I am a People Pleaser

I am a people pleaser.

There, I said it. It’s out there. And now we all know it. I am a people-pleaser. I bend myself backwards and tie myself in knots to help everyone and anyone until I’m nothing but an overly exhausted husk. An empty shell of stress, anxiety and depression. I will not fight you. I will not challenge you, and I will not blame you.

But even with that, I will resent you, I will hate you, I will distance myself from you. I will cry. I will rage. Then, you will call, and I will smile and help you!! And you know what? You’ll think it’s great; I’m an outstanding friend. Ever-present, ever-reliable, ever-steady. Still, you haven’t noticed that my smile drops with every favour, my eyes glaze over with pain with every conversation. You haven’t seen me break because I don’t think you’d handle that. You’ve never seen me weak because that’s not our relationship.

And I let you take from me at will because I’ve made myself believe it’s a noble and unselfish way of being. I’m a caretaker, I say, a mothering figure. I have a large, kind heart, and I should help people.

And eventually that’s all I became to you and everyone else. That steady caretaker that holds your secrets, lets you tell your lies, and will forever do the work for you.

The worst thing is that I enabled you. I allowed you to treat me this way for so long that the proverbial straw broke my back. You’ll say that I’m crazy. That I am being hostile, that I don’t love you anymore. And then it happens. You look all depressed or angry. Then say something like, “It was only a small favour, don’t have a cow about it,” or “Fine, I won’t ask for help again,” or “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. You’re so dramatic”

Then, my brain becomes your ally. “It really isn’t that big of an ask,” it’ll whisper, and my heart will start pounding. “They’ll think you don’t care,” it’s like a sharp knife twisting. “How can you be so selfish? It’s not like you’ve got anything important to do.”

It’s seriously sickening. I have taught my brain and body to put your needs above mine! It’s crazy, and you still haven’t noticed. So with a heavy sigh, and an empty promise to myself, “It’ll be the last time, I swear!” I’ll take your task and do it. I’ll die a little more inside, and I’ll hate you a little more, and yet it continues.

You aren’t the only guilty person to do this, either. Family, friends, colleagues, hell, even strangers take advantage of this personality trait of mine. Take, take, take, and I give, give, give. I stand quiet, where you would be screaming. I stand firm where you would bleed out from the stress, and I do it all with a smile and a silent scream.

Then I change. I learned that saying no is okay. I’ll understand that I don’t have to explain. Yet still. These things will still happen! I will still explain. Still say yes! Even though I don’t want to. I will say nothing because I’m learning that changing a 30-odd-year-old habit and way of thinking is hard damn work. And so you’ll notice that I no longer talk to someone that I once spoke to every day. Or that the texts you send me get answered a little less quick than before; or you won’t, and I’ll eventually fade out of your life like a forgotten childhood toy. You’re busy; everything is demanding attention. Then the quiet friend, who doesn’t go drinking with you, becomes a memory.

Or maybe it’ll seem like I’m dispensable. After all, the next person may have more to offer you than I did. Eventually, I won’t be there, whether you notice or not. I will most definitely feel it.

I gave you my loyalty; I loved you; I put you first every time, and then I was nothing to you the very second I honestly needed you most. After all, in the time you lost that promotion or that loved one, I took that burden from you. I held your hand and caught your tears, but you thanked someone else. That’s okay; I know I helped you.

But I said no, so I deserved it, right? My brain thinks so. My heart hurts, and I hear you telling the new friend that I didn’t help you when you needed me to. I listened to them tell you I was an awfully selfish friend. That I obviously didn’t care. They are so sympathetic to you and your needs. I’m now nothing but a bitter memory. It’s okay, I understand. Life isn’t fair, and I should’ve been a better friend.

 right?

You never saw how I handled that family member’s death, did you even notice? I bet you never knew my daughter was sick? Did you know I had a daughter? You probably did, after all, we were friends. Best friends, as you would tell it.

So now I sit alone with my thoughts, my emotions swirling. I feel all that anger and resentment. I want to scream and hate you, but I honestly can’t. If you called me tomorrow and said, “Help me”, I probably would. Because I would need to prove to you I’m still good, that I still love you, that you’re important to me. But I won’t call you now as I lie in my bed with the worst thoughts circling my mind and an emotional storm ravaging my body and soul. I wouldn’t want to burden you. You shouldn’t have to deal with my pain. I’m stronger than that anyhow. Daily, others experience more suffering than I do. I should feel grateful for what I have.

But I’m changing now, you know. I’ll probably always want to help everyone and work myself into that empty husk again to do it. But I’ll also learn that I can’t give something from an empty cup without first filling it. I will realise that you don’t need an explanation. I need a break. That’s it. That’s all. I owe you nothing. I will always want to give it because I don’t want you to hate me. But I don’t need to.

All this has taught me is that the friends worth having, the people worth keeping, they won’t care if I can’t make it. They’ll understand that life can be a bit much sometimes, and we all need some space. The best thing about these people. When I decide to talk about it, they will listen with understanding and accept that I need to be alone. They will hold my hand, or get angry on my behalf, or even plan the ultimate weekend away to help.

Because we get it.