“When you choose me for what I can do, you will always lose who I really am.” — Leslie Noble

I’m going deep and vulnerable today, because this is one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever had to learn in relationships. For years, I couldn’t understand why betrayal kept finding me no matter how much I gave, how loyal I was, or how hard I tried to show up with kindness and heart. I kept thinking, What am I doing wrong? Why does this keep happening?

And then one day, the truth hit me like a punch:

People weren’t choosing me. They were choosing what I could do for them.

They chose the money. They chose the résumé. They chose the healer. They chose the kindness. They chose the woman who could carry the emotional load without ever asking for anything in return.

They chose the role — not the person.

And when you let people choose you for the role you play, betrayal becomes inevitable. Because the moment you stop performing, the moment you grow, the moment you ask for reciprocity or honesty or shared responsibility, the relationship can’t hold it anymore.

Not because you changed. But because they never saw you to begin with.

How This Pattern Begins: The Hard Truth About Feeling “Needed”

Before I could ever understand why people kept choosing me for what I could do, I had to face an uncomfortable truth:

Some part of me felt worthy when I was needed.

Not because I wanted to be used. Not because I lacked self-awareness. But because that was the only form of love I was taught to recognize.

In my family, love was tied to achievement. Success was praised. Titles were celebrated. Being impressive was the currency of belonging.

No one ever said it out loud, but the message was clear:

“You are valuable when you perform.”

So I learned to perform.

I learned to be the strong one, the capable one, the responsible one. I learned to earn connection by being useful. I learned to hold everything together so no one would fall apart. I learned to make myself indispensable so I wouldn’t be abandoned.

And here’s the part that took me years to see:

When you grow up performing for love, you will unconsciously perform in your relationships.

You will attract people who love the performance. You will tolerate dynamics where you are needed but never truly known. You will confuse being essential with being loved. You will give and give, hoping someone will finally see you underneath all the doing.

Because somewhere deep inside, the child in you still believes:

“If I am helpful, I will be loved.” “If I am impressive, I will be safe.” “If I am needed, I won’t be left.”

But performing love is not the same as receiving love. And being needed is not the same as being valued.

The Healing: Questioning Everything I Was Taught About Worth

A huge part of my healing has been learning to question the very things I was raised to believe made me valuable. Success. Titles. Performance. Being impressive. Being needed. Being the one who could hold it all together.

For so long, I thought that was what made me lovable — the résumé, the strength, the competence, the ability to fix, to heal, to provide. I thought authenticity was something you earned after you’d proven yourself. I thought vulnerability was something you offered only after you’d secured your place.

But healing forced me to ask a different set of questions:

What if success isn’t who I am? What if the titles aren’t my identity? What if performing isn’t connection? What if being needed isn’t the same as being loved? What if I’m allowed to be human instead of impressive?

Letting myself ask those questions cracked something open in me.

Because the truth is, dropping the résumé — the emotional one and the literal one — has healed me in ways I can’t fully capture in a single blog. It has stripped me down to something real, something honest, something I didn’t even know I was allowed to be.

And yes, it made my circle smaller. But the quality of the people in my life became so much better.

People who see me, not my performance. People who value my presence, not my usefulness. People who don’t need me to shrink or shine on command. People who meet me where I am instead of where I’m convenient.

I’ve had to learn to trust my own judgment — even when I was scared to death. I’ve had to make decisions without knowing the outcome. I’ve had to walk away from roles that once felt like home but were actually cages. I’ve had to learn, slowly and painfully, that I am so much more than a title, a bank account, a résumé, or a role.

And the more I let myself be real, the more I realized this:

Authenticity doesn’t cost you the right people. It only costs you the ones who were never choosing you to begin with.

My Martial Arts Lesson: I Don’t Want to Earn My Place Anymore

Martial arts has been one of the most unexpected mirrors in my healing.

I realized later why I was so sensitive to the belt system — the hierarchy, the titles, the colors wrapped around people’s waists. It wasn’t insecurity. It was recognition.

I don’t want to have to earn my place in life anymore.

For so long, everything in my world was tied to performance. Titles. Achievements. Being impressive. Being the one who could do more, give more, hold more. So when I walked into a martial arts studio and saw belts and ranks and titles, something in me tightened.

Not because I didn’t respect the system — but because I’m tired of living in systems where I have to prove myself to belong.

I don’t go to martial arts to perform. I go to learn. To train. To move. To be part of a community that feels different from anything I’ve known.

I don’t want to put pressure on myself to “earn” who I am anymore. I just want to be there — fully, honestly, imperfectly.

And the truth is, I have days when I do really well in there, and days when I don’t. Days when I don’t feel like going, and days when I can’t wait to get there. Both are okay. Both are human. Both are allowed.

Because being a black belt won’t change who I am at the core. It won’t make me more worthy, more lovable, or more real.

