October 2025

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Assertiveness and Lack of Confidence: Understanding Albert Ellis’s REBT Approach

A topic that has always fascinated me is assertiveness and lack of confidence. Over the years, I have explored this subject from different perspectives — personal, psychological, and philosophical — but one approach that deeply resonated with me was that of Albert Ellis, the founder of Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy (REBT).

Before going deeper into his ideas, it’s worth mentioning a few things about Ellis himself. Albert Ellis was an American psychologist who, in the mid-20th century, revolutionised psychotherapy by challenging the traditional Freudian view that our emotions are largely determined by our past or unconscious drives. Instead, Ellis proposed that our beliefs about events — not the events themselves — shape our emotional experiences. This idea became one of the cornerstones of modern cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT).

Ellis believed that most of our emotional suffering comes not from what happens to us, but from how we interpret what happens. He argued that when we think irrationally, we create unnecessary anxiety, guilt, shame, and self-doubt. In his view, confidence and assertiveness are not built by trying to control other people’s opinions, but by learning to manage our own internal dialogue and self-beliefs.

The Inner Source of Confidence

One of Ellis’s most profound insights is that no one else can truly make you feel unconfident. It’s not other people who make you nervous, shy, or hesitant — it’s your own beliefs about yourself in relation to them.

If you try to be more assertive or confident purely to prove yourself to others, you are setting yourself up for disappointment. Why? Because your confidence then depends on external validation — on others approving of you, agreeing with you, or liking you. And the moment they don’t, your confidence collapses.

True assertiveness, according to Ellis, comes from a mindset of unconditional self-acceptance — the idea that you are valuable as a human being regardless of whether others approve of you or not.

A Common Example: The Anxious Meeting

Let’s take a very relatable scenario. Imagine you are about to attend an important meeting with your bosses. As the meeting approaches, you start feeling anxious. Your heart races, your palms sweat, and your mind fills with thoughts like, “What if I mess up? What if they think I’m incompetent?”

Ellis would say: that anxiety doesn’t come from the meeting itself — it comes from what you are telling yourself about the meeting. You are thinking, “They must approve of me” or “It would be terrible if they thought I was wrong.” You have turned a simple preference (“I’d like them to think well of me”) into a demand (“They must think well of me”).

When you believe that you absolutely must perform perfectly and win everyone’s approval, you start to catastrophise. You tell yourself things like, “If I make a mistake, it will be horrible!” or “I couldn’t stand it if they disapproved of me.” In REBT terms, these are irrational beliefs — rigid, unrealistic demands that cause emotional disturbance.

You might even go further and engage in what Ellis called self-downing — telling yourself, “Because I’m feeling nervous, I must be a failure.” This kind of thinking transforms a normal human emotion (nervousness) into a full-blown crisis of self-worth.

The Cycle of Ego Anxiety

Ellis used the term ego anxiety to describe this pattern — a deep worry about one’s own worth and value. Ego anxiety manifests in many forms: shyness, shame, embarrassment, fear of rejection, or a constant need to impress others. It’s the voice in your head that says, “I must not fail,” “I must look confident,” or “I must be liked.”

But this “must” is what traps you. When you demand perfection from yourself or from others, you create a pressure cooker of frustration and fear. You become hyper-aware of how you appear, what others might be thinking, and whether you’re “good enough.” Ironically, this self-consciousness makes it even harder to perform well or to express yourself confidently.

This is why Ellis believed that one of the biggest enemies of confidence is the need for approval. When you make other people’s opinions more important than your own self-acceptance, you give away your personal power. You become dependent on their validation — and in doing so, you lose your inner stability.

Turning the Focus Inward

So how do you overcome this? Ellis’s answer was deceptively simple: you must learn to accept yourself unconditionally, even when you make mistakes or when others disapprove of you.

This doesn’t mean becoming arrogant or dismissive of others’ feedback. It means recognising that your worth as a person is not on trial every time you speak, perform, or interact. You are fallible — as everyone is — and that’s okay.

Ellis encouraged people to challenge their irrational beliefs by asking themselves questions like:

  • “Where is the evidence that I must be approved of by everyone?”

