It’s that time of the year again.
The time when we all pause… not because work slows down (it never really does), but because we’re asked to account for the year we’ve just lived through professionally. Full-year appraisal. KPI season.
We work the whole year trying to hit targets. Some of them clear and measurable: numbers, timelines, deliverables. The classic corporate stuff. Business targets tied to whatever portfolio we carry. These are the easier ones, oddly enough. You hit them, the results speak for themselves. You miss them… well, #iykyk. Ratings 1 or 2 don’t need much explanation.
Then comes the other part. The softer part. The one that doesn’t come with spreadsheets or neat charts. Competencies. Behaviours. Culture. Leadership. Collaboration. All those things that matter deeply, but are incredibly hard to measure.
And this is where it gets complicated.
So, the process asks us to rate ourselves first. And that alone is enough to trigger an internal debate.
How do we rate ourselves?
Do we rate based on how hard we worked?
Based on the output we delivered?
Based on the intention behind our actions?
Is rating a 3 too low?
Is rating a 4 or 5 too high?
Are we underselling ourselves? Or overselling?
So, we sit there, staring at the screen, reflecting. We try to be “fair.” We tell ourselves we should be honest. We choose what feels like the most sensible rating. But are we really being truthful, or are we subconsciously protecting ourselves? Or maybe punishing ourselves?
Then everything gets tabulated. Business targets. Competencies. Final score.
And let’s say the number that comes back is… 3.
The first reaction often isn’t relief. It’s not gratitude. It’s that quiet, internal voice: “Dapat 3 je?”
Not from anyone else. From ourselves.
Why does a 3 feel like it’s not enough?
Why do we immediately wonder if we should’ve gotten a 4? Or even a 5?
Why does meeting expectations sometimes feel like failing them?
Somewhere along the years of working, something shifted. A 3, which literally means meeting expectations – started to feel mediocre. Almost like a disappointment.
And we rarely stop to ask ourselves: since when did meeting expectations become something to be ashamed of?
Working in a corporate environment is tough.
Year-end appraisals often zoom in on what we didn’t achieve rather than what we did. Gaps over gains. Shortfalls over effort.
And then comes the bell curve. The unspoken limiter. Only so many 4s. Only so many 5s. Quotas that exist regardless of how hard everyone worked. So, we adjust, recalibrate, revise ratings in the system. And somewhere in that process, frustration creeps in.
The question is: how far do we let that frustration go?
Do we carry it home?
Do we let it define our worth?
Do we replay the “what ifs” over and over again?
Is the final KPI number a true reflection of how well we’ve done?
Or is it just one snapshot, taken through a system, shaped by structure, timing, and constraints?
Should we really spend that much emotional energy questioning ourselves over a single digit? Wondering why it wasn’t higher. Wondering if we weren’t good enough.
And is there even a right way to emotionally react to all of this?
Maybe the healthiest thing we can do is this:
Acknowledge the feelings… the disappointment, the frustration, the self-doubt, BUT don’t let them consume us.
A KPI score is data. Not identity.
It’s feedback. Not a verdict on our value.
We can learn from it. We can grow from it. But we don’t have to let it define who we are or erase the effort we put in all year.
Because at the end of the day, we are more than our KPIs.
More than a number.
More than a rating on a bell curve.
And maybe, just maybe, meeting expectations in a tough year, in a demanding corporate world, is not a failure at all.
Maybe it’s proof that we showed up. And sometimes, that counts for more than we give ourselves credit for.
Written by A.
Balancing duty in public service and care at home, she writes from the heart of both worlds.