We all crave a nod now and then. That’s human.

But when you can’t go a day—sometimes an hour—without “Are we okay?” or “Did I do that right?”, that’s not just a quirk. It’s a survival strategy that worked once upon a time.

I’ve watched this pattern for decades—in the workplace I managed, in friends and family, and in myself. Reassurance is a compass people reach for when their internal compass got scrambled early on.

If you see yourself in the list below, it isn’t a character flaw. It’s an adaptation. And adaptations can be updated.

Below are 7 common childhood conditions that prime us to chase constant reassurance in adulthood. You don’t have to have experienced all of them. One is enough to wire the habit.

1. Emotional whiplash at home

If the atmosphere in your house shifted without warning—warm one night, icy the next—you learned to scan for danger.

Kids in unpredictable environments become expert mood readers. They become peacekeepers, fixers, minders of tone and timing.

That hypervigilance doesn’t turn off at eighteen.

In adulthood, it shows up as checking and re-checking: “Did I offend you?” “Are we still good?” You’re not needy; you’re trained. Your nervous system equates uncertainty with threat, so reassurance functions like a quick sip of water in the desert.

The shift begins by noticing the old scan. When you catch yourself checking, pause. Three slow breaths.

Name the feeling: “I’m uncertain.”

Uncertainty isn’t danger — it’s just uncertainty.

2. Love tied to performance

Some of us grew up on a scoreboard. Love showed up when the grades were perfect, the room spotless, the game won. Approval felt earned, not given. You learned that perfection buys safety.

Adults with this history often need reassurance that their work, their text message, their contribution is “good enough.”

The fear isn’t failure — it’s losing connection.

There’s a line from Rudá Iandê’s new book ‘Laughing in the Face of Chaos‘ that landed like a bell for me: “When we let go of the need to be perfect, we free ourselves to live fully—embracing the mess, complexity, and richness of a life that’s delightfully real.”

Tape that above your desk if you grew up on performance love. The antidote to “Am I good enough?” is building a life where good enough is human, not a verdict.

3. Criticism without repair

Plenty of families are tough on mistakes.

That’s survivable when there’s repair—someone circles back, explains, reconnects.

In homes where criticism is constant and repair is rare, kids internalize a simple equation: “If I slip, I’m unworthy.”

As adults, these kids become meticulous. They crave feedback not to grow but to avoid the sting. They’ll overexplain, overwork, and over-apologize to preempt the cold shoulder they remember.

If this is you, practice “one and done.”

Ask for input once. Implement what’s useful. Then stop fishing.

Your worth isn’t a group project, and the world won’t hand you a permission slip to be at ease — you have to issue it to yourself.

4. Being the family regulator

Some children become the household barometer. They soothe an anxious parent, placate a raging one, distract a depressed one, or act as the go-between for adults who won’t speak to each other.

It’s called parentification, and it breeds a habit of taking responsibility for other people’s feelings.

Later on, you seek reassurance not just that you’re okay, but that everyone else is okay with you. You track micro-shifts in tone and text timing like a Wall Street ticker.

The grown-up move is a tough one: return responsibility to its rightful owners. You can be kind, present, and responsive without carrying anyone’s emotional backpack.

That includes letting other adults have their moods without rushing in to fix them.

5. Absence, neglect, or unreliability

Sometimes the wound isn’t loud; it’s quiet. A parent who was physically there but emotionally distant.

A caregiver who disappeared due to work, illness, addiction, or divorce. A string of broken promises.

For a child, unpredictability in connection feels like standing on a trapdoor.

In adulthood, that can look like frequent “Just checking!” messages, constant second-guessing after meetings, and panic when someone goes silent. You’re not dramatic. You’re responding to an old pattern where silence meant loss.

Try this practice: before you reach out for reassurance, give yourself a time buffer—ten minutes, then thirty, then an hour. While you wait, attend to your body.

Warm drink. Hand on chest. Remind yourself, out loud if you have to: “Delay isn’t danger.”

6. Blurred boundaries or overprotection

Some families operate like a single organism. Emotions are shared, decisions are collective, privacy is optional.

Add in overprotection—parents who step in at the slightest wobble—and the result is a child who doesn’t get many reps at self-trust.

Without those reps, adulthood becomes a series of “Is this okay?” moments. You outsource decisions because you never got to practice making them.

Rebuilding self-trust is a hands-on project.

Start with “safe-to-fail” experiments: pick a modest decision each day and make it without polling the room. Notice what happens.

Confidence is less a feeling than a pile of proof you create by acting.

7. Early social injuries

Bullying, public shaming, being the punchline—those experiences don’t stay on the playground.

They echo.

A child who learns that belonging is brittle will often become an adult who asks for constant assurances that the group still wants them.

If that’s you, remember that your brain is trying to keep you in the tribe. That’s noble. But you don’t have to treat every delayed reply as exile. One practical shift: set community on purpose.

Two or three relationships where you’ve explicitly agreed on norms—how you handle conflict, how you communicate, how you reconnect. Predictability heals.

Parting thoughts

If you grew up with chaos, criticism, or blurred lines, reassurance-seeking probably kept you afloat.

Thank it, then teach your system a new way. Start small. Fewer check-ins, more check-ins with yourself. 

A quick note here: I’ve written before about how perfectionism sneaks into retirement planning—different topic, same muscle. We can chase certainty in spreadsheets or in people. Either way, the chase never ends.

And since I know I’ve mentioned it before, I’ll say it again because it’s timely: I recently finished Rudá Iandê’s new book, Laughing in the Face of Chaos. The book inspired me to listen to my body’s signals instead of treating them as problems to solve, and to treat emotions as messengers rather than enemies. Those ideas dovetail with everything above.

If reassurance has been your lifeline, the chapters on authenticity and embodied wisdom might give you a sturdier rope—one you hold from the inside.

And if this list stirred up old memories, take your time.

You’re not late. I didn’t start writing—really writing—until after a long career in management. We get many drafts in life. This is just another one.