What it is to think about people who aren’t you

I’m a people pleaser. That’s the catchy moniker that the mental health machine appointed for the people who care about the happiness and comfort of other people. Personally, I’m of the opinion that caring about other people isn’t all that bad. Just yesterday, I saw a man outside in the parking lot of my apartment building holding what looked to be a large tray of hot food. I was on my way out and I asked him if he needed any help, maybe opening his car door? He laughed and thanked me but he was waiting on a friend. It was a nice exchange and I continued with my errands for the day. It was nothing for me to ask him. If I don’t feel like doing things for people, it’s easy enough to avoid them all together. My pleasing becomes troublesome when I think I must do things for other people in order to earn my space in their world.

When I started therapy, my therapist would often ask me what I know about who I am. I am a good mom, I would answer. I am a supportive spouse. I am a hard worker. In my mind, my sense of self was aligned with what I did for other people. I lived to serve. At first I didn’t understand what he was getting at. I am all those things. (Although, if I am honest “hard worker” has been downgraded to “gets the job done” as of late) What else could I have answered? I didn’t even know. I could not even imagine a response that didn’t include my value to someone else. My sense of self was made entirely of other people. Then I realized the same was true for everybody, but that’s a post for another day.

It’s taken a few years but I’m coming around. There were dynamics in my life that made me feel uncomfortable and I had to admit that I had done all I could from my side. I had people pleased to my limit and things had not changed. I had to stop. One example: things between my mother and myself had gotten so tense that I could no longer have a conversation with her. I decided to ask her to communicate another way. These are the questions I have for you, I said, when you’re ready, you can write down you’re answers and we can go from there. I haven’t heard from her for 3 years. She would rather not talk to me at all then meet me in the way I asked her to. That’s how I learned not everyone is a people pleaser. That lesson is a painful one.

This is the most mind-boggling and humbling side of therapy–I can only understand the world as my own brain understands it. I had assumed my mother needed me to be quiet about my needs. I assumed she did the best she could for me and would be distraught if I told her she came across as uncaring. After all, if one of my kids was feeling as depressed and anxious as I was, I would blame myself. To understand my mother differently, I needed to try something different. So, I asked her to write me a letter. When we talked, she acted devastated learning that I had been negatively affected by her choices. She was so upset I thought if I demanded the truth too firmly, she might not go on living. But I needed her to explain, so I put my foot down–if you can’t answer me, I can’t talk to you. She refused. And she went on living just fine. She did not feel about me the way I feel about my children. My brain needed time to process this information.

It was difficult to see my mother in this new light, illuminated by her actions rather than her words. I did feel like a worthless piece of sh*t for awhile, but that feeling has faded. The more lasting understanding I gained from the new information was a sense of freedom I had never felt before. I could let go of my concern for her feelings. I could have no idea what she was feeling and I could stop trying to guess all the time. My efforts were being misappropriated. I could instead use the energy to advocate for myself. It was quite unnatural at first, to assert myself. It still is. That’s the main reason I write these essays. I firmly define each opinion. These are the thoughts I aim to be in touch with outside of stillness. Writing is just next door to stillness. I’m asserting myself in real life more often too. Truthfully, after the first time you gather all of your strength and bravery to say No and you’re met with Okay, it feels silly to be afraid to say it the next time.

What if we were all people pleasers? Wouldn’t that work out? I look out for you and you look out for me. We trust that each of us is asking for only what we need, and each of us gives only what we can. It feels like everyone needs right now, doesn’t it? I hope you can forgive me for taking more than I’ve been giving lately. Who’s the guy you’re hooked up to when you rock climb? The two of you climb the mountain together and the other guy is there when your foot slips, anchoring you to the rock. Does that guy have a name? I think it should be a pun like “Rock Lobster” or “Don’t take it for Granite.” It’s probably something more sporty.¹ Anyway, that’s who we could be for each other. Sure, right now it feels like we’re all dangling from the hook, but one by one we’ll get a grip and keep climbing.

I’m proud of the people pleaser in me. I know the imbalance makes me act like an assh*le to the people closest to me on occasion. I offer too much of myself to others then I become needy tornado of every emotion I’ve ever felt in my life and a thousand thoughts about each of them. I spin out at home. But I wouldn’t trade it for the reverse. I think if you’re going to swing too far in one direction it’s better to swing toward kindness. I can always work on being less of an a**hole.

1. A friend told me it’s “Belay Buddy.” That’s cute. I like the alliteration. ↩︎