My therapist says something nice about my progress and I immediately tear up. Not because I’m moved by the breakthrough—I cry because someone noticed I’m trying. Last week, the grocery store clerk said “good job” when I remembered my reusable bags, and I thought about it for three days. I’m 34 years old, financially stable, reasonably well-adjusted, and I collect praise like a dragon hoards gold because my parents showed love exclusively through practical support and constructive criticism.

I grew up in a household where “I love you” was implied through actions: tuition paid, dentist appointments scheduled, vegetables forcibly included in meals. Hugs were for injuries and graduations only. Compliments came with qualifiers: “Good job on the B+, but why wasn’t it an A?” My friend Sarah had the same experience—her family’s emotional range ran from “mild disappointment” to “grudging approval,” with stops at “silent pride” on special occasions.

Now we’re adults who intellectually understand we’re loved but emotionally operate like affection-starved puppies. We’re not damaged, exactly—just calibrated wrong, like thermostats that can’t quite read room temperature. We function normally until someone shows us genuine warmth, and then we malfunction in specific, predictable ways. We think we’re being independent and low-maintenance, but really we’re broadcasting our need for validation in ways so obvious everyone can see it but us.

1. We treat basic kindness like a marriage proposal

The barista remembers your name and your drink order. Normal response: pleasant surprise. Our response: This person has shown me individual recognition and I would now die for them. We become regulars not for the coffee but for the fleeting moment of being known. “Good morning, Jordan!” might as well be a declaration of eternal devotion.

Sarah once switched dry cleaners—despite the new one being farther and more expensive—because the owner said her dress was pretty. She went there for three years. The dress compliment happened once. We form intense loyalties to anyone who demonstrates they see us as specific humans rather than generic customers. Our favorite restaurants aren’t about the food; they’re about the server who asks “the usual?” like we matter enough to have a usual.

2. We hoard compliments like emergency supplies

Someone says something nice about us and we save it forever. Not metaphorically—we screenshot texts, save voicemails, preserve emails in special folders. I have a note on my phone called “Nice Things People Said” that I read when I’m sad. It goes back to 2015. Some entries are just “Tom said my presentation was clear.” That’s it. That’s the treasure.

We replay compliments in our heads like favorite songs, examining them from every angle. Did they mean it? How much did they mean it? We can tell you, verbatim, every genuine compliment we’ve received in the past decade, but ask us to remember criticism and our minds go mysteriously blank. We’re building retroactive childhoods one piece of external validation at a time.

3. We over-explain everything to avoid disappointment

“I’m going to be five minutes late because there’s traffic on the highway, specifically near exit 42, caused by construction that started unexpectedly, and I’m sorry, I left early but couldn’t have predicted this, here’s my GPS screenshot as proof.” Normal people text: “Running 5 min late.”

We learned early that affection was conditional on performance, so now we provide comprehensive documentation for every minor deviation from expectations. We’re not making excuses—we’re desperately trying to maintain whatever thin thread of approval we’ve managed to secure. Sarah once sent me a three-paragraph explanation for why she chose chocolate instead of vanilla ice cream. I wasn’t mad. I hadn’t even noticed. But she needed me to know her decision-making process, just in case.

4. We can’t accept care without immediately reciprocating

Someone does something nice for us and we panic. The kindness debt must be repaid immediately, with interest. You brought me soup when I was sick? Here’s a five-course meal, your laundry done, and I’ve also reorganized your bookshelf by color. We cannot bear the weight of unreciprocated care.

It’s not generosity—it’s anxiety. We grew up earning affection through usefulness, so now we treat relationships like emotional accounting. Every gesture received requires an equal or greater gesture returned, or the universe falls out of balance. We’re exhausting to love because we turn every kindness into a transaction that must be settled. Just accepting care feels like stealing something we haven’t earned.

5. We apologize for existing in any capacity

“Sorry for texting!” (It’s 2 PM on a Tuesday.) “Sorry for asking a question!” (That’s literally why we’re in this meeting.) “Sorry for needing things!” (Basic human requirement.) We apologize for taking up space, time, oxygen. Our default state is pre-emptive apology for any possible inconvenience our existence might cause.

