Quotes About Validation

Why this endless need for a man as a mirror? To see the Arthur Less reflected there?

You know it's ART, when the check clears.

once you stop worrying what the world will think of you, your life will become that much easier to live.

Why does he have to be my boyfriend? Are you inferior if you don't have a boyfriend? Why does everybody have to be in love with somebody?

What was this compulsive need to be loveable?

My personal struggle is to get beyond thinking I'm not worth caring about. I am here. I do exist. Maybe by adding my two cents I can help other moms who feel the way I do. Maybe they will find someone who cares. —

I wished Charlotte had asked for me. It made me feel like I wasn't a good sitter or something, even though I knew that wasn't really true.

Maybe being a "princess" isn't so great. Would you always wonder whether people liked you or whether they liked the things you could do for them.

You see, they hadn't said a single nice thing to me since I had gotten the makeover

Now, when I tell him that I love something he has written, he knows that I love it.

The question is, do you really want to know what other people think about you—about your talents and prospects—or do you want to be deceived about all that?

The point is that his authority would be derived in the only way that such authority ever is—by making claims about the world that can be corroborated by further observation

We need a voice from the outside because our own voices cannot be trusted.

Anything thrice affirmed is true.

She expected people to accept her for who she was. But she never really accepted herself.

You flatter yourself...you're too young for me to take you seriously.

And then your frustration can be taken as evidence of your frustration, that you speak this way, about this or that, because you are frustrated. It is frustrating to be heard as frustrated; it can make you angry that you are heard as angry.

You complain because you do not belong here. And your complaint becomes evidence you do not belong here. When the judgment that you do not belong here has already been made, you have to work hard not to provide evidence to support that judgment. She

I get poked and prodded like this every morning. I'm like a piece of meat unearthed from the back of the fridge, suspect until proven otherwise.

It happened right then; he looked at me and it was the thing I'd been waiting for but didn't know it. I don't mean anything corny like I fell in love or even into a crush or anything like that. It was more a feeling like when I'd get picked first for volleyball or find one of those stupid school candygrams in my locker. It was knowing someone else thought about me for more than one second, maybe even about me when I wasn't there.

When I'm at my best, my writing identity comes from a deep and quiet place where the noise of approval and disapproval is a neutral background landscape more than a declaration of who I am. Conversely, the times I feel the worst about being a writer are when I'm looking for likes, fishing for approval, or otherwise in search of evidence that I'm somebody, because I've momentarily forgotten I already am.

And when you can't stand yourself, you don't want people around who are constantly saying how much they love you, because you know you don't deserve it.

Once, I did a halfhearted job of sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor, and that's the first place she checked because she knew I'd do a lousy job because "that's the kind of kid you are." As in I'm not a "go-getter who makes her own luck" like she is, so I'm "never going to get anywhere in this world." She knew all that because of two missed Cheerios and a small dust bunny.

For once, you believed in yourself. You believed you were beautiful and so did the rest of the world.