Chapter 1: The Burden of Seeking Approval

In a moment of introspection last night, I came to a startling realization about the troubles in my relationships and even my toxic work environments over the past twenty years — I’ve been overextending myself to gain acceptance.

Reflecting back to the fourth grade, I remember fabricating stories about my identity on the bus. I would claim, “My last name is Fitzgerald; I must be Irish.” I spun tales of my ancestors being enslaved on an Irish plantation, conjuring a narrative that suggested I was mixed race and thus Irish.

By my freshman year of high school, the trend of identity deception continued. When classmates questioned my hair texture and speculated about my ethnicity, I would respond with, “I’m not sure, but my paternal grandmother is Native American.” Regrettably, none of these familial anecdotes were substantiated. For as long as I can recall, I’ve been living a façade, feeling inadequate in my own skin, and desperately embellishing my story in hopes of garnering attention, friendship, and love. Meanwhile, I remained oblivious to the friendships disintegrating around me.

I found myself pondering why my friends seemed indifferent when I chose to distance myself. It felt as if our decade-long bond was entirely forgotten. The memories of shared birthdays, Christmas gifts, and sleepovers seemed meaningless to them. In one instance, my best friend turned me into the villain for ending our relationship, leaving me utterly alone.

I was bewildered by my perceived failures. Sure, I may have been overly involved in her crush on someone who disrespected her, but isn’t that what friends do? Should I have allowed her to fall victim to his manipulative games? She had never let me face such peril alone.

Was I too intense? Too inquisitive? Too boisterous? Ultimately, my excessive desire for inclusion and approval led to my downfall. A haunting memory from middle school still lingers: discovering that my so-called ‘clique’ — four of us reminiscent of the Bratz dolls — had gone bowling without me, complete with an inside joke. I felt pitiful, pretending to laugh along while they enjoyed themselves without me.

This prompted me to question how others perceived me for the first time. I couldn’t shake the thought that I appeared desperate, clinging to friendships with people who likely criticized me behind my back, flitting from one relationship to another, trying to find my place. I vividly recall a girl named Sandra, a friend from second grade whom I longed to reconnect with, only to find she loathed me. In retrospect, it’s almost comical how oblivious I was.

A particularly memorable incident in middle school involved a science project. As I walked with Sandra and another friend, I innocently commented on the weather. Sandra’s disdainful retort, “Do you ever stop complaining?” left me feeling small and insecure.

Fast forward to the end of high school. My best friend and I had drifted apart, and after two years of silence, I tried to rekindle a friendship with another girl. Yet, when it came time for a graduation party, I was left feeling excluded. I learned about it through a vague Facebook post and, despite my efforts to attend, I felt invisible amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces.

That evening was a whirlwind of anxiety, and despite the efforts of a kind girl to include me, I sensed that I was merely an inconvenience. Expressing my feelings about the exclusion afterward only yielded indifference from the host. That moment marked my acceptance that our friendship had come to an end.

The challenges didn’t stop with friendships. In the workplace, I invested immense energy into crafting the perfect résumé, arriving early for interviews, and rehearsing responses I learned from YouTube videos. While I consistently secured jobs, I began to realize that employers felt pity for my eagerness. “Look at her — she’s trying so hard,” they must have thought. And while they hired me, it was often with regret.

I faced accusations and hostility, like the time my manager accused me of stealing $10 on my first day at an amusement park. The toxic environment at a family-run Cinnabon left me traumatized and hesitant to return.

Gradually, I withdrew from social interactions and stopped attempting to forge new friendships after being ghosted repeatedly. My breaks between jobs grew longer, and I felt like a mere shadow of my former self.

For years, I struggled with the same questions:

“I never even spoke to them!”

“I was always kind!”

“I didn’t interfere, and I always completed my tasks!”

“I was there for my friends!”

“I listened to their issues!”

Ultimately, I realized that I had become a people-pleaser — a try-hard. I lived for external validation, seeking approval that never came. The irony is that those around me benefited from my ignorance, using me until I was drained. By the time I finally asserted myself, they had already moved on.

Coming to terms with this reality has been painful. It’s as if I were a filler episode in someone else's story — something to endure but not truly value. The realization is disheartening, but it also provides a chance for transformation.

Chapter 2: Embracing Change and Authenticity

Despite the heartache, there is a glimmer of hope for those grappling with people-pleasing tendencies and superficial connections. Recognizing the emptiness in your interactions is the first step toward liberation. By addressing these subconscious habits, you can start attracting people who genuinely care.

So, embrace the journey of self-discovery. A simple search for “Am I trying too hard?” may sting, but the truth often does. Be prepared to confront the reality that those benefiting from your naivety may never speak up. It’s essential to cultivate honesty within yourself.