When being admired isnt same as feeling worthy of love

The strange thing about becoming someone’s inspiration

is that it doesn’t heal the part of me that still struggles to receive.

Over the years, people have told me things that should have landed.

That my story gave them hope.

That watching me rebuild my life helped them believe they could rebuild theirs.

That my words found them at exactly the right moment.

That they admired my strength.

My courage.

My resilience.

I would smile.

Thank them.

And then quietly find a way to hand it back.

“It was the circumstances.”

“I had no choice.”

“You would have done the same.”

Anything but allowing their words to rest inside me.

For a long time, I thought this was humility.

Now I think it was grief.

Because the truth is,

I learned how to be impressive long before I learned how to be loved.

I learned how to be strong.

How to hold everything together.

How to keep going when things fell apart.

How to survive.

And the world rewards those things.

People admire resilience.

They admire strength.

They admire the woman who keeps standing after life knocks her down.

But admiration and love are not the same thing.

And being admired did not teach me how to receive.

If anything,

it made receiving harder.

Because somewhere along the way,

I began to believe my value lived in what I did.

Not in who I was.

So whenever someone saw something beautiful in me—

not my work,

not my achievements,

not my ability to hold everything together—

but me—

I became uncomfortable.

Because now there was nowhere to hide.

No role to perform.

No contribution to point at.

Just me.

And that felt far more vulnerable than sharing my wounds ever did.

I remember reading messages from people who told me I had inspired them.

Instead of feeling proud,

I felt exposed.

Almost embarrassed.

As if they had mistaken me for someone braver than I really was.

As if, if they looked closely enough,

they would discover that I was still figuring things out too.

Still grieving.

Still healing.

Still carrying questions I couldn’t answer.

And then one day,

a painful truth arrived.

I wasn’t rejecting compliments.

I was protecting an identity.

An identity built around earning my place.

Because if I truly received what people were offering—

their admiration,

their appreciation,

their care—

I would have to confront a question I had spent years avoiding:

What if my worth has never depended on what I do?

What if I don’t have to keep proving I deserve to be here?

What if love was never something I had to earn?

I still don’t have this mastered.

I still catch myself deflecting.

Minimising.

Explaining away the very things I secretly long to receive.

But now I notice.

Now I pause.

Now I try to let the words stay a little longer.

To let kindness land.

To let appreciation reach me.

To let myself believe that being loved and being useful are not the same thing.

And perhaps that is the healing.

Not becoming more worthy.

Not becoming more impressive.

Not becoming someone new.

But slowly learning to receive what has been offered all along.

If this story resonates with something tender inside you,

know that this is a space I hold often.

Not as someone who has figured it all out.

But as someone who is still learning, every day,

how to stop earning love...

and start receiving it.