When Praise Feels Like a Trick
Sometimes praise feels more dangerous than pain.
Not because I donāt want itābecause I do. But because I never really learned how to receive it without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Itās easier to be used. Easier to be hurt. At least that makes sense in my nervous system. At least I know what to expect. But when someone calls me good, or sweet, or tells me Iām doing well, part of me shuts down. Like I canāt trust it. Like maybe itās a setup. Or maybe theyāre just saying it to get something. Or maybe theyāll take it back once they really see me.
Praise hits something soft in me that doesnāt know how to come to the surface without shame. Thereās a part of me that wants to melt into those words, to really let them landābut instead I flinch. I deflect. I rush to prove I deserve it, or I push it away before it can be taken from me.
Sometimes I crave the kind of praise that feels earned through obedience or pain, because that at least feels legible. I can tell myself they meant it because I bled for it. But what Iām still learning is how to hold praise that isnāt tied to performance.
The kind that says, youāre goodānot because I served perfectly or suffered beautifully, but because I exist, and I let someone see me.
And I havenāt figured out how to believe that yet. But I want to.
