I Saw Me

When I Stopped Outsourcing My Worth

It happened over something so small I almost missed it.

A controller cord.

That was it.

Hunter and I had gone to the dollar store because the boys had killed another Xbox controller cord. This is apparently one of their spiritual gifts. 😂

Hunter plays Xbox too, so he had a vested interest in making sure the problem was fixed before the weekend really got going. It had been his idea to buy the replacement. We used my debit card, but our finances are close enough to joint that neither of us usually keeps a scoreboard over little purchases like that.

Later, I was in the kitchen making breakfast.

Or, more accurately, attempting to make an omelet.

The omelet did not omelet.

It became a glorious pile of scrambled eggs with cottage cheese, peppers, onions, mushrooms, and Colby cheese, and frankly I refuse to call something that delicious a failure. 😂

While I was standing there cooking, I overheard Hunter talking to the boys.

He told them that he had gotten them a new controller cord.

And immediately, almost before I could even register it, a little voice inside me said:

You mean I bought it.

There she was.

Tiny.

Fast.

Certain.

And for maybe half a second, I could have just believed her.

I could have called into the other room and corrected him.

I could have made a joke with an edge to it.

I could have let that tiny thought become a tiny resentment.

But instead, I heard it.

And because I heard it, I had a choice.

I asked myself:

Why did that bother you?

Not, Why are you being petty?

Not, What is wrong with you?

Just:

What would have to feel true inside you for that sentence to matter?

The answer came almost immediately.

Validation.

I wanted credit.

I wanted to be recognized for contributing.

Even for something as stupidly small as a controller cord.

And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

The controller cord wasn’t the wound.

It was the doorway.

I Wanted Someone to See What I Had Done

I think part of me has spent a very long time waiting for a witness.

I grew up in conditions that felt chaotic and deeply neglected. Hoarder-type conditions. Too much stuff. Too little order. A home that did not feel cared for in the way I needed it to.

Then I grew up and had children of my own.

And I raised them differently.

My children grew up in a spotless house.

Not because spotless equals love.

Not because a clean floor makes someone a good mother.

But because to me, at the time, cleanliness represented something much bigger.

It represented:

I changed this.

I gave them something I didn’t have.

I created order where I remembered chaos.

I built a home that felt cared for because I knew what it felt like when one didn’t.

And some part of me desperately wanted somebody to notice the distance between those two worlds.

Not just:

Wow, your house is clean.

I wanted someone to understand what it meant.

I wanted someone to say:

I see how hard you worked to give your children something different.

I wanted someone to see the labor beneath the surface.

The hours.

The intention.

The vigilance.

The promise I had apparently made to myself somewhere along the way:

My children will not grow up the way I did.

And I think that same pattern spread into other parts of my life.

If I worked hard, I wanted it seen.

If I carried something, I wanted it acknowledged.

If I helped, gave, cleaned, created, fixed, paid for, organized, or held everything together, some tiny part of me was still standing there waiting for someone to stamp the form:

YES. JASMINE DID A GOOD JOB.

😂😭

And honestly?

That part of me makes sense.

She wasn’t shallow.

She was trying to prove that the life she built counted.

The Problem With Outsourcing Worth

The problem wasn’t that I liked being appreciated.

I still do.

Compliments feel good.

Recognition feels good.

Someone saying, I see what you did there, feels good.

I don’t think healing requires pretending otherwise.

The problem was that I had quietly given outside recognition too much authority.

Because if somebody else gets to validate me, then logically they also get the power to invalidate me.

And I’ll be damned.

😂

I’ll be damned if somebody else gets to tell me about me.

That realization landed hard.

If my worth depends on someone saying:

You did enough.

then what happens when they don’t say it?

If my worth depends on someone noticing how hard I worked, what happens when they miss it?

If my worth depends on applause, what happens in the quiet?

If another person gets to certify my value, then I have handed them authority I never meant to give away.

And suddenly I saw the controller-cord thought differently.

Hunter had not taken anything from me.

His wording had not changed what happened.

I knew I had used my debit card.

I knew why we bought the cord.

I knew how our household works.

Nothing about my contribution became less real because he casually said, I got them a new remote.

There was nothing to defend.

Nothing to correct.

Nothing had been stolen.

The wounded part of me simply wanted to hear:

Yes, Jasmine. We saw you.

And I realized:

I saw me.

I Was There for Every Mile

I think this is the piece I had been missing.

I was waiting for somebody else to walk into my life and recognize the distance I had traveled.

But I was there.

I was there for every mile of it.

I know what it took to raise children in a home that looked nothing like the one I grew up in.

I know how much intention went into changing what felt normal.

I know the hours I worked.

I know the times I pushed through exhaustion.

I know the things I learned that nobody taught me.

I know the moments when I chose differently even when the old programming was screaming.

I know what I survived.

I know what I repaired.

I know what I created.

I know when I am proud of myself.

