Tim said all children want their parents’ approval. I questioned whether I ever wanted mine. Yes, as a child.
Age 7. I had a 5×7 drawing pad. I had recently learned how to draw shapes that would overlap and how, if a shape had a hole in it, you could see the shape underneath. I took a page to my mom, and she thought it was wonderful. I went back to my desk and quickly did another variation and showed her, and she was much less enthused. By the time I showed her a third variation, she couldn’t be bothered.
Age 8, at school, I made a ceramic handprint and painted it yellow. I liked it. I wanted to show it to my mom. She wasn’t home, and I thought maybe I could find her by the big ranch barn down the road. While walking down the dirt road to find my mom, I dropped the hand and broke my art project. I think the little finger broke off. Later, my mom scolded me, saying it broke because I was carrying it around unnecessarily. The message was that I was being irresponsible to take the ceramic into the middle of the ranch. The art project was thrown away because it was broken. Yellow has never been my first choice of color, for anything, since.
And then, seeking approval during middle school, high school, or college? I can’t remember caring whether my parents were proud of me. More similar to a paradox of wanting to stay small to avoid criticism and disappointment while having a strong desire to be seen. My choice to be a tomboy was definitely not related to seeking approval.