People say success changes you.
They say it like it's some kind of natural disaster. Like one day you're normal, and the next you're this… different version of yourself, standing on a stage with people clapping for someone you're not even sure you recognize.
They say success changes people.
But honestly? I don't think that's true.
Success doesn't change who you are. It just strips away the layers you used to cover yourself with. All those excuses. All that pretending. The quiet lies you told yourself—"I don't care," "It's not a big deal," "I'm fine with being average."
When you're at the bottom, you get to wear those like armor. They're comfortable. Easy. You can laugh things off and act like it doesn't matter when someone else wins.
But when you start winning… when people notice you… those layers fall off.
You can't pretend anymore.
And what's left isn't some new version of you. It's the same one that was always there—just louder, clearer, exposed.
