Why “Confidence” Is the Wrong Goal

Many gay men misinterpret fear and self‑monitoring as low confidence.

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KEY POINTS

• Polyvagal theory explains why safety is essential for interpersonal risk.

• Awareness of the nervous system can help gay men see confidence differently.

• What can feel like a personal failure is often the body signaling it doesn’t feel safe.

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For most of my life, I thought I struggled with confidence and that low self-esteem was the cause.

In fact, on my path of trying to “become more confident,” nearly all the advice I received around dating, visibility, work, and relationships was about confidence:

“Just put yourself out there.”

“Fake it till you make it.”

“Work on your self-esteem.”

“Just be more confident.”

Or my personal favorite, “Self-esteem comes from doing estimable acts.”

On the surface, working on self-esteem or doing power poses in front of a mirror and saying affirmations makes sense and can even sometimes help. If only we were more confident, the partner, job, or happiness would follow.

But there’s more to confidence than effort alone. Confidence assumes something crucial—that the nervous system already feels safe enough to take interpersonal risk. Without an inner sense of safety, however, trying to be more confident can feel exhausting and inauthentic. True self-confidencedepends on secure attachment, self-trust, and a nervous system that perceives safety, not just repeated behavioral practice or relying on positive self-talk.

For many gay men, especially if we grew up constantly self-monitoring around family, peers, or authority figures, confidence isn’t what’s missing. Safety is.

What can feel like a personal failure, or like something is wrong, is actually just our nervous system doing exactly what it’s meant to do based on our experiences.

Polyvagal theory, developed by Stephen Porges, shows that the nervous system must register safety before it can support connection and interpersonal risk, such as initiating a date, expressing a need, or being visibly yourself. When we’re in a state of threat or shutdown, no amount of positive self-talk will override what the body is experiencing.

The topic of confidence has come up a lot in my therapy sessions lately. Many clients talk about feeling as though they lack confidence, or that not having enough confidence is their problem.

One client I worked with wanted to put himself out there after years of being single. He had tried the usual things, saying affirmations, going to the gym, and even seeking out therapy specifically focused on self-esteem. When his heart raced and his stomach tightened, he assumed it meant he lacked confidence. He didn’t recognize those sensations as a normal response to taking a risk and instead confused them with the similar bodily sensations he had learned to interpret as danger growing up.

He was convinced he just needed more confidence. In reality, his nervous system was still on alert from past rejection. He couldn’t feel safe taking risks, and until he could develop an inner sense of safety, pep talks and self-help strategies didn’t make it any easier.

When safety is missing, confidence ends up feeling forced, performative, draining, and short-lived. We might “put ourselves out there,” but it’s not authentic.

Then, when we don’t feel confident, shame creeps in and tells us we’re doing something wrong, or we need to “try harder,” or something is wrong with us.

For gay men especially, many of us grew up feeling too much, not enough, or out of place. Our bodies carry the memory of those early experiences. So, when shame appears, which it so often does, it can feel like a personal failure. Often, though, it’s our nervous system signaling to us that we don’t feel safe.

Instead of focusing on confidence, what if we turned inward and paid attention to feeling safe inside ourselves, with our emotions, and with who we are?

Safety isn’t like a light switch that just automatically turns on. It’s created through small, repeated experiences. One of my clients started carving out time in the morning to connect with himself before checking his phone. He took a beat before automatically responding to texts and emails. He stayed at social events for shorter periods instead of out of obligation. Most importantly, he began noticing moments throughout his day where he could relax, even for just a few minutes.

Over time, small cues allowed his nervous system to register he could exist without constant self-monitoring. Confidence followed naturally. It wasn’t something he had to pretend to be.

Safety also doesn’t come from waiting for the world to give it to us. It’s something we cultivate internally, in how we treat and feel about ourselves. When our nervous system feels safe, it trusts we can take risks without catastrophic consequences. Self-trust develops slowly, through consistent self-kindness, awareness, and acknowledging fear without judgment.

For gay men navigating visibility, dating, or professional spaces, shifting the focus from “being confident” to feeling safe can change everything. We stop seeing ourselves as the problem and start noticing the subtle ways we've trained ourselves to become someone else to get our needs met, instead of trusting who we are is enough.

In my own life, I always thought I lacked confidence or wasn't confident enough. When I discovered it wasn't that I was lacking anything, especially confidence, but that my nervous system hadn't really ever felt safe, it was revelatory for me. It was like a huge relief and completely changed my self-concept. I hadn't yet learned that I could be visible and still be okay, that I could be known without being punished, corrected, or left out. I couldn't force confidence. It grew naturally when my body learned that connection didn't require self-abandonment.

Feeling safe in our nervous system doesn't mean we won't feel fear or that it will make being vulnerable painless. When our nervous system feels safe, it can tolerate fear without shutdown or hyperarousal. There's a distinct difference between faking something until we make it and listening to what our nervous system is telling us, noticing our triggers, and slowly creating experiences where we can rest inside ourselves.

We don’t need more confidence. We need a nervous system that feels safe.

Therein lies our work.

Featured on:

Psychology Today

Chris Tompkins is a gay male therapist in West Hollywood (Los Angeles) who specializes in working with adult gay men, individuals and couples. He supports clients navigating identity, relationships, religious trauma, addiction, and self-esteem. To learn more, explore therapeutic services or schedule a free consultation.