Pleasing Was Protection

People thought I was just nice.
That I was naturally kind, accommodating, easy to be around.
But underneath every yes was a flinch.
Underneath every smile was a calculation.
And underneath my constant agreement
was one unspoken truth:

Pleasing was never just politeness.
It was protection.

The Roots of Compliance

I didn’t choose to be a people-pleaser.
I became one.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that being agreeable
was safer than being honest.

That saying “yes” earned affection.
That staying small earned safety.
That making others comfortable
meant I was less likely to be left, hurt, or punished.

It wasn’t about being liked.
It was about being allowed to exist.

So I studied what others wanted.
I anticipated needs before they were spoken.
I said the right things,
laughed at the right jokes,
shrunk my feelings into palatable shapes.

And I wore the performance like a second skin.

The High Cost of Being “Nice”

They said I was easy to love.
But they didn’t see how much of myself I had to hide
to earn that love.

They said I was sweet.
But they didn’t taste the bitterness I swallowed
to keep the peace.

I became fluent in the language of suppression:
“I’m fine.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Whatever you want.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”

Even when it wasn’t okay.
Even when I didn’t understand.
Even when I was hurting.

Because saying otherwise felt unsafe.

The Trauma Behind the Smile

When your nervous system has learned
that disapproval is dangerous,
pleasing becomes reflex.

It becomes a shield against rejection,
conflict, abandonment, even violence.

You stop asking, “What do I want?”
and start asking, “What will make them stay?”
“Who do I need to be in order to be loved?”

You morph. You mute. You mask.
You make yourself easier to digest,
even when it means gagging on your own truth.

That’s not kindness.
That’s survival.

The Loneliness of Being Loved for a Mask

People loved me.
But they didn’t really see me.

They loved my agreeability.
Not my boundaries.
They loved my softness.
Not my strength.
They loved that I needed little.
Not realizing I had just given up asking.

And it left me wondering:
If I stopped performing,
would there be anyone left?

Would I still be worthy
if I stopped making everyone else feel worthy?

What It Took to Stop

Unlearning the pattern meant risking everything it once protected me from.

It meant speaking truths that made people uncomfortable.
It meant disappointing others to honor myself.
It meant letting go of the image I’d worked so hard to maintain.

It meant hearing,
“You’ve changed,”
and not shrinking back into my old shape.

And yes, it meant losing some people—
people who only knew how to love the version of me
that disappeared for their comfort.

But what I gained was far more sacred:
Myself.

Kind, But Not Compliant

There’s a difference between being kind
and being compliant.

Kindness is generous, rooted, conscious.
Compliance is reflexive, fearful, and self-abandoning.

I still care deeply.
But now I care for me, too.

Now I say:

• “No, thank you,” without guilt.

• “That doesn’t work for me,” without apology.

• “I disagree,” and trust that conflict isn’t collapse.

• “I need a moment,” and honor my own rhythm.

Because love that costs me my truth
is not love I’m willing to keep.

I Don’t Have to Earn Safety Anymore

The biggest shift was this:

I stopped using pleasing as a transaction for safety.

I stopped believing I had to soften myself
to be safe in the world.

My worth is no longer tied to how accommodating I can be.
It’s anchored in how authentic I’m willing to be.

And I’m still learning, every day.
Because the urge to please runs deep—
wired into the nervous system, baked into old memories.

But now, when it rises,
I pause and ask:

Am I doing this out of love?
Or out of fear?

Freedom Tastes Like Saying No

These days, I smile less to make others comfortable,
and more because I actually feel joy.

I say yes when it’s a full-bodied yes.
And no when it’s not.

I still care deeply for others,
but not at the expense of caring for myself.

And let me tell you something:
That kind of freedom is sacred.
It’s fierce.
It’s unshakeable.
It’s mine.

**I Was Not Put on This Earth to Please—

I Was Put Here to Live**

So to the younger me who flinched every time she spoke up—
I see you.
You weren’t too sensitive.
You were tuned in.

To the version of me who thought love meant being liked—
I’m sorry you were never taught
that you deserved to be chosen as you are.

And to the self I am now:
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to say no.
You are allowed to be real, raw, messy, whole—
and still worthy of love.

Because now,
pleasing is no longer protection.
It’s a choice.

And I choose me.

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