I realized that constantly seeking approval from my parents and friends did not bring me happiness. After reading The Courage to Be Disliked, I gained new ways to understand and move beyond past traumas, and I learned five key lessons that made my mind and relationships healthier and happier.
I used to be the kind of person who tried my best to do everything well, hoping to receive recognition from others, but I wasn’t happy. The book The Courage to Be Disliked begins with a conversation between a young man and a philosopher. The philosopher says, “The world is simple. Everyone can achieve happiness.” My first reaction was: What is this person talking about? It must be idealistic thinking.
But after reading “The Courage to Be Disliked,” I saw how I had chosen my own unhappiness. Now, by changing my worldview, I am becoming happier and happier. Let’s talk about five things I learned.
Trauma does not exist
“If I had a happy childhood, I would have made many friends.”
“The reason I find it difficult to make friends now is because I have been betrayed by friends in the past.”
“I don’t want to get married because my parents’ unhappy marriage left me with psychological scars.”
In the late 19th century, Freud introduced the concept of “psychological trauma.” He believed that when a person experiences intense pain or distress in early life and is unable to fully process these experiences, their memories are repressed into the subconscious and later resurface in various symptoms. Freud called this a causal way of thinking—the belief that our present problems directly result from events in our past.
To understand psychological trauma, imagine a patient visiting a doctor. The doctor says, “You are sick because you got caught in the rain yesterday without an umbrella.” That exemplifies Freud’s idea of psychological trauma. Past events are seen as the cause of present problems. But the problem remains; simply knowing the cause does not solve anything. Just as the doctor gives no medicine, causal theory explains why we suffer but offers no way to heal.
The Courage to Be Disliked challenges this theory. It argues that people’s current state is the result of their own choices. The book points out that so-called trauma is not an unchangeable fact, but a subjective interpretation. Adler calls this a teleological perspective—instead of asking “What in the past caused my problem,” we ask, “What purpose does my current state serve?” In other words, we focus on the goals we want to reach, not only on the struggles we have experienced.
It’s like the Chinese saying, “When drinking water, only you know if it is warm or cool.” The temperature of well water is constant, but drinking it in summer feels cool, whereas in winter, it feels warm. Past experiences are the same. We cannot change what has happened, but we can rewrite our personal narratives, choose different meanings, and help ourselves move beyond trauma.
Saying that psychological trauma does not exist may sound shocking, but I believe this book supplies an effective framework. Methods like teleology encourage us to reinterpret past experiences and move forward. We will continue to explore why similar psychological traumas arise in the next section.
All troubles stem from interpersonal relationships
One of the boldest arguments in the book is that all problems stem from interpersonal relationships. At first glance, this may seem exaggerated—after all, some issues, such as feeling hungry, are clearly unrelated to other people. However, the book’s value does not lie in proving the literal correctness of each argument. Instead, it provides a framework for thinking that allows us to examine familiar problems from a new perspective.
Let’s take physical symptoms as an example. A young woman blushes whenever she meets someone new, and she believes that this condition prevents her from confessing her feelings to the boy she likes. But the book’s analysis overturns that view: Her body is not “causing” the problem; rather, it’s fulfilling a function. By deeming her silence to be an inevitable outcome, she completely avoids the risk of rejection. In other words, the decision to protect herself precedes the physical reaction.
The same principle applies to emotions. The book describes a young man who suddenly erupts in anger when a waiter spills coffee on him. From a teleological perspective, his anger is not an uncontrollable reflex. It’s a tool to achieve a certain goal. We should consider that the mind and body are separate and that we are influenced by various factors such as reason, emotion, consciousness, and unconsciousness.
However, the book posits that when we are angry, it is the whole of us that chooses to lean into the anger. In other words, there is a gap between emotional fluctuations and the whole body’s choice to get angry, and this gap can help us control our emotions and choose other effective strategies.
Adler refers to this behavior of avoiding interpersonal relationships and fabricating excuses as “life lies.” Those with impaired courage cannot face interpersonal relationships directly. They fear being hurt, so they concoct pretenses, even physical reactions, to avoid them. It is important to note that we do not intend to label “life liars” as good or bad; it is more so a matter of insufficient or underdeveloped courage.
