I Will Choose Me”

To My Need for Approval,

We’re done.

There’s no gentle conversation, no closure coffee, no final attempt to work things out. This isn’t a misunderstanding. This is me, finally realizing I’ve outgrown you—and walking away for good.

You’ve been with me for as long as I can remember. Whispering in my ear before I made any decision: What will they think? Will they still like you? Don’t rock the boat. You made me shrink in rooms where I should’ve stood tall. You convinced me that being liked was more important than being real.

I said yes when I meant no. I smiled when I was hurt. I apologized for things that weren’t my fault. I wore the mask of “the nice one,” “the easy one,” “the agreeable one” because you told me that was how I’d be accepted.

And you know what? I was accepted. But not seen.

You taught me to read people’s moods like maps and twist myself to fit their expectations. You trained me to chase validation like it was oxygen. I made choices not based on my joy, but on how many people would approve of them.

And it exhausted me.

Do you know how draining it is to live for claps instead of contentment? To constantly edit yourself so you don’t disappoint anyone? To tiptoe around life hoping everyone’s happy—even while you’re breaking inside?

I became a master at hiding. My opinions. My preferences. My pain. Because you told me being too honest would make people uncomfortable. That if I showed the real me, people might leave. Or laugh. Or label me difficult.

You made me believe love was conditional—and performance was the price.

But I’m done paying that price. I’m done renting out pieces of myself just to keep the peace. I’m done trading authenticity for approval.

I want to say what I actually mean. Wear what I actually like. Choose the life that actually lights me up. Not the one that looks good in pictures. Not the one that makes everyone nod in agreement. The one that makes me feel alive.

Will it make people uncomfortable? Maybe. Will I lose some fans? Probably. But I’m no longer living for an audience. I’m living for me.

I want to walk into rooms and not wonder who likes me. I want to post something without obsessing over likes. I want to say no and not carry guilt for hours. I want to make decisions based on my soul—not the crowd.

That means sometimes I’ll be misunderstood. Sometimes I won’t be everyone’s favorite. And that’s okay.

Because finally—finally—I’m learning that being deeply loved by a few for who you really are is worth more than being liked by many for who you pretend to be.

I don’t need applause anymore. I need alignment. I need peace. I need freedom.

And I won’t get that by asking, “Is this okay with everyone?”

I know you’ll try to come back. Next time I say something unpopular. Or make a choice someone doesn’t agree with. You’ll whisper, “Tone it down. Change it. Make it more palatable.”

But I won’t listen.

Because this version of me? She’s not editing herself to fit into boxes she was never meant to live in. She’s not turning down her brightness so others can feel comfortable.

She’s done asking for permission.

She’s giving herself the approval she’s been begging for all along.

And that’s the most powerful kind of freedom there is.

So goodbye, Approval Addiction. I won’t miss you.

From now on, I choose me.

I used to keep quiet to be liked. To be safe. To be “easy.” But silence didn’t protect me—it erased me. Now, I choose discomfort over invisibility. I speak, even when my voice trembles. Because I matter. My voice matters. And I refuse to shrink anymore.


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2.
Every time I stayed silent, a piece of me disappeared. But not anymore. I’ve buried too many words in my chest. I’m done watering down my truth for the comfort of others. From now on, I speak with fire, with courage, with love—and without apology.


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3.
Speaking up isn’t aggression—it’s self-respect. Saying “no” isn’t rude—it’s reclaiming power. I’m not here to be quiet. I’m here to be real. My voice may shake, but I’ll still use it. Because silence was never safety. It was a cage. And I’m finally free.

Sincerely,

Me


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