Validation and Why We Crave It

Remember that one time I said I didn’t care about what anyone thought of me?

I lied.

Let me clarify.

If I’m walking down the street singing “Helpless” at the top of my lungs and someone looks over at me like, “what the,” I don’t care.

If someone that I’m friends with (or, let’s be honest, even an acquaintance) is thinking negative of me for any reason whatsoever, I die inside.

Literally, I die inside.

I feel my heart begin to disintegrate slowly kind of like a Gain clothes detergent packet, minus the delicious smell and purple coloring.

My eyes well up with tears of heart-disintegration and sadness.

I start to panic and my brain begins to fire off solutions to the issue.

I need a remedy.

I need things to be okay.

I need validation that we’re good. Kosher. Copacetic.

I seek validation in an effort to remind myself that I’m doing okay. I’m constantly worried that I’m not meeting the marks of life. Am I making strides in my career? Am I networking enough? Am I maintaining relationships that will aid in my growth? And I’m not talking about waistline growth, because my current relationship with Randazzo’s is being maintained very well.

I’m teetering this fine line between “I really want you to like me,” and “I really don’t care if you like me at all.”

It’s a problem, and it shows through in my daily performance.

For example, at my day job, I walk the halls honestly not caring if someone likes me or not. I don’t take it home with me. I leave it at the door when I walk out of this building at 3:15pm.

Another example is at an audition. I walk in, do my thing, and walk out feeling like I did okay. Feeling alright with it. If I don’t get the part, the first thing I think is, “Why?”

What did I do wrong?

How can I be better?

Why don’t these people want me?

It’s maddening. Draining. No way to live life. So I started to tweak the way I handle things. I started to tell myself, “I am who I am and there’s no changing it. If you want me, you want me. If you don’t, you don’t.” It works a little. It works. But I also wonder if it’s stifling me.

I can sit here and say that I know I’m talented. I know I have a grasp on acting and have the ability to do it. I know I can work someone’s monologue and help them discover things they didn’t see before. I know I can write the shit out of motivational and sassy articles. I know I can be sympathetic and a good friend and girlfriend and daughter and teacher.

But I want you to tell me that I am these things.

I want you to validate them for me.

Pics or it didn’t happen.

That kind of thing.

I want someone that I don’t know to come up to me and be like, “Your monologue just blew me away. You’re going places.”

I want someone to read my writing and say they want more.

Blog more, Kaitlyn. Write a book, Kaitlyn. Get on the radio, Kaitlyn. Podcast. Talk show.

Maybe I’m begging to be held accountable.

Maybe I’m begging for recognition.

Maybe I’m begging for reassurance that all of my years studying this craft was worthwhile.

I used to dream of being on Broadway.

I still do.

But sometimes I question whether or not I have what it takes.

The motivation.

The hustle.

The guts.

I want someone to tell me that I can do it.

And I want someone to tell me that I can’t.

And I need someone to tell me that I can be whatever I want to be.

And I need to believe it.

Because, for whatever reason, as of now, your opinion matters to me.

Your faith in me matters to me.

You thinking I can matters to me.

The validation.

Pics or it didn’t happen.

That kind of thing.

It matters to me.

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