Somebody

A story of self-worth, social media, and the validation that really matters

I’ve always been the kind of person who seeks a lot of validation.

It probably stems from my chubby, shy childhood. I was gap-toothed with glasses and rarely said a word. I always felt less than — like being fat made me an outcast, like being quiet made me unworthy next to the kids who were loud and magnetic and made friends with ease.

It was hard to make friends. Hard to find clothes. Hard to feel like a somebody.

My self-esteem was always low. People assumed I was weird just because I was shy. Though I eventually found my “tribe” in middle school — people I still call my best friends today — I spent a lot of my early years feeling lonely.

When social media became a thing, I finally found a place where I could receive the validation I’d always craved. Though I didn’t talk much in person, I could say what I wanted to say in a blog post or a Facebook status. I could finally show people that I was funny — not just “weird.” I could write in a way I never could speak. And when people liked, commented, or left laugh reacts? I felt less like an outsider, and more like someone who belonged.

Over time, I made dozens of online friends. As an adult, I tend to glom onto anyone who seems like they could become “my person,” because I spent so much of my childhood without that. Online, I could be the most authentic version of myself — the version I always struggled to show in real life. And I could finally hear the words I’d always needed: You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re not just a fat nobody — you’re my friend.

Social media has made me feel all of that, over and over again, for more than a decade.

So yes, I’m constantly on my phone, refreshing my feeds, checking for comments and likes. I fully admit that I’m a social media addict — partly because I’m a millennial, sure, but also because it fills a hole that’s been there since childhood.

But the other night, something struck me.

It was 10:30 p.m. I wasn’t holding my phone. I was holding my wailing baby instead.

And I realized: I am somebody’s validation now.

Actually, I’m two somebodies’ validation now.

I’m a mom — which still feels surreal, almost five years in. I’m the one who gives my kids the comfort they crave. The love they need. I’m the one who will remind them it’s okay to be shy. That weight is just a number — even mine.

We’ve all been really sick lately, and that night, when Holden woke up screaming in his crib, I picked him up and he stopped. He didn’t want a bottle. He shrieked when I tried to lay him back down. So I brought him to the couch and laid him in my arms — and again, he stopped. He looked up at me, thumb in mouth, eyes on mine, instantly calm.

And I didn’t feel like a nobody.

I felt like somebody. Not in a feed. Not on a screen. But here. In the real world.

As a working mom, I sometimes feel a disconnect — like maybe my kids don’t need me the way others do. But that night, he needed me. My presence validated him. Just me. That was enough to make him feel safe, to make him feel okay.

And in that moment — that one long, quiet look — he validated me too.

So yeah, maybe I’ve always chased likes and comments because I wanted to feel like I mattered. Because back then, I didn’t always feel like I did.

But that night, there was no audience. No laugh reacts. Just a sick baby in my arms, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that could make it better.

And for once, I didn’t need a single notification to know that I mattered.