The New Life Motto: The Day I Stopped Trying to Be Liked

When I was 14, I decided it was my life’s mission to be liked by everyone.
Not admired. Not respected. Just liked. You know, the kind of liked where people would say, “She’s so nice,” as if that was the best thing you could be.

It was Year 9, and I was navigating the unforgiving terrain of high school MSN group chats, cafeteria pecking orders, and girls who smiled at you on Tuesday and ignored you on Thursday.
I remember sitting on a bench during lunch, trying to laugh at a joke I didn’t find funny, nodding along when someone trashed an asian food I secretly loved. I knew how to shrink myself to fit in. I knew how to mimic the right slang, wear the right shoes, and never ever say anything that might make someone uncomfortable. But the cost? I slowly disappeared.

I felt invisible in plain sight.

That feeling followed me for years.
I became a shapeshifter in friendships, relationships, even at work—always adjusting, smoothing over, pleasing. I didn’t know who I was unless someone else reflected it back to me with approval. The worst part? When someone didn’t like me (or even just seemed like they didn’t), I took it as evidence that something was wrong with me. That I needed fixing. No matter how far removed or insignificant this stranger was to my life.

The phrase that haunted me was always: “What did I do wrong?” It came up after texts left on read, or jokes that didn’t land, or moments when people just seemed… off. It lived in my bones. It shaped my choices. It robbed me of authenticity.

Things started to shift in my late 20s.
I stopped attending every “fun” friendship event and lost a telling number of connections from that one action alone. I worked myself to the bone through anxiety and crippling depression, accumulating in me quitting my corporate job. The change in pace had me finally complete numerous health checks which resulted in the removal of a brain tumour, the symptoms of which I had been ignoring. I changed my world and in doing so, I changed my perspective and priorities.

My outlook is more different now than ever.

Six months ago, I became a mother to a rambunctious little boy. I started my Master’s in HR. I started writing again. I stopped feeling the desire to fall into the ED trap. Basically, I ran out of time and energy to keep performing. One day, after obsessing over a friend’s lukewarm text, I thought: Wait, do I even like them? That question rocked me.

It was the moment I realised I’d spent most of my life trying to win people over—without ever asking whether I truly felt safe, seen, or celebrated in return. Where was the value exchange?

I stopped performing and started protecting my peace.

Before, I was a mirror for everyone else. Now, I’m a window into myself.
I still care deeply. I still want connection. But I no longer need everyone to like me. And ironically? The more I let go of that need, the more real friendships I’ve found. The kind where you can say weird things and not worry they’ll be judging you for it. The kind where silence isn’t awkward, it’s sacred.

I’m writing this story because I know there are people out there still stuck in performance mode, still confusing being liked with being loved.
It’s not the same. And it’s exhausting. The freedom that comes from just being yourself—even when it risks disapproval—is life-changing. You don’t need to bend to be accepted. The right people will meet you exactly where you are.

Stop auditioning. You’ve already got the part.