成功永不足够

read the email over and over. The rejection from the high-impact journal didn’t just feel like a professional setback; it was a personal indictment. Sitting in my darkened office, the familiar, cold knot of inadequacy tightened in my chest. To my colleagues, I was the highly competitive Ph.D. student who aimed for perfection. But in the glow of the screen, I wasn’t a scientist reviewing peer feedback. I was a child again, desperately striving for an accolade that could heal a hidden wound. The home I grew up in felt precarious because my father suf- fered from alcohol use disorder. I learned to read the air before I could read a textbook. …