actually moving the needle, I needed more information. So one of the most effective bridges to cross was switching to a data-driven approach. Wearables, apps, tracking everything.

It started as purely aesthetics-based, tracking my workouts and calories. But as I got older, I added longevity metrics to the mix. I felt a lot of resistance to it in the beginning. I knew some things weren’t healthy for me, but they were also an escape from the tight grip I held on myself the rest of the time. A part of me didn’t want to know the effect of alcohol, of poor sleep, of processed food. I was afraid I’d have to cut out things I didn’t want to, that my life would have to change. Because in a way, ignorance is bliss. Once I learned, I could never unlearn.

But I’d hit a plateau. I was still dieting, still in the gym, but drinking on weekends and making poor food choices. And I was told that if I really wanted success, I couldn’t keep burying my head in the sand. So I bought a Whoop, and I was shocked. I thought I was living healthy 80% of the time. The truth was that I was sleeping six, maybe six and a half hours a night, not the eight I believed. I was under-eating and over-training, my stress was through the roof, and my cycles were very irregular.

Strangely, this didn’t make me feel bad. It made me feel motivated. I started treating it as a game. Tracking my sleep hygiene, bodily strain, steps, recovery, emotions, mood, cardiovascular health, biological age, you name it. I had an app for everything, and the gamification was so strong that I got rewarded for every change I made, so I kept adding more to the list.

The tricky part: it works

Here is the tricky part. Most of these rules genuinely work. Tracking your workouts accelerates your progress. Walking outside for an hour really does improve my mood. Eight hours of sleep really does solve ninety percent of my problems. Tracking food really does make me lose weight. Cutting social media really does improve my focus tenfold. Meditation clears my head and makes me less reactive.

That’s why I followed them so religiously. I got a hit of dopamine ticking each one off. They became my safe haven, the thing I could fall back on whenever I felt I’d lost control. I did everything by the book, and it worked beautifully. Every line went up. Sleep quality, VO2 max, HRV. Biological age and weight went down. I still believe this approach is genuinely useful in the first months, to book results and to see what drives them.

But there is a fine line, and it’s the line where the data stops being the result and becomes the condition. Where you only feel good when the number is good. That first check in the morning and the last check at night, deciding: how am I allowed to feel today?

Never-ending routines

I’d confused being busy with being effective. A full routine felt like progress even when I didn’t feel better afterwards. The moment I woke up I had to hydrate, get sunlight, do a lymphatic workout, fascia roll, shower, get ready, meditate, drink a herbal tea for my hormones and journal, all before I could start work. The purpose was to feel calm, to start the day clear. Instead I started dreading the morning, the one part of the day that used to be sacred to me, because from the second I opened my eyes there were already ten things waiting before 9am. The self-care meant to serve the goal had quietly become the goal.

And I’d lost touch with my body completely. I needed a report to tell me how I’d slept. I needed an app to tell me whether I still had to eat. I needed a checked-off list to know whether I’d been productive.

The other problem with a routine this rigid is that life gets in the way of it, and for someone holding the reins this tightly, the moment I let loose I have to go all the way. At a party I’m the last to leave. When I eat off-plan I don’t know when to stop. Then come the red scores and the untouched to-do list, and I feel so bad that I tighten the rules even harder to get back on track, running an inner monologue through every way I failed. It’s like having one of those managers who micromanage everything you do, except this one lives inside your head, twenty-four hours a day.

The machine that keeps adding to the list

Social media pours fuel on all of it. Once you’re in the algorithm it’s hard to get out. Every scroll bombards me with new rules I MUST follow, click-baited and engineered to trigger me. It always opens with “most people do this wrong” or “this is ruining your progress.”