  • “Why would it be ‘horrible’ if someone didn’t like me?”

  • “Could I survive and still value myself if I failed?”

By questioning these automatic, rigid beliefs, you begin to weaken their power over you. Over time, this leads to a more relaxed, assertive, and authentic way of relating to others.

From Performance to Presence

When you stop demanding perfection from yourself, you can shift your focus from performance to presence. You stop obsessing over how others see you and start engaging more genuinely with the situation in front of you.

In the meeting example, this might mean reminding yourself:

“I’d like to do well in this meeting, but I don’t have to be perfect. Even if I stumble, that doesn’t make me a failure. I’m still a worthwhile person.”

This kind of thinking diffuses pressure and allows you to speak with calm assurance rather than fear-driven overcompensation. True assertiveness isn’t about being loud, dominant, or forceful — it’s about communicating clearly and honestly without being paralysed by the fear of disapproval.

Final Thoughts

Ellis’s message remains incredibly relevant today. In a world driven by social comparison and external validation — where “likes,” performance reviews, and image often seem to define our worth — learning to build inner confidence and self-acceptance is more important than ever.

When you stop demanding approval and start accepting yourself as you are, confidence becomes less of a performance and more of a natural expression of who you are. Assertiveness flows from the quiet belief that you have value — not because others say so, but because you decide to believe it yourself.

So next time you catch yourself thinking, “I must not fail,” or “They must approve of me,” pause for a moment. Ask yourself: “Says who?” Then remind yourself that your worth doesn’t depend on anyone’s judgment — and that real confidence begins when you stop trying to prove yourself, and start simply being yourself.

If this topic resonates with you, take a moment to notice where in your life you’ve been seeking approval instead of self-acceptance. What would change if you decided that your worth wasn’t up for negotiation? Share your thoughts in the comments below — I’d love to hear how you’re working on building your own inner confidence and assertiveness. And if you found this post helpful, consider sharing it with someone who might need a reminder that confidence begins within.

Disarming Ourselves: On Listening, Armouring, and the Courage to Be Real

Inspired by Stanley Keleman’s “Patterns of Distress”

“I am much more careful to listen, to consider choices, to pause and let things sink in before I respond with my ‘can do’ attitude. My thinking no longer has to be ‘right.’ I no longer force an idea out but attempt to get it out on its own time.”
—Stanley Keleman, Patterns of Distress

Some words stay with you—not because they offer instant solutions, but because they help you see something you’ve been feeling for a long time without fully understanding. That’s how I felt reading this passage from Stanley Keleman’s Patterns of Distress.

Keleman, a pioneer in somatic psychology, invites us to reflect not just on how we think, but how we embody our lives. He reveals how our body—our posture, breath, muscular tone—often reflects the unconscious ways we try to protect ourselves from the unpredictability of the world.

And in doing so, he opens the door to a deeply human truth: we are all, in some way, armoured.

The Habit of Armouring

We all learn, in different ways, to tense up in response to stress, discomfort, or emotional exposure. For some, this looks like holding their breath. For others, it’s stiffening the shoulders, clenching the jaw, locking the knees, or forcing a smile. These physical gestures often go unnoticed, but they are real. They are the body’s language of self-protection.

Keleman calls this armouring: the habitual tightening or bracing of the body to cope with the challenges of being alive in a complex world.

Sometimes, this armour keeps us safe. It helps us survive. But over time, it can become an unconscious barrier between ourselves and the very life we wish to live. We carry ourselves through the world like we’re expecting to be judged, rejected, or hurt. And without realizing it, we stop breathing fully—not just with our lungs, but with our presence.

The World Isn’t as We Presumed

One of the most striking lines in Keleman’s reflection is:

“This is accompanied with the thought that ‘I have to watch out’ or that ‘the world is not organised as I presumed.’”

There’s a quiet grief in that realization—that the world isn’t as safe, fair, or predictable as we imagined it to be. Maybe it hits us after a traumatic event, a betrayal, a loss, or simply the slow accumulation of adult disappointments. At some point, many of us come to understand: we can’t always control what happens to us, and we may not always perform or cope as expected.

