Have you ever been labeled as a People Pleaser? What does that even mean? What kind of person comes to mind when you hear the phrase, “Oh, she’s such a People Pleaser”? It seems like maybe it used to be a compliment? But now it’s more of a criticism. Or at least, that’s how I’ve been experiencing it over the past couple of years.

I was first called a People Pleaser by my dear aunt, like maybe five years ago when I was going through some friendship issues. Even years before that, a good (and extremely honest and authentic) friend said, “Gretchen, you always make the person you’re with feel like they’re your very best friend…how do you do that?” It seems like that was sort of a “You’re a People Pleaser” accusation, disguised as a compliment, right? My therapist mentioned People Pleasing (or more accurately the external validation of self) after knowing me for approximately 35 minutes. Then there was the time last winter when we were at dinner as a family and we were all going around listing our all-time favorite meals on earth…and I didn’t have one. I knew what everyone else’s last meal would be, but when asked about mine? nothing. no idea. don’t even know what my favorite food is. Finally, my husband confirmed, just this summer, that I am, indeed, an actual literal legitimate psychotic People Pleaser. And I had no choice but to accept the label, because I was in the midst of a complete emotional breakdown after disappointing my siblings by cancelling our trip back home to Massachusetts.

But here’s the kicker. I’m skeptical. I don’t feel like a person who likes to please people. Like, I don’t admire People Pleasers, at all, so what in the actual?

Here’s what I don’t do: I don’t fall over myself trying to hand out compliments. I don’t volunteer for three thousand things a week. I don’t say “yes” when I really mean “no.” I don’t slink around all not wanting to be seen and let other people have the spotlight. I don’t often think of other people before I think of myself. I don’t coddle my children and protect them from all of the bad things on earth (just a few of the bad things, like Game of Thrones, omg, broke my heart, that show did and I’ll never be the same). I don’t let all the people in the grocery line go before me, even when they are literally trying to make eye contact with me while holding their toothpaste tube and tub of Tide. You guys, I’m really not that nice!

So you can imagine, in this season of soul-searching and identity-discovering, I was thrown by this People Pleaser label. But because I have a lot of time…because I’m Waiting I decided to dive into this and analyze this conundrum. Am I a People Pleaser? And if so, how can I knock it off? Because it sounds terrible.

Here’s what I think I do do that would fall into the category of People Pleasing. I withhold my opinion often. I adjust my humor level or adorable level depending on the person that I’m talking to. In other words, I’m trying to control the reaction that I get from my audience, so that it is always positive and reflects well on me. I let other people make all the decisions. I literally canNOT make a decision…the stress of disappointing someone is entirely too great. Also, I just naturally assume that when it comes to general life skills, other people know a hell of a lot more than I do, so I find myself comparing and finding that I come up short 99% of the time…so I let other people drive the bus. You know?

Here I am, trying to raise assertive and self-aware humans, that also happen to know how to be extremely kind. Which brings me to my next question. There isn’t anything wrong with being nice, is there? Plus, the desire to be loved and accepted is an innate human emotion, so there can’t be anything wrong with that, right? Well, no. Unless the need to please others becomes an unhealthy habit to the detriment of a person’s own strong sense of self.

So, I feel pretty conflicted and convicted.

I think I’m addicted to the admiration and approval of others. I think that I suppress my own emotions or opinions because who doesn’t love someone who is always accommodating? The problem is, I’m a chameleon then…completely losing my own sense of self because the need to please is greater than my own sense of worthiness. So, my value, instead, comes from this external person who just thinks I’m super swell! Which really means that I’m sorta proud of myself by being such a charming, flexible, agreeable and generally lovely (but also not genuine) person. Somewhere along the line, I bought into the belief that it is better to not have needs, desires, opinions, requests or demands (or an authentic personality), because that means everyone will always love you!

GROSS!

You guys, this means that I’m actually arrogant! I’m not being selfless by letting my BFF choose the place that we’ll meet even when I was just there yesterday! It means that I’m selfish in requiring her happiness to bolster my own self worth. How great does it feel to come to someone’s rescue?! How awesome is it when you solve someone’s problems!? How wonderful to bend over backwards to make someone else happy, even if it means you’ve possibly compromised your own heart?!