In one fifteen-minute session I’ll see four points of view that contradict each other. Eat whole foods, but also do keto to stabilise your blood sugar, and also intermittent fasting for weight loss, but not as a woman, then you should cycle sync, and get your protein and carbs, but avoid gluten. And everything in the store is apparently out to kill me. Seed oils, bread, non-organic food, perfume, detergent, makeup, sunscreen, deodorant, polyester, bluetooth radiation. Happy hunting in trying to find something that doesn’t contain pesticides or microplastics. And the moment you think you’ve finally figured it out, a new article arrives to tell you all the ways you were wrong. The equivalent of the Monopoly card telling you to go back to start and try again.

The self-care burnout

The pursuit of health occupied most of my mind, all day. Before dinner I’d run the question: what meal is unprocessed, high-protein, rich in fibre, full of probiotics, complex carbs and healthy fats, has every colour of the rainbow, doesn’t spike my insulin, fights inflammation, and is still relatively low in calories? Then, while eating, I’d look up the health benefits of the things on my plate, and get another little hit of dopamine, a pat on the shoulder for how nutritious it was.

It ran underneath everything. On waking: what do I have to do today to get back in balance? Doing the groceries: is this organic, clean, unprocessed, anti-inflammatory, hormone-friendly enough? Can I even eat this, or will it give me a stomachache, brain fog, a glucose spike, inflammation? In social situations: if I eat this I’ll feel disgusting, bloated, unhealthy, out of control. And after I’d lost the control for a moment: how do I compensate for this as fast as possible, with food, movement, sauna, fasting, detox, supplements, anything?

Somewhere along the way the pursuit of health stopped being a tool and became a never-ending project of its own that delivered me more stress than it removed from my life. Something needed to change. So I went down several rabbit holes around this topic and learned that I was stuck in chronic fight-or-flight, and that I needed to “heal” my dysregulated nervous system.

So I did what I always do. I found the healing hacks online and turned them into rules. Hydration, sunlight, movement, no coffee, journaling, meditation, breathwork. I did everything it said. And I ended up with a longer to-do list than before I started “slowing down”, until one morning I was so paralysed by everything I “needed” to do that I couldn’t get out of bed. The irony doesn’t escape me that by trying to heal my nervous system, I depleted it even further.

The reset

I was using control and discipline to solve the problem, when they were the problem. And the solution? Let go, and listen to what the body needs.

Written down, it sounds like the worst cliché. The exact thing every influencer tells you. Live intuitively. But there is a whole universe between knowing that and doing it as someone who learned that control is what keeps her safe. So I knew I needed some help with this.

The turning point came when I went on a retreat and a holiday, with a big focus on the mind-body connection. I needed some time with no rules and routines at all to feel how badly my body needed me to let go.

The first days I was exhausted, taking naps I would never have allowed myself before, not even on four hours of sleep. But turns out, this is a sign of getting out of chronic fight-or-flight. By allowing yourself to rest, all the built-up tension releases. No wonder high-performing people get sick when going on a holiday.

I also let go of all my rules. No food restriction, not forcing myself into any morning routine, no data-checking, no forced gym sessions, no panic about late dinners or having a glass of wine. I needed to learn that I was safe even if I let go of all the rules. Which is difficult, because technically these rules ARE making me “healthier” and “better” over time. And compensating for ignoring a rule can actually balance out the negative effects. But every time I did this, I confirmed the belief that I need control to feel okay. So I needed this factory reset to learn who I am without all the rules and guardrails.

The road towards healing

When I got home a few weeks ago, something had shifted. Doing nothing healed me more than all the months of effort had. It felt like a blank slate, where I could redefine my routine all over again. But I recognised this as dangerous too, because “living intuitively” could quietly become the next plan I try to optimise. So I’m trying to hold this loosely, which is its own kind of practice. There is only one rule, and that is to actively listen to the body.

What stays with me is how invisible it had become. It is only now, with my hands off the reins, that I can see how deeply control had embedded itself into my life, and how many rules I was living by without ever deciding to.

But I cannot control my way out of a problem that control created. The only way out is the thing that scared me most. To live without a recipe. To learn that I don’t need one. That is the whole practice, and I’ll probably be practising it for the rest of my life. And that’s okay.