What changes me is the act of showing up for myself. The discipline of choosing growth over perfection. The courage to challenge my limits without tying my identity to the outcome.

It’s not the belt that transforms me — it’s who I become in the process.

Seeing the Pattern Everywhere

I have started to see this pattern clearly in all areas of my life — the difference between performing and simply being. It's like a blindfold finally came off. I can finally pause long enough to ask myself what I want it to be for me. What feels aligned for my body, my spirit, my growth in my own life. 

I didn’t used to ask those questions. I just did what other people told me success was supposed to look like. I followed the formula. I played the role. I performed the version of “good” and “strong” that everyone else expected.

But now… I know different.

And now that I see this clearly, I choose different in every area of my life.  In my relationships, my work, my family, and my history. 

Because Really Hard Truth. In the Past....

People weren’t choosing me. They were choosing what I could provide.

When Someone Chooses You for What You Provide

There are people who never choose you — they choose the benefits of being connected to you. They choose the stability, the emotional labor, the status, the competence, the peace you bring, the way you make them feel important or taken care of.

They choose the version of you that makes their life easier.

And when someone chooses you for what you provide, they will always require you to keep performing. Your usefulness becomes the glue. Your exhaustion becomes invisible. Your needs become inconvenient.

This isn’t love. This is dependency disguised as connection.

Why Being Chosen for a Role Always Ends in Betrayal

Here’s the truth most people don’t want to face:

If someone chooses you for a role, they will betray you the moment you stop performing it.

The moment you have needs. The moment you set a boundary. The moment you stop over-functioning. The moment you ask for reciprocity. The moment you stop carrying the emotional weight of two people.

They feel “betrayed” because the version of you they depended on is no longer available. And then they betray you in return — through withdrawal, blame, punishment, or abandonment.

Not because you did anything wrong. But because their attachment was never to your truth. It was to the benefits of you.

The Heartbreak: They Never Chose You at All

This is the grief that breaks something open inside you:

They never chose you. They chose the role you played.

They chose the caretaker. They chose the provider. They chose the peacekeeper. They chose the one who made them feel better about themselves. They chose the one who didn’t challenge them. They chose the one who kept everything running smoothly.

But they did not choose:

Your truth. Your vulnerability. Your boundaries. Your voice. Your humanity. Your soul.

And when someone doesn’t choose your soul, they cannot honor your truth. They will drain you without noticing you’re empty. They will take your loyalty as entitlement, not as a gift. They will confuse your generosity with obligation.

This is why the betrayal feels so personal — because you were giving them you, and they were only receiving the role.

The Freedom: When You Stop Performing, the Wrong People Fall Away

Here’s the liberation that comes with clarity:

When you stop performing, the people who only wanted the role will leave. Let them.

Their exit is not a loss — it’s alignment.

Because the people who are meant for you:

Don’t need you to be useful to be worthy. Don’t collapse when you have needs. Don’t punish you for having boundaries. Don’t love your strength more than your vulnerability. Don’t require your silence to feel safe. Don’t need you to shrink to stay connected

They choose you — the whole you. Not the performance. Not the benefits. Not the role.

Just you.

How to Change the Pattern: How to Know If Someone Wants You or What You Can Give Them

Once you see the pattern, you don’t have to repeat it. Healing becomes about discernment — learning to recognize who is choosing you and who is choosing the role.

They want you if…

• They’re curious about your inner world.

• They don’t get defensive when you express a need.

• They stay connected even when you stop over-functioning.

• They value your presence more than your usefulness.

• They don’t treat your kindness like a resource to mine.

• They show up without needing you to earn it.

They want what you can give them if…

• They only reach out when they need something.

• They praise your strength, but avoid your vulnerability.

• They get irritated when you have limits.

• They withdraw when you stop being useful.

• They never ask about your inner world — only your availability.

• They expect emotional labor, but don’t offer any in return.

The shift begins with you.

When you stop offering the role, you stop attracting people who only want the role. When you stop over-functioning, you stop drawing in people who under-function. When you stop performing, you stop being chosen for the performance.

And when you start showing up as your whole self — needs, boundaries, truth, softness, humanity — the people who can meet you there will rise to the surface.

The rest will fall away. And that is not rejection — it is protection.

A Closing Word: The Most Important Choice You Will Ever Make

At some point, you stop asking, “Why do people keep choosing me for what I can do?” And you start asking, “Why am I still offering myself that way?”

That’s the moment everything changes.

Because the most important choice you will ever make is this:

Choose yourself for who you are — and watch who rises to meet you.

When you stop performing, you don’t lose your power. You reclaim it.

When you stop being needed, you don’t lose love. You make space for real love to find you.

And when you stop letting people choose you for performance, you finally become free to be chosen for your soul.