Approval Addiction is the title of a book my friend gave me to read. She wasn’t trying to tell me something. It’s something we recognise in each other. Seems like such a harsh word, addiction. Am I an addict? I like approval. We all do, if we’re honest. But am I that dependent. That needy. The more I read the more I recognised myself. And I never got past the first two chapters. Because I stopped. Because I’m not. I am not that dependent. Not anymore. I talk a lot about respect and honesty but my other big thing is fear. Fear is the thing. It strangles us. It makes us make the wrong choices or none at all. Books like this exist because of our fear. The world is as it is because of fear. It is what feeds my need for approval. The fear of not being liked, the fear of not being taken seriously, the fear of offending, the fear of being anonymous, the fear of failure, the fear of being ignored, the fear of being alone, the fear of illness, the fear of being destitute. The fear of death. Of late I’ve pissed a lot of people off because I don’t care so much anymore. I can’t pretend anymore so you’ll like me. I like me. And I’m truly not afraid. Maybe the book is not so relevant to me anymore. So, I will not be ending this post with my name is Lianne Cawood and I am an approval addict. Not anymore.