The Slow Work of Untangling Validation
This blog entry started as a joke.
I was talking with a friend who was excited about getting a high five from a leader. It was lighthearted, and honestly, I understood it. There is something about being noticed by someone you respect that can make you feel like, “Okay, I’m doing good. I’m fine. I’m approved here.”
Somewhere in the conversation, I joked that sometimes all we feel like we need is “the stamp.”
Just give me the stamp.
The high five. The nod. The “good job.” The confirmation that I’m not failing, not being overlooked, not secretly disappointing everyone in the room.
But after I said it, something in me paused.
Because as funny as it sounded, it revealed something deeper.
How often have we been trained, even unintentionally, to wait for someone else’s approval before we believe we’re doing well?
How often have we served, led, created, worshiped, helped, posted, worked, or performed with one quiet question underneath it all:
“Did they notice?”
And maybe even deeper than that:
“Am I enough?”
That is where validation gets tangled.
Affirmation is not bad. Encouragement is beautiful. A sincere “good job” can breathe life into someone. A timely compliment can remind a person that their effort matters. But there is a difference between being encouraged by affirmation and being anchored by it.
A good job from people can encourage you. But it cannot anchor you.
If I’m honest, this has been a slow work in me.
I can trace my need for validation through many different voices.
Teachers. Family systems. Social media. Leaders. Church culture. The world’s definition of success.
Some of it was obvious. Some of it was subtle. Some of it came wrapped in good intentions. Some of it came through pain. Some of us learned early that approval came when we behaved the “right” way.
When we were obedient and didn’t upset anyone.
When we kept the peace, and we were helpful.
When we performed well, and we stayed agreeable.
For me, people-pleasing wasn’t harmless. It made me vulnerable to harm because I learned to stay agreeable instead of safe.
I learned to read the room before I listened to my own discomfort. I learned that approval felt safer than honesty.
And when that pattern forms early, it doesn’t magically disappear when you become an adult.
It follows you. It just changes clothes.
In childhood it sounds like: “Don’t make anyone mad.”
In school: “Make the teacher proud.”
In ministry: “Make sure the leader sees you.”
On social media: “Check the numbers.”
And in your own soul: “If nobody said anything, maybe I did something wrong.”
That one has been big for me.
Because silence doesn’t always feel neutral to a wounded heart. Sometimes silence feels like correction. Sometimes silence feels like rejection. Sometimes silence feels like, “You didn’t measure up.”
Before long, you’re overworking. Over-explaining. Comparing. Checking reactions. Performing confidence. Trying harder. Pretending you’re okay.
All because you’re craving confirmation. That is exhausting.
And the tricky part is that validation often hides inside good things.
Excellence, serving, leadership, growth, encouragement these are good. But even good things become tangled when our identity depends on them.
The world defines success through achievement.
Reach the goal. Get the title. Build the platform. Grow the audience. Get invited. Get chosen. Get seen.
But the Christian life measures success differently.
Success is… walking in the will of God.
… reflecting the character of Christ.
… obedience when no one claps.
… faithfulness when no one posts about it.
… serving from love, not auditioning for approval.
That is difficult for a validation-hungry heart. Because the flesh wants proof. The flesh wants a receipt. The flesh wants someone to say, “You’re doing amazing.”
But God keeps inviting us somewhere deeper.
A place where we can receive encouragement without needing it to survive. A place where we can hear silence without spiraling. A place where we can be unseen by people and still secure in Him. A place where we can serve from approval instead of for approval.
That is the slow work of untangling validation.
And it is slow because the knots did not form overnight.
Some came through family systems. Some through church culture. Some through comparison. Some through trauma. Some through pride and insecurity. Some through the simple human desire to be loved and noticed.
God is not cruel with those places. He doesn’t shame the wound. He heals the root.
He gently reveals the places where people’s voices became louder than His truth.
And then He calls us back. Back to truth. Back to identity. Back to surrender. Back to the quiet place where His voice is enough.
Colossians 3:23 reminds us to work willingly at whatever we do, as though we are working for the Lord rather than for people.
That doesn’t mean people don’t matter. It means people are not the source.
My obedience is not dependent on applause. My faithfulness is not meaningless because no one noticed. My value is not up for review every time someone forgets to say “good job.”
Maybe that’s where healing begins. Not when we stop appreciating encouragement. But when encouragement returns to its proper place.
A gift, not a god.
A blessing, not a foundation.
A kindness, not an identity.
Don’t get me wrong, I still appreciate encouragement. I still like being noticed.
But I’m learning that I cannot let someone else’s affirmation carry the weight of my identity.
That weight is too heavy for a person.
Only God can carry that. Only God can define me. Only God can anchor me.
When silence makes me anxious, I’m learning to pause before I spiral.
When I want to over-explain, I’m learning to ask what fear is driving me.
When I crave the stamp of approval, I’m learning to remember that Jesus already settled the deepest question of my worth.
I am loved. I am seen. I am His.
Not because I performed well enough. Not because I impressed the right person. Not because I earned the high five.
But because of Jesus.
And maybe the slow work of untangling validation is really the holy work of learning to live approved.
Not by every voice around us. But by the One who already called us His.
Let’s tune in.
