Master Rhyan Hyroc answering a question about the craving for external approval from student Elena
Elena, let me settle in and tell you a story—because you know I can’t start a teaching without dragging you into some ridiculous parable that somehow ends up making perfect sense.
So picture this: I’m in line at a grocery store, and the man in front of me—let’s call him Tomás—is buying only three things: protein bars, hair gel, and a pair of novelty sunglasses shaped like flamingos. Already, you can tell he’s fighting battles I cannot see.
He turns to the cashier and says, “Hey, do you like my new haircut?”
She blinks at him. “Uh… yes?”
Tomás beams like he’s just been knighted by the Queen. Then he tries the same question on the guy behind me. Then on me. The man is on a crusade, Elena, a pilgrimage for compliments. Every forced smile he receives buys him exactly eleven seconds of inner peace before he spins toward the next human like a caffeinated plant turning toward the sun.
And you know what’s tragic? Not that he needed approval. The real tragedy was that he had absolutely no clue why he needed it—or how much power he was giving away with every hopeful glance.
Now, let me shift into the real teaching, just you and me.
Elena, when you ask me about the craving for external approval, I hear a deeper question beneath it: Why do I feel like I’m not enough unless someone else says I am? That’s the pulse behind the words. That’s the tender thing we’re trying to get our hands around.
Let me talk to you as plainly as I can.
When I was younger, I used to chase approval the way some people chase dessert—knowing full well it wasn’t good for me but somehow sprinting after it anyway. I wanted people to say I was wise, strong, capable, brilliant—whatever little badge I thought would finally let me relax. And every time someone did give me the validation I wanted, I felt a spark of relief… followed immediately by the fear that the spark wouldn’t last.
Here’s the truth you won’t find in self-help books because it sounds too confrontational to sell:
External approval is like borrowing confidence at a ridiculous interest rate.
The moment you depend on it, your self-worth becomes a currency managed by other people. And Elena, trust me, you don’t want strangers, friends, parents, bosses, lovers—or cashiers—to be in charge of your emotional economy.
But the craving is natural. Let me explain why.
We humans started as small, anxious primates who survived by being liked by the tribe. Approval didn't just feel good—it kept you alive. If the group approved of you, you got food, shelter, and someone to scream alongside you when a tiger jumped out. If they didn’t, well… you became the tiger’s snack.
Your nervous system is still trying to avoid the tiger. Only now the tiger is disapproval.
So when someone looks at you with a blank face, your brain rewrites it as a death sentence, even when the most they’re actually thinking is, “Did I leave the laundry in the machine again?”
Let's follow that thread a bit deeper.
When you rely on external approval, you become a shapeshifter. You start performing versions of yourself tailored to the expectations of whoever stands in front of you. With your friends, you play the funny one. With your boss, the competent one. With your family, the agreeable one. None of these are lies—just fragments.
But fragments don’t hold weight. They don’t accumulate into a person who knows who she is.
And here’s the key wound: craving external approval is often just a more socially acceptable way of saying, “Some part of me is terrified that I’m unworthy on my own.”
Let me speak to you differently now—like I’m sitting across from you, elbows on the table, refusing to let you dodge the truth.
You want approval because you want to feel seen without having to risk seeing yourself.
There's a special discomfort that comes when you stop chasing approval and try to listen to your own evaluation. It’s like meeting a stranger in your own home. You think, “Who even is this person? Do I trust their judgment? Do I even like them?” And that uncertainty pushes you right back toward the applause of others because applause is loud and your inner voice whispers.
But the whisper is where the power lives.
Let me tell you the part most people don’t admit: you don’t crave approval because you’re weak—you crave it because you’re wired for connection. However, somewhere along the line, connection got confused with validation. They are not the same thing.
Connection says: “You and I see each other.”
Approval says: “You tell me who I am.”
If someone can tell you who you are, they can untell you too. Approval is temporary oxygen.
Now, Elena, here’s the part where I turn more mischievous as a teacher: I don’t want you to stop wanting approval entirely. That's not human. Instead, I want you to understand the ratio.
Let external approval be dessert, not dinner.
Enjoy it, savor it, dance with it, but don’t build your identity around it. The main nourishment has to come from you—the choices you make, the standards you set, the values you act on even when no one’s watching.
Your self-worth can’t be a democracy. It has to be a monarchy where you are the sole ruler—benevolent, but firm.
Let me share something vulnerable with you. There was a time when I used to check students’ reactions mid-lesson—did they nod? Laugh? Stare at me like I’d dropped my sanity in a puddle? I’d gauge my effectiveness not by the depth of the teaching but by the expressions in the room.
Then one day a student—Michael—fell asleep during a particularly passionate lesson. Head dangling, mouth open, dreaming peacefully. And somehow, that moment freed me. I realized that I could pour out the best of my soul and someone might still nap through it. Their reaction couldn't define my worth as a teacher unless I handed them the authority.
When you stop chasing approval, you gain one of the greatest freedoms a human can have: the courage to be disliked when necessary. Not recklessly disliked—not because you’re causing harm or acting with ego—but because being yourself will naturally rub the wrong way against certain people’s expectations.
That is not failure. That is life.
And here’s where things get interesting: the less you depend on external approval, the more deeply people end up respecting you. Why? Because self-assuredness has gravity. It makes others feel safe. It draws them in. Not because you're begging for their attention but because you stand within yourself like you belong there.
Now let me circle back to the parable of Tomás with the flamingo sunglasses. Poor man. Desperate for a compliment, starving for the tiniest affirmation that he looked good, that he existed, that he made the right choice with that absurdly ambitious hairstyle.
The real problem wasn’t that he wanted approval—it was that he outsourced his identity to strangers who didn’t know his story, his heart, or his reasons.
Had he walked confidently with those ridiculous glasses, embracing the absurdity with pride, he might have inspired the rest of us to be a little braver too.
So let me tell you clearly what the parable means:
When you crave approval, you’re holding out your hands and saying, “Tell me what I’m worth.”
When you release that craving, you stand tall and say, “Let me show you who I am.”
One comes from fear.
The other from self-possession.
Elena, your worth doesn’t need applause. It needs acknowledgment—from you. When you finally sit with yourself long enough to grant that inner recognition, the craving for external approval becomes quieter. Not gone—just no longer ruling your life like a needy landlord.
You won’t stop enjoying approval. You’ll just stop needing it. And that difference is everything.
Now, take this teaching with you, breathe it into the spaces of your life where you’ve twisted yourself into shapes for others, and begin the slow, brave work of reclaiming your own definition.
And if you ever catch yourself asking a cashier whether your haircut looks good… think of me. I’ll be somewhere shaking my head and laughing, and hopefully, so will you.