I’m very curious to know who else struggles with this. Please let me know 😊.

It’s the voice that keeps me small. Whispering in my ear that I am not able to do it. Preventing me from taking any risks. Convincing me that the odds are not stacked in my favour. Showing me all the things that might go wrong.

The thing is, I would love to take greater risks. To believe that the odds of me succeeding are greater than the odds of me failing. But I somehow cannot seem to silence this voice of impossibility. Because if risk were a scale, in my mind, the rocks for failing would weigh much heavier than the rocks for succeeding. So I learn, perfect, and prepare endlessly to try to prevent any bad outcome from happening. Never really risking rocking the boat.

And that bothered me, because I see people around me who always seem to win at life. For whom everything just feels like it falls into place. And even if it doesn’t, they don’t seem to mind dealing with the consequences. I used to attribute that to luck, or to having a safe environment to fall back on, one that I myself did not really feel I had. But the truth is, I think I was just making excuses because I didn’t have the balls to do it myself.

Entrepreneurship with a helmet, training wheels and kneepads
Even the risks I did take were not really risks at all. I was praised for taking on these challenges, but I have always felt like a bit of an imposter. I pivoted my academic path from communication science to learning to program and joining a technical master’s programme. But only because I saw that the people around me who worked in tech were really successful. I essentially just copied what they were doing because I knew it was a safe route. I thought that if only I learned that, then I would never have to worry about being mediocre or having a poor salary.

Another big “risk” of mine was quitting my corporate job overnight to become an entrepreneur, which was the most random thing for me to ever do. But only because my partner convinced me to do it. He assured me that I could work for him until I made my own money. Entrepreneurship, yes, but with a helmet, training wheels, and kneepads.

Imposter syndrome
That’s how it feels for me. Like I still have to fight for my right to call myself an entrepreneur before I have earned the right to speak or to charge clients higher prices. Even though I rationally know that I have studied, worked, and practised enough. I have all the tools I need to add immense value, but something keeps blocking me.

I think it’s because I never really learned to build that confidence. The confidence to take a risk when the stakes are high and the odds uncertain. The voice in my head keeps telling me to wait for that perfect condition to come along, where I can safely and securely step into that new identity and all will be well. Like there is some sort of magic threshold you need to pass before you feel ready.

Scarcity mindset
But a few years in, I have now learned that this moment never comes. There is no amount of money, no big project, and no launch that will give me this feeling. The only thing that can get me out of this personally built mental prison is me. By reprogramming my scarcity mindset.

A scarcity mindset is a cognitive framework focusing on a lack of resources—time, money, or opportunity—creating fear, anxiety, and a feeling that there is never "enough"

I have always believed that happiness, money, and success are scarce. Rare things that are not for everyone. That it is very difficult to get your hands on them. That you need to work really hard to get them.

In my childhood, my parents were always pretty frugal, even though we lived in a big house and had everything we desired. They always emphasised that we weren’t rich, that all the money was in the stones. That we needed to be careful with spending money and always have a buffer.

“Regeren is vooruitzien” - My dad

His mantra for life, which I have heard many, many times. It basically means, “To rule is to anticipate.” That you have to be ready for every possible negative outcome and prevent it from happening. That that is the key to living a happy, safe life. To always take care of future you, to make sure you will not be surprised by anything. To get your ducks in a row first.

So I was praised for going to university and getting good grades, getting a job at a well-established firm, and being in a relationship with someone they approved of. And I truly understand that they were just doing their best. Because as a parent, I can imagine that the most important thing is that your children are safe. And that you just want what is best for them. But now “safety” became the thing I was conditioned to chase. To not bet on the things that might be possible for me, but to pick the option that is safe.

Confirming my own beliefs
It wasn’t just that I was conditioned to be risk-averse. My brain’s own confirmation bias made sure that the belief was reinforced time and time again.

Confirmation bias is the tendency to seek out and prefer information that supports our preexisting beliefs. As a result, we tend to ignore any information that contradicts those beliefs.