I once apologized to a chair for bumping into it. The chair. An inanimate object. Sarah apologizes when other people bump into her. We’ve internalized that our needs are inherently excessive, so we pepper every interaction with sorries, trying to minimize ourselves into acceptability. We’re human apology machines, constantly sorry for things that don’t require apology, trying to earn forgiveness for the crime of having needs.

6. We become emotionally attached to anyone who’s consistently nice

The IT person who doesn’t sigh when we have computer problems? We’d take a bullet for them. The dental hygienist who says we have good brushing habits? They’re invited to our wedding. We form deep emotional connections with anyone who provides consistent, non-judgmental support, regardless of whether that’s their literal job.

These aren’t crushes—they’re attachment formations with anyone who provides reliable kindness. We know it’s weird to have favorite pharmacy technicians and feel betrayed when they get new jobs. But when you grew up with conditional affection, consistent niceness feels like love. We’re not confused about boundaries; we’re just working with a different emotional exchange rate where basic decency equals deep care.

7. We oscillate between oversharing and total emotional lockdown

Meet us at a party and within ten minutes you’ll know either everything about our childhood or absolutely nothing about our lives, no middle ground. We haven’t calibrated proper emotional disclosure, so we’re either trauma-dumping on strangers or maintaining CIA-level secrecy about having feelings at all.

The oversharing comes from finally finding someone who seems interested. The lockdown comes from fear that any emotional expression will be too much. We’re like broken faucets—either fully off or spraying everywhere. Sarah once told a Lyft driver her entire relationship history but couldn’t tell her best friend she was sad. We don’t know what appropriate vulnerability looks like, so we’re constantly guessing wrong in both directions.

8. We interpret neutral responses as rejection

“K” means they hate us. A delayed text response means we’ve ruined the relationship. Someone saying they’re busy means we’re too much. We read rejection into every interaction that isn’t actively enthusiastic because neutral affect is what disappointment looked like in our houses.

Our emotional thermometer is broken—we only register freezing or boiling, nothing in between. We need constant reassurance not because we’re needy (okay, we are), but because we genuinely can’t tell the difference between “I’m having a normal day” and “I’m quietly disappointed in you.” Every interaction requires analysis, searching for signs we’ve finally crossed the invisible line into “too much.” We’re exhausting ourselves and probably others with our constant emotional weather monitoring.

9. We give aggressive amounts of love once we feel safe

Find someone who actually accepts our weird needy ways and watch us transform into a feelings fire hose. We’ll text you good morning every day. We’ll remember every story you’ve ever told us. We’ll celebrate your half-birthday and the anniversary of when we became friends. We go from zero to emotional intensity because we’ve been saving up affection our whole lives.

It’s like we’re trying to create the childhood we didn’t have by aggressively loving everyone who lets us. We become the most supportive, attentive, enthusiastic friends/partners/colleagues because we’re overcompensating for early deficits. We know what it’s like to wonder if you’re loved, so once we love you, you’ll never have to wonder. It’s beautiful and suffocating and we absolutely cannot dial it back.

Final words

Here’s the thing about growing up in emotionally reserved households: you survive it just fine. We’re not broken, just poorly calibrated. We function perfectly well until someone hugs us for more than three seconds and suddenly we’re crying in a Starbucks. We maintain successful careers and relationships while secretly keeping spreadsheets of every compliment we’ve ever received.

The funniest part is we think we’re being subtle about it. We genuinely believe no one notices that we light up like Christmas trees when someone says “good job,” or that we collect father figures like Pokemon cards, or that we’ve adopted our hairdresser as our unofficial life coach. We think we’re playing it cool while transparently desperate for any crumb of approval that falls our way.

But maybe that’s okay. Maybe those of us who grew up translating love through chores and criticism just need a little more external validation as adults. Maybe we’re allowed to be weirdly attached to the chiropractor who remembers our job stress. Maybe it’s fine that we cry at particularly supportive automated email responses.

We’re out here doing our best with the emotional equipment we were given, turning casual kindness into profound meaning, building our own affectionate worlds one hoarded compliment at a time. And if that means we’re a little needy, a little intense, a little too grateful for basic human warmth—well, sorry for apologizing, but also sorry for not being sorry.

We’re working on it. Please be patient with us. We’ll probably name our first child after you if you are.