I grew up introverted and withdrawn in a world that felt
louder outside than inside. Some of my earliest memories aren't anchored in
faces but in textures, movement, and atmosphere; tires scattered across a dusty
kindergarten playground, dirt pressed into the creases of my palms, and the
soft creak of a swing on a small patch of land that felt like the entire
universe.
I remember other children being around me, but oddly, they
seem faceless in my memory, like extras in a movie where I was both the star
and the only viewer.
What I do remember vividly is my nanny.
Every morning, she walked me to school and held my hand; a
warm, reassuring hand that anchored me to reality. We walked about a kilometer
from our house, past a row of neatly arranged homes, across what I would
generously call a shopping center, although it was more of a village market
with urban ambitions. Through a tree-lined street, until we reached my nursery
school tucked quietly at the corner of a residential road.
That walk became a ritual. A rhythm. A small island of
safety. But routines, like songs on repeat, can become unbearable when
overdone. At some point, what I started to loathe most about nursery school was
repetition. Letters. Numbers. Sounds. Again. Again. Again.
The teacher’s voice saying “Again” sounded less like
encouragement and more like a threat. To this day, I joke that it haunted me,
but if I’m honest, part of me still flinches at excessive repetition.
Primary school was filled with friends, but those
friendships felt temporary, fragile, and fleeting. Every time I changed schools
or moved to a different town, I had to say goodbye to people. Strangely enough,
I don’t remember most of their faces, but I remember what we did together in
striking detail.
It seems I remembered experiences more than people.
Looking back, I realize I didn’t hustle to keep people
around. Not because I disliked them, but because I genuinely enjoyed my own
company. I loved challenges. I loved doing. I loved acting. I loved being in
motion. Later, when I encountered Clifton Strengths, it made perfect sense: I
am wired toward action, execution, performance, experience, and learning. But
beneath that drive sat a quiet childhood belief that shaped everything: “I
must perform to be valuable.”
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Core Message |
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We socialize from our awareness. And our awareness, shaped by self-worth, ego, fear, shame, or courage,
determines the people we attract, the communities we join, and the quality of
relationships we sustain. |
If we don’t value ourselves, we will create relationships
that reflect that lack of self-worth and sometimes confuse that reflection with
love, belonging, or loyalty.
When Performance Becomes the Price of Love
As a child, I unconsciously learned to associate worth with
usefulness.
If I wanted to be liked, I had to do something.
If I wanted to matter, I had to deliver.
If I wanted to belong, I had to earn it.
That belief quietly turned my interactions into
transactions. I didn’t just want to be seen; I wanted to be needed.
I didn’t just seek acceptance; I craved validation for my existence. That
belief stayed with me into adolescence.
The teenage years are marked by a strong need to belong.
When that hunger goes unmet in healthy ways, we often settle for belonging in
unhealthy environments. So, I sometimes found myself in questionable company. I
made choices that, in hindsight, didn't match my values or future goals. But at
the time, they felt like currency, the price I paid to feel connected.
What children crave most is not perfection, not pressure,
not performance. They crave: a hug, recognition, reassurance, the quiet knowing
that “You are worthy, even when you fail.” When those words are absent,
the mind fills in the gaps. And often, the story it writes is unkind:
“You are not enough.”
“You must prove yourself.”
“You must earn love.”
Over time, these thoughts turn into beliefs. Beliefs develop
into habits. Habits shape identity. And identity determines destiny, unless
disrupted.
Wearing Identities Like Costumes (And Getting Exhausted)
High school was not traumatic because it was a bad
environment. It was traumatic because of the identity I chose to wear inside
it. I was aloof. Distant. Social, but shallow. Present, but emotionally
unavailable.
My friendships often stayed at a surface level.
Conversations rarely went beyond light banter. I struggled to keep
relationships alive once physical proximity disappeared. If we were not in the
same space doing the same thing, the connection often faded. I made many
friends, but few bonds.
Then university happened. And for the first time, I met
people who listened. Those lazy afternoons after class, sitting together,
half-studying, half-wasting time, gradually softened my assumptions about
people. Some of the walls I had built started to crack.
Yet I still envied naturally social people.
They made connections look effortless. They seemed to have
done it without trying. They belonged without needing to perform. I wanted that
ease. So, I approached social connection like a project. I read books about
building relationships. I tried strategies. I experimented with different ways
of engaging.
But I had missed the point.
You don’t build meaningful relationships by performing connections.
You build them by being present, honest, and human.