Every time I did take a risk, I was rewarded with the negative outcome. I’d make a joke about it, like, “Here we go again, typical me, right?” I was looking for evidence that I indeed shouldn’t take risks, that they weren’t good for me. Even if I did get the outcome I wanted, I didn’t really register it that much. Because the stones of the positive outcome just weighed less heavily in my mind. I kept reinforcing my own belief that taking risks was unsafe for me.

The Scale for My Scarcity Mindset

Each belief is a scale and whatever side has the most rocks on it that’s the what we believe. What we believe is our reality. When we experience something or think of something we stack a rock on a particular set of scales, either positive or negative.

Reprogramming my limiting belief around scarcity

It doesn’t matter what is true, only what you believe is true. Because with work, that will become true. - Sam Ovens

I think one of the most powerful insights I have learned is that what one thinks is what one thinks about. My thoughts create this mental feedback loop that can build me up into the best version of myself, or break me down bit by bit. Then I create my own beliefs, which I confirm time and time again through my confirmation bias. Essentially keeping myself stuck in a reality I don’t want to be in.

So if I think I do not earn enough money, am not working hard enough, or am not lucky or appreciated enough, I am essentially building my own prison, brick by brick.

Core beliefs cycle:

For me, this means changing my beliefs around scarcity. I am in the middle of this process. I am not saying I have all the answers yet. But what has helped immensely, is the following:

Step 1: Reinforcing my identity as a successful entrepreneur, for whom abundance and luck just flow naturally.

I am using neuroscience and somatic-based manifestation meditations to really try to embody this lucky-girl identity. This honestly feels amazing in the moment and in the hours afterwards. But the effects are temporary. So even though I do this almost daily, I still need to collect proof to reinforce this belief.

Step 2: Taking action with this new set of beliefs.

For me, this means taking risks that will confirm this new entrepreneurial identity. In my work, I started doing discovery calls and selling my own coaching programmes. I took the lead in a development project to contradict my belief that I was still a newbie vibe-coder. I tried posting “interesting” and polished posts on LinkedIn, but this felt so inauthentic to me that it only reinforced my imposter syndrome. Now, I am writing these Substacks to reinforce the belief in my own authority. To prove that I already have something valuable to add.

Step 3: Experiencing the feedback.

I hoped that these actions would immediately result in proof that I was ready now. That I would receive a standing ovation right away. But let me be honest with you that this process wasn’t so glamorous. I fucked up my first sales call. I launched a project for an important client and presented the work with all the confidence in the world. Despite the fact that I did my best, I didn’t get much of a response. I shared my Substack posts with others, hoping to immediately get the validation I was looking for, but discovered that nobody really cares as much as I do.

Step 4: Changing my thoughts and beliefs.

I think the biggest thing I learned in this process is that the action itself does not really matter. What matters is how you handle the feedback. Before, I would have treated this feedback as evidence that I am not there yet and need to be more impressive next time. To learn more, prepare more, fix more.

But now I see the actions for what they are: data points that can be reframed as learning opportunities. And no: it’s not as if I always see it like that in the moment. As it does not come naturally to me yet, it takes time to reframe and process this.

So eventually I felt amazing after finishing my first sales call, proving to myself that I could take a risk. I was hyped that I didn’t stumble over my words during the client presentation, stacking a rock on the scale that says I am good at public speaking. I was proud that I shared my work with others, proving that I can be open and vulnerable. And that the world would not end if it wasn’t groundbreaking to them.

So I guess the belief I am learning is not that I am some sort of expert who has it all figured out. For whom everything just falls into place immediately. I have learned to belief that I have it in me to deal with the consequences of failing. To let myself make mistakes. To be able to deal with uncertainty. To shift to a voice of possibility.

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"As an introverted, sensitive, self-aware and socially perceptive person, almost every interaction feels like a performance.”

This is the start of a letter I wrote a year ago, about how social interactions felt for me. I didn't understand why it felt so exhausting. Why I felt I needed to play a role all the time. This led me to having an identity crisis.

