Sixty-eight percent of our audience says they feel pressure to leave a lasting legacy. I’ve been there.
I’ve always been drawn to careers centered on service to the community. That’s a huge reason I pursued journalism when I was younger. Memorably, in my first internship interview, my soon-to-be editor asked what I wanted to write about, and I said “people” with zero explanation. My path was that straightforward to me even at 21 years old. I wanted to amplify the stories of everyday people, their lives, and what they care about. (It should come as no surprise that I ended up here at InHerSight. Gender equity is about as people-and-service-oriented as it gets.)
I used to tell myself that, no matter the size of my audience, if I could reach one person every day, then I would be satisfied. My legacy would be making people feel validated, seen, heard, and less alone in a society that often does the opposite.
I have no qualms in saying that this is a good and admirable legacy, and one I’m proud of. Yet even meaningful narratives need to be rewritten sometimes, and I think the tell that a narrative needs adjusting is in that constant pressure that many of you say you’re feeling.
I have no idea what you’re pursuing. But for me, in service- and mission-driven work, what I’ve found is that the pursuit of a legacy can be lonely—and often lacks the reciprocity my brain and heart need to feel at peace. In any dynamic where you give and give and give—or build and build and build—the fruits of your labor often don’t appear until much further down the line, so things like fulfillment and recognition, which are actually integral to motivation and comfort, are delayed. And in sensing something is missing, we achievers feel the need to chase that missing element.
In my line of work, the gender pay gap draws a great parallel. What I do directly aligns with eliminating that gap, but I will never, or am at least unlikely to, see the full extent of my contributions because it is not projected to close for more than 130 years. I’m a drop in a stream that’s slowly eroding a giant boulder, and that’s both good (obviously) and not enough for present me to feel satisfied. The emotional nuance is maddening. One day, I feel proud and lit up because I know women are getting better jobs, negotiating raises, and seeing barriers dismantled because of my work. The next, I’m wondering if anything I do matters at all—if this week’s work is just another drop no one noticed.
Maybe your legacy isn’t tied to service work. Maybe it’s starting a business, or building something no one in your family ever has, or simply showing up in a way your younger self never thought possible. Still, the ache for acknowledgement remains.
My personal solution to this discrepancy has often been haphazard, but these days, it mostly revolves around ensuring I have positive feedback channels in my work and life. That means cultivating relationships with people who offer care and gratitude freely, who see me and my contributions, and want to either build alongside me or cheer loudly. Even as someone who wanted a career in service, I refuse to shout into a void. I’m curating a community that calls back.
That’s hard. Many of us, especially women, feel so much shame in desiring external validation in pursuit of our goals. We’re expected to self-care our way to a baseline that’s self-assured, secure, and humble.
But when I reflect on the reason I began writing (“people,” as you remember) then I can see I understood something important early on: such acknowledgment is a fundamental aspect of humanity, so much so that I believed people deserved it inherently.
Am I not human, too, to need it in return—to want someone to witness the legacy I’m still quietly shaping?
Here are a few questions to consider as you reflect on the support you need as you build your own legacy:
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Who are the people in your life who genuinely "call back"—and how can you lean into those connections more?
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What kinds of acknowledgment or support make you feel most seen? Are you getting enough of that?
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When was the last time you offered someone else the kind of validation you crave? What did that feel like?
