The Foreign Approval Contract

Metaphorical Narrative

Picture an ancient contract, written not in your handwriting but in ink from foreign hands. The parchment declares: “Your needs come second. The approval of others must be satisfied first.”

You carry this contract like law. In every room you enter, you scan the faces around you: Are they pleased? Am I safe? Did I do enough? Meanwhile, your own thirst, hunger, desires, and rest are dismissed—minor details unworthy of negotiation.

But look closer. The contract is already cracked, its seal faded. It was never yours to begin with. You never signed it willingly—it was slipped into your pocket long ago by those who confused control with care. And when you notice this, the parchment suddenly feels lighter, ready to be torn.

Core Insight

Your nervous system equated approval = safety, and in that trade, your needs became expendable. This made sense once—it kept you alive. But the cost is that foreign approval became the compass, and your own needs lost authority.

The truth is, sovereignty means reversing the terms: your needs are primary. Approval is optional. Safety comes not from foreign signatures but from the contract you write with yourself.

Saturday Experiment

1. Choose one small need you’d normally dismiss (rest, water, silence, food, expression).
2. Before scanning for others’ cues, meet that need first—deliberately.
3. Say silently: “My needs are not negotiable. Approval is foreign currency.”
4. Notice how your body feels after honoring it.

Sunday Reflection

• Where did the contract of “foreign approval first” show up earliest in your life?
• What happens in your body when you imagine tearing that old parchment in half?
• If your needs became the primary law, how would today look different?