I’m 37 years old, and I still feel a little thrill when someone tells me I did a good job.
Not just professional accomplishments. Everything. Someone compliments my outfit, and I’m riding that high for hours. My partner says dinner was good, and I feel validated. A friend likes my Instagram post, and some small part of me relaxes.
And it’s exhausting. Because I’m constantly checking. Constantly scanning for signs that I’m doing okay, that people approve, that I’m good enough.
For years, I thought this was just my personality. That I was naturally people-pleasing. That I just cared a lot about what others thought.
But then I started therapy. And my therapist asked a simple question: “When did you learn that other people’s approval determined your worth?”
And I didn’t have an answer. Because I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t believe that.
People who constantly seek approval aren’t born that way. We’re made that way. By childhoods where love felt conditional. Where approval had to be earned. Where our worth was always up for debate.
If you’re constantly seeking approval from others, these truths about your childhood will help you understand why—and maybe, finally, help you break free.
1. Love Felt Conditional, Not Guaranteed
In healthy childhoods, love is a given. Kids know they’re loved just because they exist. Not because they’re good, or obedient, or successful. Just because they’re theirs.
But that’s not what you experienced. In your house, love felt conditional. It was there when you performed well. When you made your parents proud. When you didn’t cause problems.
But when you messed up? When you disappointed them? When you weren’t meeting expectations? The love felt uncertain. Withdrawn. Like something you had to earn back.
I remember getting a B on a test in fifth grade. My dad didn’t yell. He just got quiet. Stopped talking to me for the rest of the night. And I felt it—that withdrawal. That sense that I’d lost something I had to work to get back.
So you learned: love isn’t something you just have. It’s something you have to work for. Every day. With everyone.
And that belief followed you into adulthood. Where you’re still working for love you should be able to take for granted.
2. Praise Was Rare, So You Became Addicted To It
Some kids grow up with constant affirmation. “I’m proud of you.” “You’re doing great.” “I love who you are.”
But you didn’t. Praise was rare. Reserved for major accomplishments. Big wins. Perfect performance.
When you did get it, it felt like everything. Like proof that you mattered. That you were valuable. That you were enough.
Research on reinforcement patterns shows that intermittent positive feedback creates stronger behavioral conditioning than consistent praise, making rare approval highly addictive and motivating excessive approval-seeking behaviors.
And now, as an adult, you’re chasing that feeling. That moment when someone notices you. Validates you. Tells you you’re doing well.
Because you learned that’s the only time you matter. When someone else says so.
3. Your Emotions Were Dismissed
You were upset about something. Hurt. Angry. Sad.
And instead of being comforted, you were told you were overreacting. Being too sensitive. Making a big deal out of nothing.
Your feelings were dismissed. Minimized. Treated as inconvenient or invalid.
The message was clear: your emotions don’t matter. What matters is how other people feel. And it’s your job to manage their feelings, not burden them with yours.
Studies on emotional invalidation in childhood found that adults who experienced chronic dismissal of their emotions demonstrate significantly higher people-pleasing behaviors and a lower ability to advocate for their own needs in relationships.
And now you’re constantly monitoring other people’s emotions. Making sure they’re okay. Making sure they’re not upset with you.
I can’t express frustration without immediately apologizing. Without checking: “Are we okay? You’re not mad, right?” Because someone else’s discomfort feels more urgent than my own feelings.
Because you were taught that your worth depends on keeping other people comfortable. Not on being honest about how you feel.
4. You Were Expected To Manage Your Parents’ Emotions
Your mom was upset, and somehow it became your job to make her feel better. Your dad was angry, and you had to tiptoe around it.
You learned to read their moods before they even walked in the door. And you adjusted yourself accordingly.
You had to be this way. Because their emotional state determined the safety of the house.
Research on parentification and emotional caretaking found that children who regularly manage parental emotions develop chronic approval-seeking as adults, using others’ emotional states as barometers for their own worth and safety.
I still do this. I can walk into a room and immediately scan everyone’s mood. It’s not a superpower. It’s hypervigilance from childhood.
And now you’re performing the same role in all your relationships. But it’s not your job to keep other people emotionally stable. Especially at the expense of yourself.
5. You Were Compared To Siblings Or Other Kids Constantly
“Why can’t you be more like your sister?” “Your brother never had this problem.” “Look at how well [other kid] is doing.”
You were constantly measured against other people. And you were always coming up short.
Meaning? You’re not good enough as you are. You need to be better. Different. More like whoever you’re being compared to.
Studies on social comparison in childhood show that children who experience frequent negative comparisons develop persistent self-monitoring behaviors and heightened sensitivity to peer performance as compensation for internalized inadequacy.
And that comparison became your internal voice. You’re constantly measuring yourself against others. Wondering if you’re as good as them. Seeking approval to confirm you’re keeping up. You had to be better than someone else to matter.
6. Your Boundaries Were Ignored
You said no. You wanted privacy. You didn’t want to hug someone. You didn’t want to share something.
And instead of that being respected, you were told you were being rude. Difficult. Disrespectful.
“Don’t be like that.” “You’re being selfish.” “After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t even do this?”
You noted: boundaries aren’t allowed. Saying no means you’re bad. Your body, your space, your preferences don’t belong to you.
And now you can’t set boundaries without feeling guilty. Without needing approval that it’s okay to have limits. Without apologizing for having needs that don’t align with what others want.
7. You Were Treated As An Extension Of Your Parent, Not A Separate Person
Your accomplishments weren’t about you. They were about how they made your parent look.
Your choices weren’t yours. They were reflections on the family. On your parent’s parenting. On their image.
“What will people think?” “You’re making me look bad.” “This reflects on our whole family.”
You clocked it then—you’re not a separate person with your own life. You’re a representation of your parent. And your job is to make them look good.
Research on enmeshment and identity development found that children who are treated as extensions of their parents rather than autonomous individuals develop chronic external validation needs and difficulty distinguishing their own desires from others’ expectations.
And now you can’t make decisions without thinking about how others will perceive them. You can’t pursue your own interests if they don’t align with what’s “respectable” or “appropriate.”
I changed careers at 30, and my first thought wasn’t “am I excited about this?” It was “Will people think this is a good move?” Because I never learned that your life belongs to you. That you’re allowed to make choices that don’t serve anyone else’s image or expectations.
8. Your Accomplishments Were Never Quite Good Enough
You got an A. “Why wasn’t it an A+?”
You made the team. “Are you starting or on the bench?”
You won an award. “Well, how many other people won?”
Nothing you did was ever quite enough. There was always a next level. A higher bar. A way you could have done better.
The message that was internalized was that you’re always falling short. No matter what you achieve, it’s not good enough. You have to keep proving yourself.
And now you can’t enjoy your successes. You’re immediately looking for the flaw. The way it could have been better. The approval you didn’t get.
I got promoted last year and spent the whole celebration dinner thinking about what I needed to do to get the next one. I couldn’t just be proud. Because I learned that achievement isn’t about feeling good—it’s about reaching the next impossible standard.
You’re not broken for seeking approval. You’re just doing what you were trained to do. You learned, as a child, that love had to be earned. That approval determined your worth. That your value was always conditional on how well you performed. And those lessons don’t just disappear when you grow up. They become the operating system you run on. The voice in your head.
But here’s the truth your childhood didn’t teach you: You don’t have to earn love. You don’t have to perform for approval. You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy. You just have to exist. And that’s enough. It was always enough. You just never got to learn that. So you’re learning it now.
