Mindset: Growth over Approval

Many of us spend years waiting for the "right" nod from others before stepping into our potential. But real forward momentum—true flourishing—happens when we choose growth over approval.

Think about it: How often have you said "yes" when your gut screamed "no"? Shrunk your dreams to match someone else's comfort level? Delayed a bold move because "What will they think?" echoed louder than your own calling?

That approval-seeking habit feels safe in the moment—until it quietly drains the life out of you. It keeps you playing small, performing instead of creating, reacting instead of leading. Over time, it builds resentment toward the very people whose validation you chased, and worse, toward yourself for not choosing differently sooner.

Looking back, I can see many times where my desire to fit in and be liked by others changed what and how I did certain things. I doubt I'm alone, but looking at others, I always felt they were so confident to carry things out exactly as they wanted without the same desire for approval that I was always seeking.

We assume that at some point—after the teenage years, college graduation, career launch, marriage, family—the approval-seeking would simply stop. I don't know what that point is supposed to be... but even now in my mid-50s, it hasn't arrived. Even now, I find myself hesitant to move forward in various ways because it puts me out of my comfort zone and into a space where I may publicly fail.

What I'm learning, though, is that this very realization is the turning point—the moment when growth over approval shifts from a nice idea into a daily practice.

And it doesn't require you to suddenly become fearless or indifferent to others' opinions. It starts smaller: noticing the moment the "What will they think?" voice pipes up, then gently asking, "What do I think? What would feel like growth here, even if it's messy?"

I'm also learning that my illusion of others being effortlessly confident, well often it's just that—they've learned to act despite the inner voice, or they've practiced hiding the doubt better. Many of the most "together" people I know still wrestle with it privately. The difference is they've decided the cost of staying small is higher than the discomfort of stepping out.

Here are a few gentle, practical ways I'm trying to start tipping the balance toward growth, especially in midlife when time feels more precious:

• Naming one specific area where approval is holding me back right now (a project, a boundary, a conversation, a new habit). I keep it concrete—vague guilt keeps me stuck; specifics give me leverage.
• Reframing failure as data, not proof that I'm not enough. Mid-50s is actually a sweet spot for this: I've got wisdom, perspective, and (hopefully) fewer people I have to impress. What if "failing in front of others" became "learning publicly"—a bold, generous act instead of a shameful one?
• Building tiny proofs of concept. I try to choose low-stakes experiments where the stakes are mostly internal (e.g., sharing an unpolished thought online, saying no to something small, trying a new class without promising perfection). Each time I survive the discomfort without catastrophe, the approval need loosens its grip on me a little.
• Celebrating the effort, privately at first. A quiet journal entry: "Today I moved toward growth instead of safety. That matters." Over time, this rewires my brain to value my own nod more than anyone else's.
• Seeking fellow travelers, not critics. Surrounding myself (even virtually) with people who are also choosing growth—women in their 50s+ who are hiking trails, taking classes, starting businesses, speaking up, or just living more authentically. Their stories remind me it's never "too late."

These small shifts aren't flashy, but they're real. Day by day, I'm choosing my own growth over waiting for permission—and it's starting to feel like freedom. If you're in a similar place, maybe pick one thing from this list and try it this week. Your future self is already rooting for you.

Think back to when we were little - learning to walk, for instance. We fell down over and over, sometimes right in front of everyone, yet we didn't dissolve into shame or hide away. We just got back up, wobbly legs and all, because the pull to move forward was stronger than any fear of looking foolish. There was no inner voice whispering, "What will they think?"—only pure, determined curiosity: "What's next?"

Somewhere along the way, we learned to attach worth to others' nods and to treat stumbles as proof we're "not enough." But now, we get to unlearn that. We can reclaim that child's fearless persistence: fall, notice without judgment, stand again, and keep going—not because we're perfect, but because growth is what we're wired for.

Here's to stepping out again, one wobbly, wonderful try at a time. You've got this—and that little version of you inside is cheering the loudest.