When Potential turns into Pressure

Something that has been on my mind recently is potential.

When we see a young person make art or get good grades in school, we say they have potential. When someone does something wrong or disappointing, we say they had so much potential. The dictionary defines potential as: existing in possibility; capable of development into actuality.

I define it as poison.

Not the word itself, necessarily — the word is fine. What I mean is the connotations attached to it, and the way people often use it.

“You could do so much better! You’re not taking full advantage of your potential!”

“Oh, this is wonderful! You have the potential to be a great artist someday!”

There is already an obvious difference in tone. But what many people don’t realize is that both phrases can carry the power to guilt or shame someone.

One person might hear the second phrase and think:

“Oh wow! I’m so inspired! I’m going to be a great artist someday!”

Another person could hear the exact same words and think:

“Oh… so I’m not a great artist now. I’m only going to be a great artist someday… and I don’t even know when that someday is.”

To be clear, we are not 100% responsible for how someone receives our words. Even genuinely kind words can be misunderstood. But this is where platitudes become a problem.

A platitude is a stale, overused remark — something we say automatically because it sounds encouraging. And constant talk about “potential,” without helping someone set realistic goals or offering meaningful support, can do real damage.

It can contribute to a moving-goalpost mindset: you achieve one thing, and before you can even enjoy it, the goalpost moves again. That’s why clarity matters so much, especially when we use encouraging phrases. And to be clear: I’m saying this can be a contributing factor, not the only source. Another phrase I heard often growing up was:

“You can always do better than your best.”

Was it well-intentioned? Yes. Was it helpful? No. Of course, people improve with practice. That part is obvious. What many people meant was probably something like:

“I want to encourage you to keep practicing this skill, because I know you enjoy it and can do a lot with it.”

But what I heard was:

“Your best isn’t good enough. Your best will never be good enough. Your effort doesn’t matter, because it will never be enough.”

That is a very different message. So, to avoid confusion — and sometimes spiraling — I wish more people would add this question to their vocabulary:

“What do you think I mean when I say that?”

That one question creates room for clarity, instead of assumption.

And the reason I’m coming out swinging at this particular platitude — even though it can sometimes have good effects — is because I’m older now, and I can see glimpses of the potential I have.

I am capable of a lot. But I am also crushed by reality.

There are financial, emotional, and time constraints. For example, if you want to develop a new hobby or skill you can try teaching yourself and hope for the best or pay someone to teach you and spend money on supplies you may not be able to afford.

Working a full-time job? Good luck fitting growth into the few hours after work while battling fatigue, household chores, and basic life maintenance. And weekends? A good chunk of those disappears into cleaning, errands, church, serving, and trying to have some kind of social life.

Let’s say you do have the money and somehow build a schedule that works. Seemingly perfect, right? Wrong. Burnout happens. You’re already drained from your full-time job, and now the thought of building a new skill — especially in something competitive like art — can feel overwhelming enough to make you want to give up before you even begin. So, when you’re low on training, money, energy, and rest — and the job market is slim — “potential” can stop sounding like encouragement.

It can sound like a taunt.

Like a spotlight on everything you could be, while ignoring everything you are carrying.

And that is why, for some people, “potential” doesn’t feel inspiring. It feels painful.

Maybe the better question is not, “What’s your potential?”

Maybe the better questions are:

• What is realistic for you right now?

• What support would actually help you grow?

• How can we honor effort, not just outcomes?

Because people do not grow best under shame. They grow best when they are seen clearly, encouraged honestly, and given room to be human.

I hope and pray God provides relief and opens doors soon, because I have seen myself light up. I have felt passion. I have caught glimpses of the version of me who is driven, alive, and deeply engaged in what she does — even if the work itself is not perfect.

I know I am meant for more, and I think that is part of why the grief feels so heavy.

So, for now, I am watching. I am waiting. I am trying to do the next right thing while I bide my time and trust God with the timing of my life.