Seeking Validation: The Silent Pulse Beneath Our Every Breath

Validation isn’t vanity. It’s a whisper of connection we all crave

We enter this world with a cry. That first sound we make isn’t just a biological reflex. It is the earliest expression of a longing to be seen, heard, acknowledged. From the moment we are born, we seek something intangible but vital. A soft gaze, a warm voice, a gentle touch that says, “You are welcome here. You belong. You matter.” That unspoken desire for validation begins in our earliest moments and trails behind us like a shadow through every stage of our lives. We seek it not because we are needy or broken, but because it is a fundamental human need. It is the invisible string that connects us to others and reassures us that we are not alone in our experience of the world.

As children, we are constantly looking outward to make sense of ourselves. A child’s world is full of wonder, confusion, fear, and curiosity. Every emotion is intense. Every experience is new. And at every turn, the child is silently asking—Am I good? Is it okay to feel this? Do you see me? When a child scribbles something unrecognizable and holds it up with sparkling eyes, they are not showing off artistic skill. They are seeking acknowledgment. They want someone to say, “I see what you made. It matters because it came from you.” When they cry after falling down or struggle to put their feelings into words, they need someone to tell them it’s alright to feel this way. But many times, in homes and schools, those cries are dismissed. Children are told to stop crying, to toughen up, to behave. They are silenced with words like “Don’t be dramatic” or “You’re too sensitive.” Slowly, they internalize the message that their feelings are too much, that their emotions are inconveniences, that they must earn affection by suppressing what’s real.

And so begins the quiet disconnection from the self. The child who once sang loudly now whispers. The one who laughed freely now checks if it’s okay to laugh at all. The one who cried openly now swallows tears. They start seeking approval instead of expressing themselves. They become performers in the hope of receiving a nod, a smile, a tiny token of belonging. And this pattern, once set, rarely leaves us in adulthood.

As young girls grow up, they begin to absorb the subtle expectations placed upon them. They are praised for being polite, agreeable, well-behaved. They are expected to be soft and kind, always smiling, always pleasing. Their opinions are shaped by others’ comfort. Their bodies are judged before they even understand what beauty means. If they speak too much, they’re told they’re bossy. If they assert themselves, they’re labelled difficult. Slowly, girls learn that love and appreciation come with conditions. They must look a certain way, act a certain way, serve others before thinking of themselves. Validation becomes a reward that arrives only when they conform.

And so, many women grow up never knowing the taste of unconditional acceptance. They become experts in multitasking, in caregiving, in hiding their own pain. They tend to others’ needs while dismissing their own. In relationships, they often overextend themselves, doing too much and asking for too little, hoping that their worth will finally be noticed. In careers, they work twice as hard for half the recognition, constantly second-guessing themselves in meetings, wondering if they are being taken seriously. Even in motherhood, their value is often tied to how much they give up, how selfless they can become, how invisible they’re willing to be. And in all this giving, many women forget that they too deserve to receive.

There’s an aching emptiness that follows them in quiet hours. A question that surfaces in moments of stillness. Do I exist beyond what I offer? Am I loveable when I’m not useful? When I stop pleasing others, will there still be love waiting for me? These questions go unspoken but live under the surface of so many lives. They are the emotional undercurrents of anxiety, of burnout, of depression. Not because women are fragile, but because they are constantly made to question their right to take up space.

Men, on the other hand, grow up hearing a different kind of message. From the very beginning, boys are told to be tough, to not cry, to stand tall, to fix things. Vulnerability is discouraged. Sensitivity is seen as a flaw. A boy who seeks comfort is often dismissed or shamed. And slowly, the boy learns that emotions are dangerous territory. He learns to hide his sadness, to laugh off his pain, to never ask for help. He learns that validation, for him, must be earned through strength, success, dominance, and control. He is told to become a protector and a provider, but rarely allowed to be simply a person with feelings.

As these boys become men, the hunger for validation doesn’t disappear—it just goes underground. It shows up in their obsession with performance, in their need to be seen as capable and strong at all costs. They are praised for what they achieve, not for who they are. They may long for softness, for someone to ask them how they truly feel, but they rarely find safe spaces for that. And so, many men carry silent burdens. They appear composed but are unraveling inside. They seem confident but are afraid of failure. They act indifferent but yearn for someone to see beyond the surface. Because no one ever taught them how to be seen without performing, they don’t know how to ask for love without proving they deserve it.

And it is not just gendered. This need for validation stretches across all identities. Whether we are young or old, successful or struggling, loved or lonely—we all want to feel that our presence matters. We all want to be heard without being corrected, to be understood without having to explain ourselves repeatedly. We want to be held in our rawness, in our confusion, in our joy, in our sadness. We want to know that even when we’re not impressive, we are still worthy.

In today’s world, we have more visibility than ever before. We post photos, share thoughts, broadcast our lives in curated snapshots. Yet, true validation is scarcer. The likes and comments come fast, but they fade faster. They feed the ego but starve the soul. We scroll endlessly through the lives of others, comparing silently, wondering if we’re falling behind, if we’re seen enough, loved enough, applauded enough. And in doing so, we drift further from what really matters.

What we need isn’t constant applause. What we need is quiet recognition. Someone to say, “I’m here and I see you.” What we need is to become that someone for ourselves. Because healing begins the moment we stop chasing external permission to feel whole. It begins when we look into the mirror, tired and uncertain, and say, “You’re still enough.” When we parent the child within us. When we tell ourselves, “Your feelings are real. Your voice matters. You don’t need to do more to deserve love.” And just as importantly, it begins when we do this for each other. When we become gentle witnesses to the lives around us. When we validate not just the successes but the struggles. When we ask each other, “How are you really?” and wait for the answer.

To seek validation is not something to be ashamed of. It is the language of being human. It is not about being praised all the time. It is about being allowed to exist as we are, without performance or pretense. It is about building a world where we don’t have to hurt ourselves to be seen, where children grow up knowing they are enough, where women do not burn out trying to be everything for everyone, where men are allowed to cry and be held without fear of judgment.

In the end, perhaps the greatest healing comes from knowing that we don’t need to earn our right to be loved. That being alive, being here, breathing and feeling, is already enough.

Let us create a world where validation is not a reward, but a right.