Relationship Building Was My Superpower—And My Shield

For most of my life, I defined my worth by what others thought of me.

I didn’t always see it that clearly. But looking back now, as part of a ten-year journey to finding myself, I can name it with honesty. What I craved—what I needed—was validation that I was okay. I didn’t trust my own judgment, so I learned to rely on the feedback loop of approval from the people around me.

As a child, I followed the rules laid out by the adults in my life: my parents, teachers, doctors, coaches. I watched them carefully. I did what they asked, what they expected. And when the validation didn’t come, I took it as confirmation that I wasn’t good enough.

So I adapted.

became a master of relationship building—at first as a survival mechanism, then as a passion, and eventually, a career. I studied people. I read the room. I became the person I thought they wanted me to be. Funny. Kind. Thoughtful. A great listener. The one who always checked in. I built relationships not just to connect, but to prove something. That I had value. That I mattered.

It worked, on the outside.

I graduated from college and landed a job in a congressman’s office in Washington, DC. I built relationships so well there that I soon found myself at a major public relations firm—my dream job. I had made it, or so it seemed. Communication was my gift, and I leaned into it with everything I had.

But beneath the surface, I still felt like a fraud.

I remember a former partner once said to me, “The only reason you’re successful is because people like you.” That one sentence undid me. It validated the fear I had carried my whole life: that I wasn’t actually good at anything—that I was just good at faking it.

My journey since then has been bumpy, winding, beautiful, and messy. There were seasons of great success and seasons where everything felt like it was falling apart. At one point, I realized that while my work life looked polished, my personal life was in shambles. That day marked a turning point. I started putting systems in place to heal—not just manage—but understand my personal life.

Even then, I believed that my ability to connect with others was just a shield. A way to hide the parts of me I was too ashamed to show. It wasn’t until I hit my 50s that I began to look more gently at this part of me.

I realized I had neglected the most important relationship of all: the one with myself.

Getting to know myself was scary. Terrifying, actually. For so long, I had defined my identity by who I was to other people. I didn’t know how to answer the question, Who am I to me?

Then, the world shut down.

The pandemic, for all its challenges, gave me a strange and unexpected gift: stillness. I stopped running. I stopped striving. I stopped chasing validation. I slept—a lot. My kids would laugh when they saw on Life360 that I hadn’t left the house in 13 days. Grocery delivery and DoorDash became regular guests at my door.

But in the quiet, something beautiful happened. I started listening. Not to the noise of the world, but to the quieter voice inside me. I sat with truths I had avoided for years. I welcomed parts of myself I had once rejected. I found peace with who I am—not because I finally got it all together, but because I stopped needing to.

These days, I still love building relationships. It’s part of who I am. But now, it’s not a mask I wear or a performance I give. It’s an extension of the connection I’ve finally built with myself.

If you’re reading this and recognizing a bit of your own story, I want you to know—you are not alone. You don’t have to earn your worth. You don’t have to morph into someone else to be loved.

You are already enough.

And the most important relationship you’ll ever build is the one that starts with looking in the mirror and saying, “I see you. I’m listening. Let’s begin.”