The Holding Back of Telling Our Truth – Fear of Rejection
I think we all have this feeling — the hesitation, the holding back — especially when we feel that our past experiences might define how someone sees us.
People say they don’t care what others think, and maybe that’s true to a point. But that usually erodes pretty quickly when we meet someone new. When we start to feel something. When the chance to be seen comes along.
It doesn’t always start like that. Sometimes we’re just getting to know someone, having a laugh, no pressure. But then something shifts. That internal feeling that says, “Hang on, I actually like this person.” And all of a sudden, the thoughts kick in.
Will they still like me if they know my past? Will they be scared off? Do I have too much baggage?
Even if we’ve done the work, even if we feel whole again, we carry this thought that maybe someone else will look at it all and say “too much.” That they’ll run like a cat from water — scratching, clawing to get away.
So we hold back. We wear the mask.
It’s not because we’re dishonest — it’s because we’re scared.
Scared to lose what feels like a new hope.
A new beginning.
A chance to rewrite the story.
But here’s the thing with masks — they always come off eventually.
Especially if we have kids. Especially if we’ve been through the kind of pain that changes us. These things can’t be hidden forever, and they shouldn’t be. We don’t need to unload everything at once, but we do need to be honest. The truth helps show whether the connection is real. Whether it’s safe. Whether it’s mutual.
I’ve noticed sometimes there’s chemistry, attraction, even connection — but then the criteria kicks in. Their checklist of what a partner should be. And suddenly it’s not about us, it’s about them.
Their fear.
Their need to keep things light, controlled, manageable.
Some people don’t want to deal with anything that reflects back their own pain.
Others just aren’t emotionally equipped to hold space for another person’s past.
That doesn’t make you broken. That doesn’t make you unworthy.
It just means this is where you are right now.
After separation, after starting over, after losing the structures that once held your identity — it’s easy to feel like you’re behind, like you’re not valuable anymore, like you don’t have what others want.
But that’s the nervous system talking. That’s fear. And fear always sees the worst-case scenario.
If you’re stuck in fight-or-flight, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re not seeing your worth. You’re just trying to survive.
What helps is acceptance — accepting yourself for where you are right now.
And letting go of needing someone else to accept you first.
We want relationships to feel like lifelines sometimes, especially after we’ve been through hell.
But I’ve learnt the hard way — hiding who you are just to be accepted means you never really are.
You’re just tolerated. And that’s not the same.
So I say this: be who you are.
Let someone choose you.
Not the mask.
Not the performance.
You.
And if they walk — good. That’s not your person.
The right one won’t run when they hear the truth.
They’ll stay and say, “I get it. I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s the kind of connection that doesn’t scare you.
It settles you.
But here’s something no one really talks about:
That kind of real acceptance — where someone says, “I get you” — it actually feels uncomfortable.
There’s no anxiety we used to mistake for butterflies.
No urge to call or message constantly to feel close.
It almost feels like the distance between a friend you haven’t seen in a year — and when you do catch up, it’s like nothing’s changed.
We’re so used to the chaos, we start confusing it for excitement.
We mistake questions for judgment.
We see stability as boring, or even suspicious.
But when someone actually says, “I understand you. I’m cool with it. What do you want for dinner?”
It can throw us off.
People like that don’t always react to your moods.
They might tell you they don’t like your behaviour.
They might message you when you’ve gone quiet.
But they also give you space.
They wait.
They hold space until you’re ready.
And sure, you might push them away enough times that they stop showing up — but that’s usually about them keeping their own boundaries and self-respect. It’s not about not liking you. It’s not to be mean.
But we misinterpret.
We get reactive.
We make it about them when really, it’s our own triggers being poked.
We’re not perfect. Relationships are messy.
But the more we understand ourselves, the more we grow — and the more space we create for others to grow too.
Truthfully showing up means being seen.
And being seen might be scary.
But it’s also the way we start to heal.