That’s a humbling truth. But it can also be liberating.

Because when we stop trying to force ourselves to be perfect, composed, or endlessly capable, we may find something softer underneath—something more human. And with that comes compassion: both for ourselves, and for others who are also carrying invisible weight.

The Speed of Speaking, The Slowness of Listening

In the fast-paced world we live in, where instant messaging, quick replies, and hot takes dominate communication, true listening is becoming rare. We are often preparing our responses while the other person is still speaking. We speak to fill silences, to avoid awkwardness, or to prove our worth.

But how often do we pause?
How often do we actually let the other person sink in before we respond?

There’s a kind of urgency to be seen as competent, articulate, insightful, or just agreeable. And while that isn’t inherently wrong, it can also be a form of self-protection. We perform our thoughts rather than expressing them. We answer quickly so that no one notices how unsure or vulnerable we feel.

Listening—true listening—requires us to slow down and risk not knowing for a moment. It asks us to set aside our need to be impressive or in control and to simply be present.

The Courage to Be Unarmoured

It takes a certain bravery to meet the world without a mask. To allow ourselves to be quiet in a conversation. To admit we don’t have the answer. To speak from our own time, rather than rushing to meet the tempo of the moment.

This kind of courage is not loud or heroic. It’s quiet and persistent. It shows up in small acts:

  • Pausing before you speak.
  • Allowing yourself to breathe fully before entering a meeting.
  • Noticing that your jaw is tight and gently softening it.
  • Asking someone how they are, and actually listening to their answer without mentally preparing a reply.
  • Saying, “I’m not sure,” or “Let me think about that,” rather than forcing an answer.

These moments may seem minor, but they are powerful acts of disarmament. They signal to your nervous system—and to the people around you—that it’s okay to show up as you are.

Gentle Reflection as a Path to Change

Keleman’s insight isn’t about shame or self-correction. It’s about noticing. Becoming gently curious about how we move through the world. After a social interaction or a stressful moment, you might ask yourself:

  • How did I hold my body?
  • What was I trying to protect or prove?
  • Did I allow myself to breathe?
  • Did I speak from habit, or from meaning?
  • How could I respond differently next time—more gently, more authentically, more slowly?

These are not self-critical questions. They are invitations. Invitations to return to yourself. To experiment with new ways of being. To shift from reaction to reflection. From performance to presence.

The Pleasure of Real Connection

Something beautiful happens when we begin to disarm ourselves: we open the possibility for real connection.

Not just with others, but with ourselves.

When we drop the need to appear strong, smart, nice, or interesting, we make room for realness. And ironically, it’s in this realness that others often feel most drawn to us. Because they, too, are tired of pretending. They, too, want to breathe.

Even mundane conversations can feel nourishing when they’re grounded in presence. You don’t have to impress or entertain. You simply need to be there, listening and responding in your own time.

And when you do speak, you may find that your words carry more weight. Not because they are perfect, but because they are honest.

A Way to Live, Not Just a Way to Communicate

This reflection isn’t only about how we talk and listen. It’s about how we live.

To listen deeply—to others, to your body, to your inner life—is to engage with the world on different terms. It means being willing to live more slowly, more responsively, and more in tune with what matters.

It means choosing presence over performance.
Substance over speed.
Curiosity over control.

And in that space, life often begins to feel fuller. Not necessarily easier, but richer, more textured, more real.

Final Thoughts: The Gentle Path

If there’s one thing I take from Keleman’s work, it’s this:

We don’t have to force our way into life.
We can let life come out of us, in its own time.

It may be uncomfortable at first—this slower, more open way of being. But discomfort isn’t always a problem. Sometimes, it’s a sign that we’re growing. That we’re stepping out of the tight spaces we’ve lived in for too long.

So perhaps the real work isn’t to push ourselves harder, or pretend to be fine.
Perhaps the real work is to listen.
To pause.
To notice.
To breathe.
To ask, gently: How am I showing up in this moment?
And even more gently: How might I soften, just a little?

Because in that softening, we begin to live more truthfully.
And in that truth, we often find—perhaps for the first time—that life is not just bearable, but pleasurable.