Last semester, as I sat in his office while my professor read my paper, I felt very nervous. It had been twenty years since I last stepped into school after finishing my master’s degree, and I felt rusty, untested.
The paper was about the Caregiver archetype and how this archetype shows up in the workplace. I planned thoroughly to get the study done within the time limits of the subject. Part of that planning was thinking many steps ahead because I wanted to use it as scaffolding for my dissertation.
The professor said that I wrote a very good paper and that it deserved to be published in a Scopus-indexed journal. For those unfamiliar, Scopus is a global database that indexes high-quality, peer-reviewed research publications. Being included in it means a journal meets rigorous academic and ethical standards, which is why publication there is considered prestigious.
It felt very flattering that he considered my work worthy of journals that are so prestigious. Despite this, when I got home, I applied to journals that were not peer-reviewed because I felt it would be easier—and inwardly, I did not think I deserved the accolade. Here comes my low self-esteem.
In the therapy room, with me as the therapist, I often remark on how people put themselves down—worthy people, people with good abilities and skills. People just like me. I guess I was looking into a mirror. Why is it that I cannot quite believe that my first effort at writing this research paper is up to par?
If I were my own client, I would apply a core principle in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy: people tend to overestimate threats and underestimate their strengths or resources.
I saw that I was overestimating the barriers to publication and underestimating my own competence and preparation.
The facts: I have been preparing to write a paper like this for years. When I was a freelance writer trying to find my way, I worked for three years as an academic writer. I helped write dissertations for Singapore universities, for goodness’ sake. And this was before AI stepped into the scene. I learned how to do everything scholarly-paper-wise by hand.
True, last semester was my first time back in school after a long hiatus. Conscious of that, I upped my game by studying recent trends. I learned how to use Zotero and Research Rabbit. In short, I was keeping abreast of developments and furthering my talent.
Still, the self-doubt persisted. Even so, I applied to two Scopus-indexed journals my professor recommended. It was, after all, a course requirement to be published in a respectable academic journal.
Months later… I did not get a reply. Walang nangyari, mga bes.
However, I noted that what I got was radio silence, not rejection. The emails indicated that they had acknowledged my submission; the journal editors just did nothing about it afterward. I was left in ambiguity.
Anxious clients often interpret ambiguity as the worst-case scenario. But I noticed that I was not thinking too negatively.
When I submitted, I already had a hunch that I would not get a reply. The hunch was not because my paper was no good. Unpaid publications, especially those attached to schools, tend to move slowly. Volunteers run them. Paid ones are faster. That is something I learned from my time in the publishing world.
Because at that moment, I remembered: I am not just a psychologist. I am also a published author. I do know a thing or two about the literary sector. My intuition was guiding me right.
In the end, I had to resort to a paid publishing house, duly approved by my professor, to have my paper published. Sakit sa bulsa, but such is the price of getting things done. The publication was local, but reputable enough, and it made my article accessible to others.
One unexpected benefit was getting an ORCID ID. I am now searchable as a researcher. I am planning to build this further through Google Scholar.
Since my paper was, as my professor said, good enough for a Scopus-level journal, I received a 1.0, a perfect grade for the course.
But something else happened.
I got bitten by the publishing bug again. Getting that paper published, even through a paid route, made me want to disseminate more of my research work. I find myself willing to invest in publication, even when it is no longer required—this time on my own initiative.
It reminds me of my original plan. Everything I write in graduate school, I now treat as scaffolding for my dissertation, which I am already plotting. All the requirements I complete are aligned toward a central theme, Jungian in orientation. It is slowly taking shape. I can sense it now, as I move from one semester to the next.
Looking back, I can see that my hesitation to put myself forward to more prestigious journals had something to do with insecurities about my innate abilities. And those insecurities were rooted much earlier—in a childhood shaped by conditional love.
Just yesterday, I had a client who is newly in college. Her parents, of course, love her, but they show their affection when she gets good grades, dresses a certain way, or demonstrates a “good girl” attitude. Every time she meets the goal, the goalpost shifts. This is what I mean by conditional love. It sets a person up to feel, like me, that whatever we do is not enough.
As she shared her story, I wanted to hug both her and my teenage self at the same time. I wanted to say, “No, they are wrong. You are good enough. You are good as you are. You are loved. You are safe.”
I sometimes wonder: if I had heard those words more often growing up, would I be living differently now? Perhaps. And perhaps what my client needs—and what I needed then—is the steady experience of being accepted without constantly having to earn it.
I see that pattern in myself. And I also see what we both need in order to move forward: a shift from proving our worth to allowing it.
What I am trying to do now is to integrate a different internal stance. One that accepts myself warts and all. One that says, “Melany, you’re born OK.” Not perfect, not exceptional all the time, but real, attuned, and living in the present moment.
This kind of thinking allows me to take up space in the academic world without immediately disqualifying myself.
The paper, the publication, the grade—these are external markers. But the real work is internal, isn’t it? As the maxim goes: as above, so below. Be at peace with yourself, that then radiates.
Link to published paper: https://www.pinagpalapublishing.com/publications/world-education-connect-multidisciplinary-e-publication/wec-2026-issues/wec-vol-vi-issue-ii-february-2026