NOT COOL!

And here’s what happens over time. I start to resent people. I feel misunderstood. I feel like no one knows who I really am or what I really think. I have accommodated others to the point where I’ve lost myself. I don’t even know what my favorite food is, you guys! I don’t have an opinion about plans for a weekend with friends. It’s difficult to state an opinion when I’m unsure of the response. If I say something at all in public, I’m usually just trying to get approval in the form or a laugh or a smile or a compliment.

I have become disingenuous in an effort to feel worthy.

It seems innocuous, almost honorable to put others before myself. I think it maybe says that in the Bible somewhere? But I believe it also says to Love Yourself. I want to be a genuinely kind person, without losing myself in the process. I want to be a genuinely kind person for no other reason than out of love, instead of out of a dependence on someone else’s approval. 

So, I guess I’m beginning a Recovery of sorts. Hi. My name is Gretchen and I’m addicted to an unhealthy need to please others in order to boost my self-worth.

Unwittingly, I took a giant first step in my Recovery by getting dreadlocks. For sure not everyone loves them. In fact, I’ve gotten some harsh criticism. I know that my approval rating is higher than Trump’s, but probably not by much. And that is truly difficult for me. I used to have gorgeous, flowing, blonde hair. Thick, shiny and the envy of friends, family and even strangers. It was part of my identity. But I wanted dreadlocks, goddamnit! I don’t know why. I mean, I have reasons, but seriously, dreadlocks are pretty bizarre. What a risk! Especially considering my need to please.

But guess what. Somehow, from deep down, I know what is right for me right now. No one else does. In fact, I’m in the process of uncovering My-Me by looking inward and contemplating these questions. And today I realized that my arrogance has been disguised by my need to People Please. Oof. Not all discoveries are pleasant I guess.  

All I know now is that I can adjust my motivation for People Pleasing from fear that I won’t get external approval to bolster my own self, to instead please people authentically from my own strong sense of self. I can be both genuinely kind and genuinely My-Me, because Love is big enough for both.

Disclaimer: The honest truth is that the old People Pleasing Gretchen wrote this early last week and didn’t publish it because I heard that arrogant voice saying, “Hey, people may not like this little assessment you worked up here and you may not get eight million trillion likes.” But this week, I caught myself in that vicious cycle and instead I said, “I write for My-Me and for the sake of creation…if it resonates with someone out there, wonderful! But I don’t need anyone’s external approval to validate me and make me feel worthy.”  It’s a scary place to be and I’m happy you’re here with me. Much love to you all.

 

I haven’t exactly been sitting around twiddling my thumbs, but I do seem to be doing a lot of waiting recently.

Waiting for our two-week vacation. Waiting for my plantar fasciitis to heal. Waiting to find out if David made the cut for swimming at State Championships. Waiting for the vegetables to ripen in the garden. Waiting for David to come back from Europe, alive, or at least without getting detained at customs for saying something a 16-year-old might say.  Waiting for John to get a job offer. Waiting for the inspiration (or time) to get back to my writing. Waiting for Lydia to finally get a section time in swimming so she can finally get a Varsity Letter (in 8th grade) and calm down about it. Waiting for the kids to go back to school. Waiting for this old house to clean itself. Waiting for someone to invoke the flipping 25th flipping amendment. Waiting to see if my stomach is going to keep getting bigger or if we’re gonna stay around the 7-months-pregnant-look for the time being. Waiting to hear if my application was accepted for an advanced writing course for the Fall. Waiting for my little brother and his wife to have their first baby. Waiting for Annika’s appointments at Mayo to find out if her treatments have improved her bone density. Waiting for swim schedules to be posted. Waiting for a clue about the future. Waiting for something to click. Waiting for things to finally make some fucking sense around here. Waiting for the Reward that people and books and Ted Talks assure me is hanging out for me, right around the corner. Waiting for my dreadlocks to relax. Waiting for me to relax.

I. Hate. Waiting.

And really? So does our society. HUSTLE! JUST DO IT! STOP THINKING AND START DOING! MAKE IT HAPPEN! GO AFTER YOUR DREAMS! DON’T WAIT! omg people. re. lax. Sometimes we just have to wait. It’s painful, yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true. This is where I am: On the Knife Edge of Waiting.