Why would I need a stranger, a partner, a family member, a coworker, or an audience to tell me whether those things count?

I was there.

I saw all of it.

I saw me.

Self-Validation Isn’t Isolation

This doesn’t mean I want to become emotionally self-contained and weird about praise.

😂

I’m not going to start smacking compliments away like:

NO THANK YOU. I GENERATE ALL APPROVAL INTERNALLY.

That sounds exhausting.

If someone tells me they’re proud of me, I want to receive that.

If someone says my writing moved them, I want to let that feel good.

If someone notices something I worked hard on, wonderful.

The difference is that praise becomes a gift.

Not oxygen.

Recognition can add warmth to what I already know.

It does not create the truth.

That feels different.

Much different.

Because then I can enjoy being seen without needing to be seen in order to exist.

I can enjoy approval without building my identity on it.

I can receive validation without outsourcing my worth.

Closeness Without Disappearing

There was another piece of the morning that struck me too.

Hunter was in the same house enjoying Xbox.

I was nearby cooking and thinking about what I wanted to craft.

And I realized how much I love that.

We can be together without doing the same thing.

We can be close without merging.

We can share a life without me disappearing inside his.

In older relationships, I sometimes confused closeness with love.

I thought love meant always together.

Always attached.

Always focused on the other person.

I lost hobbies.

I lost preferences.

I lost parts of myself.

At the time, I thought that level of enmeshment meant connection.

Now I can see the cost.

It was often self-erasure.

Self-abandonment.

I don’t want that anymore.

I want to love somebody and still hear myself think.

I want to be in the same room and still belong to myself.

I want him to enjoy what he enjoys while I make tiny ridiculous things at the table.

😂

That kind of togetherness feels safer because nobody has to disappear.

And maybe self-validation works the same way.

I can love other people’s praise without disappearing into it.

I can hear what someone thinks of me without handing them authorship.

I can stay connected to others while remaining connected to myself.

The Omelet Was Not a Failure

And then there was breakfast.

My omelet completely fell apart.

What I had intended to make and what ended up on the plate were not the same thing.

But it tasted amazing.

Peppers.

Onions.

Mushrooms.

Eggs.

Cottage cheese.

Colby.

A honey-butter biscuit beside it.

It was not technically the thing I set out to create.

And it did not need anybody else to certify that it was still good.

😂

That felt strangely fitting.

The omelet did not have to look like an omelet to nourish me.

My contribution did not have to be announced to count.

And I do not have to be publicly credited for every ordinary loving thing I do in order for those things to have value.

Maybe that is what I am learning.

Not:

I never need anybody.

Not:

I never want to be recognized.

But:

I know what I know about myself before anybody else speaks.

Updating the Belief

The old programming sounded something like:

If people recognize what I do, then I know I matter.

The updated belief is gentler and stronger:

I can enjoy being recognized without requiring recognition to know my worth.

That feels true.

Because I know the hours.

I know the effort.

I know the intention.

I know where I came from.

I know what I changed.

I know what I built.

I know the moments when I acted with integrity even when nobody was watching.

I know when I overcame something nobody else even realized was difficult.

I know.

And maybe that is enough.

Maybe it always had to become enough.

I Saw Me

That tiny thought in the kitchen could have become an argument.

It could have become resentment.

It could have become proof that somebody wasn’t giving me enough credit.

Instead, it became a mirror.

A controller cord showed me an old wound.

A failed omelet showed me something about worth.

And somewhere in the middle of breakfast, I realized I had been waiting for someone else to witness a life I had already lived every second of.

I was there.

I saw the house I created.

I saw the mother I became.

I saw the ways I overworked.

I saw the ways I survived.

I saw the ways I changed.

I saw the ways I am still changing.

I saw every tiny ordinary act nobody applauded.

I saw the work.

I saw the love.

I saw the effort.

I saw me.

And maybe self-validation is really that simple.

Not pretending nobody else matters.

Not refusing praise.

Not becoming unreachable.

Just knowing that before anyone claps, before anyone notices, before anyone gives me credit—

I was there.

I saw me.

And that counts. ❤️

Closing Reflection

Where in your life are you still waiting for someone else to certify what you already know?

Maybe you want someone to notice how hard you worked.

Maybe you want an apology.

Maybe you want credit.

Maybe you want someone to finally say:

“I see what you did. I see what it took.”

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be seen.

But ask yourself:

What happens to my worth when no one notices?

Do I still believe the work mattered?

Do I still know what I overcame?

Do I still trust what I know about myself?

External validation can feel wonderful.

But it should be a gift, not a life-support system.

You are allowed to receive praise without depending on it.

You are allowed to know who you are before anyone else names it.

You are allowed to say:

I know the hours.

I know the effort.

I know what I survived.

I know what I changed.

I know what I built.

And if nobody else saw the whole journey?

You did.

You were there.

You saw you.

And that counts.