Don’t Do Your Best

It’s something we say all the time. “Just do your best.” We say it before competitions. Before exams. Before difficult conversations. Before someone steps onto the piste. It sounds positive. Supportive. Reassuring. But I’m beginning to think it might be the wrong message.

Don’t do your best. Do what is required.

There is an important difference. The problem with “my best”. When we say, “I did my best,” we can create an emotional attachment between who we are and what we did.

If I gave my best and I lost, what does that say about me? If I gave my best and my coach tells me it wasn’t what was required, how does that feel? If I gave my best to a piece of work and somebody criticises it, it can be difficult not to hear:

“Your best isn’t good enough.” Suddenly, feedback about the work feels like feedback about you. A fencing result becomes more than a fencing result. A mistake becomes more than a mistake. Criticism becomes personal. And that makes it much harder to learn, adapt and move forward. Your “best” isn't completely within your control.

There is another problem, your best is subjective. How you perform on any given day can be influenced by hundreds of things. Sleep. Nutrition. Confidence. Stress. Preparation. The opposition. Travel. Pressure. Relationships. Expectations. Things happening at school, work or home. You might walk away genuinely believing you gave everything you had that day.

But that doesn't necessarily mean you did what was required to achieve the outcome. And that distinction matters.

Do what is required

Changing the language doesn't mean lowering the standard. Quite the opposite. The work ethic stays exactly the same. Train hard, Prepare properly, Be disciplined, Turn up, Listen,

Fight.

Take responsibility. The difference is the mindset behind it.

Instead of asking:

“Did I do my best?”

Ask:

“Did I do what was required?”

That question is far more useful because it moves us away from judgement and towards analysis. If the answer is no, we don't need to attack ourselves. We identify what was missing and work on it. If the answer is yes and the result still didn't come, we can look objectively at what needs to change next time.

Either way, we learn.

On the piste

This is particularly powerful in sport.

Imagine you lose 15–12. If your mindset is: “I tried my absolute best and I still lost.” That can hurt deeply.

It can quickly become: Maybe I'm not good enough.

But what if the conversation changes?

What was required to win that fight?

Maybe you needed greater patience.

Maybe you needed to change your distance.

Maybe you needed to recognise what your opponent was doing earlier.

Maybe you needed better preparation.

Maybe you needed to commit to the tactical plan for longer.

Now we have something we can work with.

The result hasn't changed. But its relationship with your identity has.

You didn't lose because of who you are.

You lost a fencing match because, on that particular day, against that particular opponent, you didn't consistently produce what was required to win. That's information. And information is useful.

Feedback isn't personal

The same applies away from the piste. Someone can criticise your work without criticising you. A coach can challenge your performance without questioning your value as a person. A teacher can tell you something isn't good enough without saying you aren't good enough. A manager can ask you to redo something without rejecting you. When we separate ourselves from the output, feedback becomes much easier to receive. Instead of defending ourselves, we can become curious.

What was required?

What did I actually produce?

Where is the gap?

What do I need to do differently next time?

That is growth mindset in practice.

It's not just what you get, but who you become

At the Academy, we talk a lot about the idea that it's not just what you get, but who you become. Ironically, one of the best ways to protect that philosophy is to stop defining ourselves by every individual outcome.

You are not your last result.

You are not your last mistake.

You are not the piece of work somebody criticised.

You are the person capable of looking at what happened, understanding it, learning from it and going again.

That requires emotional awareness.

Feel. Think. Act.

Feel the disappointment. Don't pretend it doesn't exist.

Think about what actually happened rather than what the emotion is telling you happened. Then act on the information. So, don't do your best, Work incredibly hard, Care deeply, Prepare properly, Hold yourself to high standards, Commit fully to what you're doing. But don't make every outcome a judgement of your worth by attaching it to the idea of “my best.”

Instead, learn to ask a more powerful question:

What is required?

Then go and do it.

And if you don't manage it today, find out why, learn from it and come back better tomorrow.

Because sometimes the greatest sign of resilience isn't being able to say:

“I did my best.”

It's being able to say:

“That wasn't what was required. I understand why. Now I know what I need to do next.”