How Do We Know We Matter?

When you are different in some way, childhood can be hard. For Jerry, it was stuttering that stood out. His sisters enjoyed teasing him, and he began to feel ashamed. When he went to school, he carried that feeling with him. He never really felt he fitted in. He was not good enough. It was safer to be on his own.

Is this an experience we have all had at some time? We become aware that there are places where we fit and places where we don’t. We notice who gets included, listened to, chosen or admired. Somewhere among all of that, we begin forming ideas about our own worth.

How do we find that sense of “I matter”?

Where do we look for our worth?

We learn early to look for signs. Being chosen for the team can tell us something. So can being left until last. A good school report, an invitation to a party, a friend’s attention or a parent’s praise can become evidence that we are doing all right. Their absence can feel like evidence of something quite different.

We don’t necessarily leave that behind when we grow up. The signs simply change.

We may look at the work we do, the money we earn, the people who need us, the invitations we receive or the respect we command. We notice whether people listen when we speak and whether anyone notices when we are absent. Even people who appear very sure of themselves can be quietly collecting evidence that they have a place and that their presence makes a difference.

There is a problem, though, if our sense of worth depends entirely upon that evidence. Jobs end. Children grow up. Relationships change. Bodies age. Communities shift. Success can disappear surprisingly quickly. If those things have been answering the question Do I matter?, what happens when they can no longer give us the answer?

Worth and recognition are not the same thing

There is an important distinction between having worth and having that worth recognised.

Jerry eventually found a place where his abilities were recognised. In the Marines, he discovered he could lead and contribute. He described beginning to feel that he belonged, made a difference and mattered.

Yet he didn’t acquire his worth when someone recognised his leadership ability. The boy who stuttered had no less worth than the young Marine put in charge of a platoon. What changed was his experience of being seen.

That raises a different responsibility for the rest of us. We don’t get to decide whether another human being has worth. We do, however, make choices every day about whether we recognise it.

And we don’t always do that well.

We can become very good at recognising people when they are useful to us, agreeable to us or successful by the standards we value. It becomes harder when someone is difficult, when we disagree with them, when they disappoint us or when their behaviour needs to be challenged.

Yet recognising someone’s worth does not require pretending that everything they do is acceptable.

Jerry experienced that distinction years later when people in a couples group challenged him quite forcefully about his behaviour. What eventually got through to him was not simply what they said. They could confront him and then go to dinner with him, laugh together and continue the relationship. He came to understand that they cared about him even while telling him things he did not want to hear.

Perhaps this is one of the more difficult expressions of human worth: I can disagree with you, challenge you or hold you accountable without treating you as though you have ceased to matter.

What does mattering look like?

If worth is inherent, we cannot give it to another person. But we can certainly influence whether they experience themselves as seen, heard and valued.

Often that happens in surprisingly ordinary ways.

We remember someone’s name. We notice the person standing by themselves. We make room at the table. We ask a question and remain interested long enough to hear the answer. We allow someone to finish speaking instead of preparing our response while they talk.

Jerry now uses what he calls “gently curious questions” when someone is struggling with whether they matter. Rather than immediately reassuring them, he asks questions that allow them to speak: How long have you been feeling this way? What changes when you feel like you don’t matter? What do you need from me?

There is something profoundly human about that approach. We are often quick to tell people what they should think or feel because we want to make things better. Listening asks something different of us. It asks us to make room for another person’s experience without immediately replacing it with our own.

Brew the Change

This week, choose one person and make space for them to be heard. Ask a gently curious question such as, “Help me understand that,” or “Can you tell me a little more about that?”

Stay curious and listen a little longer than you normally would.

Because the question Do I matter? isn’t always answered by someone saying yes.

Sometimes the answer is found in the way another person chooses to treat us.

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