From identity crisis to showing up as myself

I wrote this letter a year ago. It breaks my heart a little while reading it right now, because I have come such a long way since then. From realising I was ‘masking’, to discovering who I am without them, to actively putting down the masks.

Masking is the conscious or subconscious act of concealing one's true personality, neurodivergent traits, or emotions behind a social "mask" to fit in, avoid judgment, or feel safe.

How I realised I wore masks, and why

For as long as I can remember, I struggled with ‘unknown’ social interactions. I avoided going at all, or when I did, I rehearsed conversations upfront, controlled my facial expressions, forced eye contact, hid my confusion, and constantly monitored myself.

But at this moment in my life, there was more going on. I wasn’t doing very well. I remember feeling torn between the ‘party-mode, corporate’ identity and the ‘health-fanatic, entrepreneurial’ identity in my friend group back home. And I felt like I needed to switch between those two the entire time, which felt really exhausting. I couldn’t keep up with it anymore. I felt like I could not be both at the same time, that I needed to pick. Like I was betraying myself in both groups.

At one point I became stuck in an identity crisis. I no longer knew who I was or what I found important. I started doubting my job, my life, my friends, my hobbies and even my opinions. This was the time I quit my job, and started a journey of self-discovery to find out why I was struggling so much.

Collecting the labels

I always wondered whether I was just autistic, or whether it was something different. So I did the tests, but I never fully fit into the mold of that label. Weirdly, I was kind of disappointed by that. Because my partner was diagnosed with ADHD a year before that, and I saw how much peace having a ‘diagnosis’ gave him. The confirmation that he wasn’t crazy, that there were others like him.

So I did a lot of personality tests, meditation and inner work. But what was most powerful was combining all those insights, putting them into AI and letting it ask me questions and then ‘diagnose’ me. And then it came back with this:

Social anxiety disorder with strong masking/high self-monitoring, perfectionistic self-criticism, and possible avoidant or autistic features.

Although I don’t agree with holding onto labels as permission or an excuse, it was very powerful for me in the beginning to validate my feelings. It’s not a diagnosis I cling to, but at least I had some concepts to dig into now.

Discovering who I am without the masks

Doing god-knows-what kind of holistic, spiritual, and even psychedelic practices, I discovered where this anxiety might have originated. I learned how my introversion, sensitivity, self-awareness and childhood experiences had created a fear of rejection. And I learned to cope, by wearing masks.

Back in my childhood I had tough friendships, always a bit competitive, and there was always someone who was the scapegoat of the day. Unfortunately, I have been in that position many times. So I learned that by performing in the way the group wanted me to behave, I would fit in and would not be left out. It was an unconscious coping mechanism I never stopped using in my adult life, even though it no longer served me.

To finally have answers was such a big relief. It felt like I was finally seen, and had gotten to the root. Now I could work on healing it.

Putting down the masks

Slowly, I have been opening up to people around me and telling them about this. None of them really understood immediately, other than that it would seem very exhausting to them. They wondered whether it was also the case around them, because they never noticed it. And they were surprised that, even in small amounts, I masked around them as well.

Even my partner of 10 years felt like he had never fully seen all of me. Because I was never really 100% comfortable. Like I needed to adjust myself to stay safe. For example: even with him, I wasn’t comfortable singing out loud when music was playing.

I knew then that the only way to overcome this was to do the uncomfortable things. So I made a decision to drop the masks. That meant being honest about what I want and how I feel. Learning to stay silent when an awkward silence falls. Not adjusting myself for anyone. Not shying away from questions. Taking up space to tell something personal about myself. Going to social gatherings without alcohol. Posting online about my personal life. Letting the freak flag fly.

The lessons

Here’s what I’ve learned in this experiment:

1. Not all adaptations are masking. I can still laugh at a co-worker’s joke or say hello to strangers as a form of social participation. It only becomes masking when I’m shrinking or reshaping myself to be accepted.

