The Only Time I Set the Bar Low

I recently walked into the break room at work and saw a quote:

“The only time I set the bar low is when I’m playing limbo.”

I did not write the quote, and I do not know who originally said it. But when I read it, something in me stopped.

At first, I thought it was funny. Then it started pulling memories out of places I had not planned to visit during my workday.

I remembered being a student and having other kids call me “smarty-pants.” I remembered wanting so badly to fit in that I would purposely miss questions just to get a lower score.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but it is true.

I knew the answer. I simply did not want everyone else to know that I knew it.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that being intelligent could make people uncomfortable. I learned that standing out could cost me acceptance. So, I started lowering the bar.

Years later, I discovered that my mother had done the same thing when she was younger. That realization made me wonder how many women have learned to shrink themselves before they even had the language to understand what they were doing.

For me, it did not end in childhood. It continued through college and followed me into adulthood.

It showed up in the way I responded to compliments.

Someone could tell me, “You’re pretty,” and instead of simply saying thank you, I would immediately point out the scars on my face. I would tell them how terrible I looked without makeup.

Someone could compliment my outfit, and suddenly I would become a forensic investigator searching for evidence that they were wrong.

“This is so old.”

“It was on sale.”

“There is a tiny hole right here.”

Never mind that the hole was microscopic and invisible to everyone except me. I needed to point it out.

I could not just receive something kind. I had to reject the compliment before anyone could mistake my confidence for conceit.

My daughters cannot stand when I do this.

“Mom, accept the compliment.”

“Just take the compliment!”

They are right.

I have been working on it, but I still have a long way to go. Here I am in my early forties, still learning how to say “thank you” without attaching a list of disclaimers.

But the more I thought about that quote in the break room, the more I realized this pattern went much deeper than missed test questions and rejected compliments.

I lowered the bar in relationships too.

I settled in dating. I settled in marriage. I accepted behavior that should have immediately disqualified someone from having access to me.

If I am being completely honest, part of me believed that choosing the person other people might overlook proved I was a good person. I thought it showed that I was humble, compassionate, loyal, and not superficial.

I did not want anyone to think I believed I was too good for someone.

So, instead, I repeatedly chose people who were not good for me.

There is an important difference.

This is not about money, appearance, education, social status, or popularity. Those things do not determine a person’s worth. This is about character. It is about emotional safety, respect, compatibility, responsibility, and how someone treats the person they claim to love.

I overlooked things that mattered because I was so determined not to look stuck-up.

I ignored warning signs because I wanted to appear understanding.

I accepted less and called it humility.

I endured too much and called it loyalty.

I abandoned my own needs and called it love.

I lowered the bar and called it compassion.

That version of goodness came at an enormous cost.

Lowering my standards did not make unhealthy people healthier. It did not inspire someone to treat me better. It did not protect me from painful dating experiences or an awful marriage.

It only gave people access to me that they had not earned.

Looking back, I realize I spent a large part of my life trying to prove that I was human.

I thought I needed to point out my flaws before someone else did. I thought I needed to make myself smaller so people would feel comfortable around me. I thought I needed to choose less for myself so no one could accuse me of thinking I deserved more.

But I am human whether I miss the question or answer it correctly.

I am human whether I reject the compliment or simply say thank you.

I am human whether I accept whatever someone offers me or require honesty, respect, consistency, and emotional safety.

Having standards does not make me conceited.

Acknowledging my intelligence does not make me arrogant.

Knowing that I am beautiful does not mean I believe no one else is.

Carrying myself with confidence does not mean I think I am better than anyone.

And refusing to accept mistreatment does not make me a bad person.

There is a difference between believing I am better than everyone else and refusing to keep pretending I am less than who I am.

My mother once made herself smaller. I watched her.

My daughters have watched me do the same thing.

But now, when they tell me to accept the compliment, I hear something bigger in their words. I hear an opportunity to stop passing this pattern from one generation to the next.

I want my daughters to know that humility does not require self-rejection. Kindness does not require self-abandonment. Love does not require suffering. And having standards does not make a woman difficult, selfish, or stuck-up.

I am still learning this for myself.

I am learning to say thank you without explaining why the compliment is wrong.

I am learning to answer the question when I know the answer.

I am learning that I do not have to date someone’s potential to prove that I have a good heart.

I am learning that I can be compassionate without sacrificing myself.

Most importantly, I am learning that the bar was never supposed to be lying on the ground.

So yes, I saw a quote in the break room and laughed.

Then I realized I had spent much of my life doing the exact opposite of what it said.

Not anymore.

The only time I set the bar low is when I’m playing limbo.

With unapologetic standards,
Just Catrina.