One of the themes I’ve been focusing on lately in therapy is my unhealthy
inclination towards people pleasing. My doctor and I identified the issue fairly early on in our sessions. It’s pretty par for the course for children of substance abusers (gotta deflect that gaslighty rage any way you can, you know?) and even more common for fat women over the age of 35 (the 90s were ALL about averting the body shame by being the charming, jolly girl who never complained about A N Y T H I N G.) But a chain of events over the past twelve months have put me into a mental health tailspin that I’ve never experienced before and it’s my current mission to never experience it again. While that’s unlikely, I’m certainly going to give it the old college try.
So, let’s talk about People Pleasing for a moment.
What is it? Why do people do it? And why is it self-serving, rather than selfless, at least in my case.
According to Paula Cookson, who wrote an amazing book called The Liberated Self, a People Pleaser is a person who has an emotional need to please others often at the expense of their own needs or desires. It is most often characterized by an inability to say no, even when tasks, favors, or jobs are detrimental to the pleaser’s physical, mental, emotional, and/or financial health. The behavior is the same with healthy boundaries—there usually aren’t any. Sounds like a dumb way to be, right? Why would anyone want to do that to themself?
There’s no single answer to that question. But in my case? It’s an unresolved trauma.
You see, when you learn from a relatively young age that you’re not as loveable as say, an ice-cold Miller Lite, you start to create escape routes. You form an uncanny ability to read people’s moods and try to head off a storm that’s gathering above your head by changing YOUR behavior to suit someone else’s. You learn to eat food you don’t like because it’ll cause a ruckus if you don’t. Then, you pacify yourself later with food you DO like by sneaking it because you’re sad, angry, and hungry after pushing a dreaded meal around on your plate. You learn to be the best at everything you do because nothing less is good enough. You start to believe comments made about your body and its undesirability are true because you never hear otherwise. You expect less because you’re programmed to believe you deserve less. That you are less than. The behavior is self-serving because it puts a band aid over a hemorrhaging artery. It’s supposed to be a temporary fix.
As you grow and develop, these behaviors learned in childhood become your norm and the emotional need to feel that other people are pleased with you becomes a need. You pick up the check at a restaurant when you can’t afford to because your friend might not like you as much if you don’t. You drive forty miles out of your way to pick up an actor who doesn’t have a mode of transportation because you like them, even though they don’t bother to offer gas money, and you make zero dollars a year because you don’t work. You take the blame when something fails, even if it’s not truly your fault, just to try and ease the tension around you. You say yes to, and get excited about, other people’s passion projects because, surely, they’ll care about you and your passions as much as you care about them and theirs, right?
Right?
But here’s where it all gets dangerous…
When you start putting other people’s needs before your own, it’s the behavior that becomes the norm. It’s expected. And it leads you headlong into unhealthy and manipulative relationships. After a while, it becomes so deeply ingrained you don’t even notice it’s what you’re doing. I’ve often asked the people in my life, “Do I have a sign on my back that says, ‘Kick me?’ Why does this always happen?”
The answer is yes. And I put it there.
It’s a traumatized Bat Signal.
People know I won’t say no.
They know I won’t put up a fight.
I become a means to an end rather than a valued person.
And it’s because I’ve felt so inadequate for so long that it’s the first vibe I give off.
But I’m tired of that.
I don’t deserve it.
I’m worth more than that scared (and scarred) little blonde baby was ever allowed to believe.
And now the hard work begins.
Life of Riley 