The Currency of Being Liked

Choosing yourself in a world that profits from your doubt.

👋 Hey, it’s Bryan. Welcome to BEing Human, where we explore what it means to lead, live, and connect, Human-to-Human.

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When I was in high school, I thought being liked was the whole point. It felt like the invisible currency that could get you into any room, soften any edge, unlock belonging. Like if you could earn enough of it, through charm, humor, thinly veiled self-abandonment, you could finally relax. Being liked would give you a warm place to land.

But being liked is slippery. It’s like trying to catch water in your hands. You can hold it for a moment, feel it cool your skin, and convince yourself it’s yours. And then it’s gone. And you’re still there, holding your empty hands, wondering what you did wrong.

This came up again for me recently, because, of course, it did, it always does. Being liked is one of those long shadows we never quite outgrow. A client said that she was worried someone in her friend group didn’t like her. I asked, “Do you like her?” She paused. “Not really.” We both laughed. But underneath, it wasn’t funny. Because even when we don’t like someone, we still want them to like us.

Most of us would rather be liked than be ourselves.

This isn’t a judgment; it’s just what we learned. We grew up in rooms where smiling kept the peace. Where praise was currency. Where love sometimes looked like approval, and approval looked like safety, so we got good at reading the room. Good at shaving down our edges. Good at being liked.

But here’s what they don’t tell you: being liked is not the same thing as being loved. Liked is polite. Liked is easy. Liked is… thin. Love is something else. It’s wilder. It demands more honesty, more risk. It means showing up without makeup, metaphorically or literally. It means you get misunderstood. It means you lose people.

You don’t get to be loved and liked by everyone. You get to be loved because someone sees you, not because you performed for them.

I’ve started asking myself, when I feel the pull of wanting to be liked, a different question: Do I like me here?

Do I like how I showed up in that conversation?

Do I like what I said on that podcast, even if it was awkward?

Do I like how I left that relationship, even if they didn’t?

Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes I’m not proud. Sometimes I betrayed myself just a little because I was afraid. Afraid they’d think I was too much, too intense, too sensitive, too whatever.

But even in those moments, I’m learning not to pile shame on top of fear. Instead, I try to whisper, okay, you slipped a bit. You forgot. Come back. Come back to yourself. Come back to the person who promised not to live from other people’s preferences.

Last month, I left a group chat, something I’ve been doing a lot lately. No announcement, no drama, just a quiet exit after months of feeling out of sync. One friend messaged, “Everything okay?” I said yes, just needed some space.

For a minute, I spiraled. Was I rude? Did I make it weird? Would they all think I was too much, too sensitive?

But then I took a breath and remembered: I didn’t leave to be liked. I went to be real. To stop pretending I felt connected when I didn’t. Sometimes peace costs popularity. And that’s a price I’m learning to pay.

A friend once told me, “You can either be liked by many or loved by a few, but you have to choose.”

And if I’m honest, I’m still learning to choose. It’s not clean. It’s not linear. Some days, I still reach for the shiny gold star. Still hope the email lands right. Still want everyone in the room to nod. But I catch it sooner now. The hunger. The trade. The way it always leaves me a little empty.

And I return again to the practice: Let me be real, not liked. Let me be whole, not polished. Let me be me, messy, human, soft, and trust that the people who love me will stay.

The poet Nayyirah Waheed writes: “You do not have to be a fire for every mountain blocking you. You could be a water and soft river, your way to freedom, too.” That’s what I think being ourselves is like. Not a fight. Not a performance. But a slow, steady return to the truth. A kind of quiet self-trust that doesn’t need applause to be valid.

So if you’re reading this and feel the ache of wanting to be liked by your team, your ex, your new boss, the parent who still doesn’t get you, I want to say: me too.

But also: what if you don’t need their like to live?

What if your worth was never a negotiation?

What if, this time, you stopped begging for a seat and built your own table?

Stay human,
Bryan

P.S. What’s your relationship with being liked? Just a word or a quick hit, I’m all ears.

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You are reading BEing Human, a weekly newsletter about an honest exploration of trust, leadership, and mindfulness from the bestselling author of Human-to-Human and Shareology, CEO, and TEDTalker. Written by Bryan Kramer, an executive coach and advisor to Fortune executives, we dive into what it means to lead ourselves in life, business, and the moments that matter most.

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