Still, work became my sanctuary. I worked because it gave me
purpose. I worked because it made me feel valuable. I worked because
productivity felt safer than vulnerability. When I entered the workplace, I
found myself among highly skilled people, sharp minds, impressive pedigrees,
and strong educational backgrounds. We created a culture that felt like family,
but beneath it all, there was pressure — pressure to deliver, pressure to
perform, pressure to be excellent.
And that pressure felt familiar.
At the back of my mind, I told myself, “These are
colleagues. Not friends.” Yet slowly, as we lived, struggled, succeeded,
and failed together, bonds formed. But even then, the performance didn’t fully
disappear.
How Awareness Shapes the People We Attract
Looking back at my twenties, I see a lopsided life. Career?
Strong. Social life? Almost nonexistent. Family engagement? Minimal. Inner
life? Confused, heavy, lonely. I worked hard, but lived narrowly. I rarely
called home. Rarely checked in with my parents and rarely built friendships
outside of work’s convenience.
When I say those years felt dark, it’s not because life was
objectively terrible; it’s because emotionally, things felt empty,
disconnected, and heavy.
Then love entered the picture.
When I met a woman I deeply cared about, something inside me
awakened. However, my old patterns quickly reemerged. I started performing
again, trying to impress and shape reality into a world I had long envisioned—a
world of unconditional acceptance, forgiveness, emotional safety, and
belonging.
But what I didn’t realize then was this: You cannot
build externally what you have not cultivated internally.
I rebelled in high school and reinvented myself in
university. Wore different personas to stay interesting, diverse, and unique.
Rapper. Driven student. Corporate performer. Church persona. Home persona.
Multiple masks. Multiple identities. One tired soul.
Marriage softened some of this. Home became safer than the
outside world. For a while, it felt like I needed to fake less. But even then,
community expectations crept in — the need to look like a “good couple,” to
present a polished image, to perform respectability.
And that cycle continued… until life forced a reboot.
The Breakthrough, We Socialize From Our Awareness
After many years, one truth became undeniable: No matter
what anyone says, you socialize from your awareness.
If your awareness is driven by shame, you form
shame-based bonds.
If your awareness is driven by fear, you bond over fear.
If your awareness is driven by ego, your relationships become performative.
If your awareness is rooted in self-worth, your relationships become healthier,
deeper, and more honest.
We often attract people who mirror our inner world. Misery
loves company, not because it is malicious, but because it feels familiar. Pain
attracts pain. Unhealed wounds recognize each other. And sometimes we stay in
draining, destructive circles simply because they feel like home.
We call it loyalty.
We call it love.
We call it belonging.
But often, it is an unexamined habit.
The Mirror Moment, Where Real Change Begins
Real change begins when we stop blaming the outside world
and dare to look inward. When we ask uncomfortable questions like:
- “Why
am I in this community?”
- “Why
do I tolerate this behavior?”
- “Do
I actually value myself?”
- “Am
I protecting my life, or neglecting it?”
Most of us are gatekeepers of our own lives. But if the city
we are guarding feels worthless to us, we let in garbage and even celebrate
those who dump it. We invest our time, energy, attention, and emotional labor
in people, even when they drain us.
But when self-worth grows, something shifts. We stop
entertaining nonsense. We stop over-explaining ourselves. We stop auditioning
for approval.
Our frequency changes. Our standards rise. Our social habits
evolve.
We begin to silence the ego’s constant narrative:
“I can’t.”
“That’s not who I am.”
“I don’t like people.”
Often, those are not truths; they are defenses built on
fear, guilt, shame, pride, or apathy.
Conclusion: Becoming the Social Man Without Losing
Yourself
To truly shine as a human being, we need to loosen our
grip on outcomes. We need to be willing to try and fail. To connect and risk
rejection. To speak and risk being misunderstood.
We must allow our nervous systems to tremble and still take
the next step.
Growth can feel like freezing,
fawning, fighting, fleeing, or flopping. But healing feels like staying
present. One step at a time, our habits change. Our awareness expands. Our
personality softens. Our impact grows. We stop performing our worth. We start
living it. And I believe this with conviction:
We were meant to make a difference. Meaning is found in
contribution. And the world becomes richer when we dare to connect beyond fear,
across backgrounds, stories, cultures, and experiences.
Call to Action
If this story resonates with you, start small:
- Reflect
on why you keep certain relationships
- Upgrade
one social habit
- Or
begin the deeper work of rebuilding your self-worth
And if you want guided accountability and habit
transformation, join me on this journey.
If this message stirred something in you, don’t let it fade.
1. Join my LinkedIn Habit Coaching Newsletter: https://www.linkedin.com/newsletters/habits-with-coach-edwin-7399067976420966400/
2. Join my Habit WhatsApp Community at https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbAmKkOBvvsWOuBx5g3L
3.
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