2. Being honest about my needs is such a relief. Saying out loud that I’m nervous about going to a party alone, or that ‘How are you?’ gives me sweaty palms, means I don’t have to perform anymore. It’s freeing.

3. Showing people my ‘weaknesses’ brings more warmth back than I expected. That softens my anxiety and, ironically, makes me handle the situation better.

4. I’m allowed to take time to gather my thoughts. There’s no stopwatch running.

5. When I hold back what I want to say, the tension settles in my body. I need to let it out, or I’ll stay on edge the whole night.

6. Talking about what genuinely lights me up changes everything. When I take up space for the things I care about, the right people gravitate toward me, and conversations flow on their own.

7. I’ll still be awkward sometimes, but I care less now. I’ve stopped trying to prevent it and started letting it be. And honestly, it can be funny.

8. The way I talk to myself afterwards is everything. I’ve swapped my inner critic for a cheerleader that shouts ‘You go girl!‘ and ‘Let the freak flag fly!‘. It feels silly, and it really works.

9. Pushing through resistance to show up helps me. Overstaying doesn’t. I face the fear by going, but try not to drain my battery for an occasion that isn’t serving me.

10. Almost nobody asks questions. Once I stopped asking so many and stopped carrying the weight of every conversation, I noticed pretty quickly who actually reached back, and who didn’t.

11. If I need alcohol to enjoy someone’s company, they’re not really my friend. Connecting deeply while sober felt like learning to ride a bike all over again, but the quality of my friendships now is a different league.

12. Some friendships will end, either by my hand or theirs. Some people won’t understand or like this new version of me. And that’s okay.

All in all, what I’ve learned is that I need to be my own friend first. And to ‘let my freak flag fly‘. No longer holding back the stupid questions I have, the perspectives that live in my head, the laugh that wants to come out at something stupid.

Because holding back didn’t just cost me a laugh or a question. It cost me myself. Now I’m finally finding my own authentic expression. What feels natural for me. What I light up talking about. And I’ve realised something: every person carries a completely unique lens, shaped by a life nobody else has lived.

That isn’t something to hide to fit in. It’s the whole point. So this is me, planting my flag. 🚩

I have felt haunted and held back by fear my entire life. Afraid to let go of control and take risks. I tried to prevent every possible bad outcome from happening to me. Basically, I was trying to control life instead of living it. But what am I really afraid will happen if I let go?

• I am afraid that if I stop working hard, I will never achieve big things, I will be less respected, and I will never feel truly seen or valued by others.

• I am afraid that if I stop working out and controlling my food intake so obsessively, I will gain weight, get less attention, be rejected, and hate myself.

• I am afraid that if I put the unfiltered, imperfect version of myself out there, people will judge me for it, I will not fit in, and I will feel lonely.

• I am afraid that if I stop working on myself so rigorously through meditating, journaling, and trying every self-development hack out there, I will never feel like I am enough.

• I am afraid that if I start posting about the things I struggle with, nobody will care and nobody will get value from it.

To surrender or to keep fighting

So then I sat face-to-face with my demons and wondered: if all of these fears became reality right now, what would I do? Then I realised that I am already living those fears. I already do not feel seen or valued. I do not feel like I am enough, and I am already lonely.

So my worst-case scenario is already my reality.

And weirdly, that brought me peace of mind. I felt like I could stop fighting the demons. Because if I am already at rock bottom, I have nothing left to lose. And I guess that is where freedom begins.

So now I am experimenting with what surrendering means for me in practice. To lean into what feels uncomfortable. To take a day off and do nothing productive, even if everything inside me screams to do something useful. To skip the gym and not control my food intake, even though it makes me feel like I will gain 10 kg overnight. To start my own blog without using AI or even a spell-checker. To let myself be seen in the imperfect process of figuring it out myself.

People will probably talk. Not everyone will see its value. But if I can help even one person by sharing my struggles, that will already be enough.

All the love,

Anouk
The Life Lab