It’s a question that’s whispered behind many of my relationships.
What if they only like me because of how I make them feel?
Because I listen well. Because I hold space. Because I validate their experience, reflect their brilliance, help them untangle the mess in their mind.
Because I’m safe.
That thought haunts me sometimes. And when it does, it feels like a subtle betrayal. Of connection, of intimacy. It feels like who I am doesn’t matter.
What I’ve come to realize is I helped build that fear.
And I created the conditions for it to thrive.
When I avoid telling someone they hurt me, I deny them the chance to love me better.
When I sidestep the awkward question to keep the vibe good, I choose comfort over clarity.
When I hold space for someone else but never ask them to hold space for me, I reinforce the idea that my value is in what I give, not the fullness of who I am.
It becomes a lopsided relationship.
I feel good because I feel useful. I feel needed.
But I start to feel hollow in the relationship because I don’t feel seen.
And slowly, the fear grows:
Would we still be friends if I said something hard?
If I needed support, showing you where I’m messy, doubtful, unsure?
If I challenged you, instead of just affirming you?
Vulnerability deepens connections. And vulnerability includes sharing impact, sharing how the other person makes you feel. Both the good and the bad.
It’s saying:
“That thing you said didn’t sit right.”
“I felt small in that moment, and I don’t want to leave it unspoken.”
“I want to ask for something different. Not because I’m trying to change you, but because I’m trying to honor me.”
Those aren’t easy things to say.
But without them, relationships become curated performances.
You show up. You validate. You stay easy to love.
And you never really find out if the relationship can hold you.
The real you.
So yes, I’ve had moments where I felt like people only liked me for how I made them feel.
But I hadn’t shared the thing that impacted me, that I knew wouldn’t make them feel good.
I wasn’t bringing them the challenging moments and the honest truths that invite someone else to show up.
And here’s what I’ve learned:
If you never test the relationship, you never really know if it can hold you.
It’s through those challenging conversations that intimacy is created.
It’s the sacred friction that makes space for something deeper to emerge.
Sometimes the relationship strengthens. Sometimes it softens.
Sometimes…it ends.
But either way, you stop only being valued for what you give, and start rooting into the truth of being known.
So if this fear lives in you too—the fear that people only love the light you shine, not the shadows you carry—here’s your invitation:
Be brave. Show them both.
Say the hard thing.
Ask the awkward question.
Let the silence stretch.
Make space for a deeper bond to emerge, or the lopsided relationship to fall away.
Not everyone will rise to meet you.
But the ones who do?
They’ll be the ones who love all of you.
Not just the parts that feel easy.
P.S. It’s hard to tell someone they hurt you. It’s hard to ask the awkward questions. But if you’re ready to build relationships that can hold all of you, my coaching can help you get there. Book a session here.