How separating tasks improves relationships
The book introduces the idea of separation of tasks. It suggests that a person should focus on their own tasks and not interfere with the tasks of others. The way to distinguish whose task is whose is to identify who will face the result. If the outcome falls on you, it is your task. If it falls on someone else, it is theirs. Many conflicts in relationships start when one person steps into another person’s task.
Take a friend who complains about her boyfriend. How she chooses to deal with him is her task, because she will face the outcome. If you tell her, “You should break up with him,” you are interfering with her task. Even if you mean well, it can hurt the friendship.
This may sound distant, but relationships full of interference are like tight knots. The book compares them to the legend of the Gordian Knot. Alexander the Great saw the knot, which no one could untie, and instead of struggling, he severed it with his sword. Separation of tasks works in the same way—it cuts through unhealthy entanglement. At first, it may seem sudden, but by clearly dividing responsibility, we can rebuild healthier and more equal connections.
It also applies to parents and children. If a child refuses to do homework, the bad grade is the child’s result, so it is the child’s task. When parents force the child, they step into the child’s task, and tension typically follows.
Adler explains that this stems from a “vertical” view of relationships in which parents feel superior and control children through reward and punishment. Instead, he suggests a horizontal view: People are equal, even if they are different. Children may occasionally surpass parents in imagination or creativity. The point is not comparison, but respect.
There are exceptions. When a child reaches for something dangerous, parents should use force to protect them. But in most situations, parents should guard and guide, which means knowing what the child is doing and using encouraging language. (Nonviolent Communication captures it well; see my related piece: “I thought I was just ‘bad at making friends,’ then I read this book”.)
One more note: As children, we should not try to control how our parents choose to educate us—that is their task. What we can control is how we treat our parents. If you choose harmony, you can take a friendly first step without demanding the other side’s cooperation. This applies to many relationships. In the next section, we will discuss why you do not need to worry about whether others cooperate.
The freedom that comes from being disliked
“If no one praises me, why should I keep doing this good thing?”
“This bad thing has no punishment yet, so it doesn’t matter if I do it.”
These thoughts sound strange, but they come from reward-and-punishment education. Under this system, the goal of gaining approval comes first, and the “good deed” follows. People believe that recognition from others is proof of their value. However, in reality, this education fosters the belief that “I am not capable.”
Rewards and punishments are tools for superiors to control subordinates. Accepting this structure indicates that you deem others to be above you and yourself to be below them. In such a vertical relationship, craving recognition only reinforces the idea that you lack ability.
When someone seeks external recognition, the dynamic resembles that of a master-servant. Furthermore, seeking recognition from everyone makes life impossible—no one can satisfy all “masters.” Those who depend on approval to feel valuable end up lying to themselves and to others. They lose freedom in relationships, hiding behind a personal life-lie to avoid their own tasks.
Yet freedom is essential for finding self-worth. Adler proposed that we do not need approval from others. How others treat us is their task; how we respond is ours. If others criticize us, we can separate tasks and let it go. But what about when we cannot return someone’s kindness? Adler calls this the trap of “repaying favors.” In relationships, we should neither demand repayment nor force ourselves to meet expectations.
Once we let go of others’ tasks, our burdens become lighter. Then we can live according to our own choices. As the saying goes: “If you do not live for yourself, who will live for you?” Finding our own life path may be difficult, and living by others’ expectations may feel easier. But freedom comes from having the courage to step into the life that we choose.
Life is made of moments
The book ends with a thought-provoking idea: Life has no past or future—it is made up of moments. Life is not a single storyline running from beginning to end. Instead, it is a chain of independent, complete points. What matters is not what has already happened or what may come later, but how we live this moment.
Adler even called “past” and “future” the greatest lies of life. When we believe that painful memories define who we are or that distant goals decide how we must live now, we lose sight of the present. Imagine a stage. When the spotlight shines only on the actor in one moment, the rest of the theater disappears. The book asks us not to spread a weak light across the timeline of life but to focus a strong spotlight on the present—to have the courage to live in the here and now.
This view may feel radical, but in practice it cultivates our courage to give full attention to the present, free from regret or anxiety. For me, meditation is a helpful tool. Guided sessions like those in the Headspace app ask me to notice my breath, my body, and my surroundings. By paying attention to small details, I start to experience what it really means to live in the moment.
In the end, The Courage to Be Disliked reminds us that life is not a train rushing toward a destination. It is more like a journey—or a dance. What matters is not the finish line, but the process. Each moment can stand on its own as something complete.
