The Cost of Abandoning Myself to Belong

I had learned to outsource my sense of enoughness and call it connection.

I used to spend a lot of my life trying to prove myself. My internal compass had been conditioned to signal that if I didn’t do something to fix me, to make me more favorable, more lovable, I would remain lost.

It wasn’t always obvious. On the outside it probably looked like I just cared, or that I was driven, or doing my best. But underneath it, there was this constant pull to be seen a certain way. To be liked, respected, validated. To feel like I was enough because someone else reflected that back to me.

And because of that, I would bend. I would shape myself around other people’s paths, other people’s expectations, thinking that was the way to belong. If I could just get it right, then I would feel settled, secure, at home. And even when the validation came, it never really lasted. It faded quickly, and I would find myself reaching again.

So I started gathering pieces of other people as reference points. The way they lived, their resolve, their creativity, and how they moved through the world. I thought if I could collect enough of those pieces, I could stitch myself together into someone whole.

I didn’t realize at the time that the more I did this, the more my own instincts, opinions, and inner world were being silenced, numbed, and suppressed, ringing true to the signal of that internal compass.

This showed up a lot in my friendships.

I would find myself drawn to people I was really taken by. People who had something about them that I admired or even felt a little envious of. And without fully realizing it, connection would start to blur with something else. It felt like closeness, but underneath it I was trying to find a sense of home in them.

I would mirror them. I thought if I could understand the formula of who they were, I could emanate that and finally feel whole. At first, those connections felt strong. There was a sense of closeness that felt real. But over time, something would start to feel off. I would feel unfulfilled, agitated, or resentful, even though on paper the friendship looked good.

In hindsight, it makes sense. Those moments of tension were usually there when I started experimenting with showing up more as myself. It was as though my abandoned self was crawling out of her cave, seeing if the safety of this connection could hold her, only to find friction. Things would shift. The dynamic would change. The response wasn’t always what I hoped for. Sometimes it felt like distance, disconnection, or even rejection. And I would be left feeling hurt, confused, yet also relieved. This was strange because on one hand it would confirm the idea that I needed to try harder, rather than keep myself so hidden. But on the other hand, it would also create a sense of freedom, like I could breathe again.

Friendships built on me reflecting someone else, rather than being myself, tend to attract people who are looking for their own reflection. They are not always solid ground for real, mutual connection. And it wasn’t something I was doing on purpose. I truly didn’t realize it at the time. I just knew things ended in a kind of heartache I couldn’t fully explain.

This same pattern showed up as I started venturing into this deeper work, learning how to accept myself and bring my inner world out of that place of abandonment. So the reflection changed slowly in this friendship that had already been established a few years before. And as it changed, I could feel the tension more clearly.

This time, I could actually track what was happening. There was more awareness, more clarity. I could see how at the beginning I had been enamored, wanting to mirror this person in my own life. And it made sense that as I started to honor my own reflection, the connection didn’t survive in the same way. It was built on different rules, and I was changing the rules.

The devastation was real, but the learnings were necessary. It helped me see the pattern more clearly and continue the work of self-acceptance.

Over time, as I continued to stay with what was unfolding in me, something started to shift. Not all at once, and not because I figured everything out. It came from making small choices that felt honest. Choosing what felt right for me instead of what would be understood or approved of. Letting myself follow my own timing and direction, even when it felt uncomfortable.

I started to build trust with myself in a way I never had before. And along with that came something even more important. I started to validate myself. My choices. My path. My story. I started to stay present with my mistakes instead of turning away from them. To take accountability without losing my sense of worth. To hold my pain and my process with more understanding instead of judgment. And as I did that, the need for external validation started to lose its grip. It didn’t feel as urgent. It didn’t feel as necessary. And I started to notice connections form that felt more grounded, safe, and honoring.

It takes courage to walk this out. To let go of those old patterns that once felt like survival. To stop searching for yourself in other people and begin to accept your own story, your own path. That middle space can feel scary and disorienting. There is a real sense of losing the anchors you once relied on, and learning to trust yourself instead. But it is also the only way to that deeper feeling of being whole. To a kind of fulfillment that doesn’t come and go. To a sense of belonging that starts within you.

To belong to yourself first, before anyone or anything else.

The joy and depth this journey has brought me is hard to fully explain, but it feels like a genuine sense of pride. Not in a performative way, just a steady feeling of being good with who I am and how I move through my life.

I feel at home in myself now. I feel warmth toward my decisions, even the ones that lead to hard moments. I feel connected to my life in a way that I didn’t before. I don’t feel like I have anything to prove anymore. I just really love my life. And I think a big part of that is that I finally love the person living it.