I heard Brené Brown say that on a podcast recently. I nearly skipped past it (she says a lot of things worth writing down), but this one stayed with me.
It made me think about how often we confuse fitting in with being connected. In therapy, that confusion shows up all the time: people are exhausted from trying to be easy to like, easy to love, and easy to keep. I know that this might sound like manipulation, but in these cases, it’s more about survival. We learn early that approval feels safer than authenticity, and that lesson sticks.
It took me back to my younger self. The one who didn’t question much, who tried to move in step with everyone else. Back then, adulthood seemed to come with a ready-made script: go out, settle down, buy a house, have a baby, repeat. I thought that was just what being a functioning adult meant.
It took a few detours to realise how much energy I’d spent trying to keep up. I wasn’t unhappy, exactly… just busy keeping pace. When life started to drift off-script, I expected disappointment. What I felt was relief.
These days, I choose what fits me, not what looks good on paper. That still raises eyebrows sometimes, especially around the topic of children. People I’ve just met seem oddly invested in that decision. But I’ve stopped explaining. I’ve found people whose lives don’t need to mirror mine for us to feel close. That kind of belonging feels far less like a performance.
The Psychology of Belonging
Psychologists have long said our need to belong is as essential as food or safety. Rejection registers in the brain like physical pain. Which explains why we work so hard to fit in.
But belonging isn’t about being included. It’s about being seen and recognised. And that distinction gets blurry early. We learn which parts of us are welcomed and which are inconvenient. So we start adjusting, smoothing our edges, editing our sentences. Those early edits don’t disappear; they just become habits. People-pleasing, overthinking, and constant self-checking are different flavours of the same survival strategy.
I learnt to be easygoing, agreeable, and never too certain. It kept the peace, but I often felt like I was watching myself from a distance. There’s a loneliness in being well-liked for a version of yourself you barely recognise.
Fitting In as Self-Abandonment
When I think of “fitting in” now, it feels like a slow fade or a series of small, polite disappearances. Saying yes when you mean no. Nodding through things you don’t believe in. Smiling instead of speaking up.
Individually, none of those things looks serious. But over time, they pull you away from your own preferences until you can’t quite remember what they are.
Research backs it up: constantly managing how you’re perceived wears you out. It drains your attention, heightens anxiety, and slowly burns through your energy. The mind calls it social intelligence; the body calls it exhaustion.
I know that exhaustion. I blended in until I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. It wasn’t rebellion I feared (I am a proud rebel); it was isolation. But the irony is that the harder I tried to belong, the lonelier I became.
Belonging to Ourselves First
It took me a while to understand that belonging starts with yourself. Not with finding the right crowd, but with knowing your own values well enough to stay loyal to them.
Self-compassion researcher Kristin Neff found that being kind to ourselves calms the same stress responses triggered by exclusion. I like that: belonging as a physiological state and not a social achievement.
For me, that looked like saying no when something feels wrong, even when it’s inconvenient. Choosing what feels right in my body, not just what looks sensible from the outside. Each time I practise this, life feels a little lighter, a little more honest.
When Belonging Looks Unusual
Living in alignment can look odd from the outside. People notice when you don’t follow the usual route. My lack of maternal instinct, for example, continued to be headline material up to my early 40s. Apparently, I was expected to “change my mind” at some point, as though I’ve misplaced it temporarily. (I didn’t.)
I used to find those comments uncomfortable. Looking back now, I mostly find them funny. The confusion usually says more about the other person’s expectations than about me. Living differently can be unsettling for people who’ve never questioned the script. It hints that there might be more than one version of happy.
I’ve stopped trying to make sense to everyone. The people who get it—who understand I’m not rejecting anything, just choosing differently—are the ones I keep close. Real belonging isn’t about matching. It’s about being met.
Returning to Ourselves
Hearing Brené Brown that day reminded me how long I spent trying to earn connection through conformity. I used to think I needed approval to feel safe. Now, when I notice myself editing again, I take it as a sign to pause.
Life didn’t follow the neat timeline I once expected. I’m grateful for that. The detours brought me to a version of life that actually fits me. Not perfectly, but truthfully.
The friendships I have now are easy in the best way: no performance, no persuasion.
I still catch myself wondering sometimes if I seem “normal enough.” But the thought passes. Belonging isn’t about being understood by everyone. It’s about understanding yourself enough to stop chasing that.
Reflection prompts
- Where do I still adjust myself to stay accepted?
- What signals tell me I’ve stepped away from my own preferences?
- Who helps me feel at ease in my own company?
Want to find out more?
For anyone wanting to explore these ideas further, Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection (2010) and Braving the Wilderness (2017) both dig into the tension between fitting in and true belonging. Kristin Neff’s Self-Compassion (2015) offers a grounded look at how kindness toward ourselves can regulate the same stress that comes from exclusion. For a more psychological angle, you might look at Baumeister and Leary’s classic paper The Need to Belong: Desire for Interpersonal Attachments as a Fundamental Human Motivation (1995). Each approaches belonging differently, but all point to the same idea: connection starts with how we relate to ourselves.