Are You Mad At Me? Notes from a recovering people pleaser.

For most of my life, I believed that being liked was the same as being safe. I was a dancer, I knew how to perform, and I found myself doing it on and off the stage in the name of “safety.” If you were happy with me, I could breathe. If you were disappointed or upset with me, it felt like the floor dropped out from under my feet. I grew up in a home where big feelings set the tone. A loving but fiery dad whose mood dictated the weather in our house. A mum raised in the 1940s who had been taught that being a “good wife” meant sweeping emotions ‘under the rug’.

On the plus side, as a child it gave me emotional awareness far beyond my years. I learned to read every room like a weather report. I tracked tone, silence, eyebrow raises, sighs. I edited myself in real time to avoid the storm or, alternatively confronted the storm before it hit. I know now that both tactics were driven by fear, and neither gave me the peace I was looking for.

Being flexible. Being easygoing. Being “perfect.” I called it being kind, helpful and aware. It was not. It was survival and self abandonment dressed up as virtue. What I know now is that people pleasing is not really about other people at all. It is about managing my own fear. Fear of conflict. Fear of disconnection. Fear that if I am fully myself, I will be too much or not enough. And my deepest fear, that I may be unlovable.

Anyone who has wrestled with this knows that the constant emotional tracking is exhausting and strangely isolating. It caused me to have no boundaries or, conversely, to overreact. I invested in relationships that were not aligned. I valued outside approval over investing in myself. Every time I overgave I chipped away at my own worth. Every time I laughed something off that actually hurt, or overreacted I felt shame and disappeared a little more. How could I be truly valued when I was trying so desperately to be who everyone wanted me to be?

Reforming that pattern has not been glamorous. It has not been a single epiphany followed by a perfectly curated boundary era. It has been awkward and shaky and made up of tiny micro decisions. It has been saying a lot of “goodbyes” to finally say “hello” to me. It has been not overreacting. Taking a step back when my face gets hot and I feel like I have been violated. Taking accountability for misaligned relationships that I allowed to get too close in the first place.

It does not mean that I no longer care what people think. I do. I am human. I care deeply about connection and belonging. What has changed is the order of operations.

Belonging used to mean:
First, I scan you. Then I bend me.

Now it means:
First, I stay with me. Then I see if you can meet me there.

I am learning to tolerate the discomfort of other people’s disappointment without rushing to fix it. I am learning that someone being disappointed in me is not the same as me doing something wrong. Sometimes it just means I chose my values and my limits instead of their preference. Or sometimes I need to take a moment to digest and realize that yes, I did fall short, and then be accountable without shaming myself into oblivion.

Honestly, I am still learning to trust my perception and sometimes it takes a moment to recalibrate my assessment of any situation, which starts with these questions:

Do I want to be liked right now, or do I want to be honest?
Am I trying to prove that I am not vulnerable right now, or do I want to be honest?

Honest. Every time. That is my commitment.

Old me chose “liked” or “call it out” be the whistleblower before the dysfunction takes over - every time. It felt safer in the moment and brutal in the long run. Now I am committed to something different. I still wobble, I still sometimes over explain or apologize too much, but the direction is clear:

The last person I will ever abandon again is me.

There is grief here too. Grief for the younger version of me who learned to work so hard for scraps of approval. The years of learning to be the perfect child to distract my parents from their own grief and disappointment. Grief for the years I could have spent creating, resting, playing, instead of rehearsing conversations and replaying them endlessly in my head. I used to feel ashamed of her. Now I mostly feel tenderness. People pleasing was the best tool she had. It kept her connected enough to survive. Today I have the wisdom to know that real intimacy cannot grow where I am constantly shape shifting.

I want a life where my presence is not a performance but a home. Where my “yes” is rooted in desire, not fear. Where my “no” is steady, not cruel.

So today, I write this down to remember:

I am no longer available for relationships that require my disappearance or my smallness.
I am no longer auditioning for my own life.
I can care deeply about you and still stay loyal to me.

The urge to please is deeply ingrained. It will be an ongoing conversation with that little girl who still lives in me and is holding on for survival. I share a new script with her.

You do not have to be chosen to be worthy. I choose you.
You do not have to be liked to belong to yourself. I love you.
You are not here to be everyone’s favorite. You are here to be yours.