There was the old. There was the realization that things aren’t Right. There was the work. And I used to think that the work was the worst part…all the therapy and talking and crying and hurting and writing and reading and being honest. The worst. And now is the “in-between.” Where we wait. Which now I realize is the worst part. For so long I’ve been fighting it. Trying to embrace our culture’s rules about motivation and determination and stick-to-it-ive-ness and of course, punishing myself for falling short. I’m so tired from the mental energy it takes to control my world. It’s exhausting. I’m done. I’ve come to terms with it: there are seventeen hundred billion things that I do not control.

I’ve tried to rush this time of uncertainty. I’ve tried to control this place. I’ve tried to numb this paused feeling (hello mr pinot noir, my dear friend). I’ve tried to deny that this sort of bizarre space exists in life. I’m a slow learner and I’m impatient at the same time. So I run around like a little toddler, “Let’s try this! Let’s open this! Let’s throw this! Let’s jump on this! Let’s eat this!” and I’m exhausted from all the trying and all the throwing and all the jumping. And still, after all of that, nothing makes sense. So, the other day, I made a list of all the things I DO control during this time of waiting.

Like, 5 things, I think.

It’s a short list.

But.

It’s an important list.

At the bottom of this earth-shatteringly small list is: “I can control the fullness of my gratitude.”

Yeah, I know. Groan. I cannot stand Gratitude-Pushers. So, I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I didn’t do it on purpose. I hate myself for it, trust me.

So, as I sink into this Wait, I find myself a bit calmer knowing that this is the time I need to just Be. Yes, I have to cook all the dinners and pull all the weeds and do all the laundry and pick up all the children. But the big things are on pause. Writing helps. Walking helps. Swearing helps. Reading helps. Cooking helps. And praying.

Here’s the thing about my praying. I’m bossy. I’m obstinate. I’m selfish. And truth be told, I think I might come across as a tad entitled, whiny even. This wait is humbling. Contemplation is boring. And slow. So, now I find that my prayer is shaped by the Waiting. Which I wish I could tell you has helped me relax. But, really all it has done is create a new awkward mindset. More waiting for that to sort itself out, I guess.

What does it all mean? I have no idea. My sweet friend told me about liminal spaces. Never heard of it? Me neither. I need to research it further (but I’m currently choosing a new wall color for our dining room, so it might have to wait). But I think liminal space is the time between something ending and another thing beginning–thank you Wikipedia.

I heard Glennon Doyle Melton recently categorize the phases of transformation as “First the Pain. Then the Waiting. And then the Rising.” Describing this process of life? Growth? Recovery? Change? I guess? The chapters of our life come and go as we Journey through and get to where our soul is nudging and nagging us to go. We have to go through the Pain and the Waiting and pray that eventually there will be a fucking Rising, of some sort.

I’m still skeptical.

It’s hard. The Waiting. It’s almost more work than the Doing and the Achieving and the Becoming and the Creating. But here I am. Hanging out on the Knife Edge of Waiting.

Oh, quick caveat though, just in case you guys are taking me literally about the waiting. I waited too long to register Lydia for the high school swim season a few weeks ago. And then I forgot about it between our summer vacations and David’s state swim meet and David’s trip to Europe. And then all of a sudden, it was the morning of her first 2 1/2 hour swim practice with the team. She got up at 6:00 am (in the summertime, like a weirdo) and was at the pool by 6:30, ready to go.

I was sitting at my desk when she came home from practice. She giant-stomped into my studio.

“Do you wanna know why my hair is dry?!” she spat at me.

My first thought was that I happened to buy her an amazing magical swim cap on accident, that miraculously kept all the water out. But then I turned to look at her and saw her furious face. She was shaking and had those eyes that at first look evil, but at second glance, are really just deeply hurt.

“Coach benched me for the whole practice because you didn’t sign me up because David is more important because you were more worried about him getting to Spain!” She continued, “Yeah, mom, I had to just sit there, watching all of my friends have a blast in the pool. Coach hates me even more and now I’ll never get my letter because I can’t miss ANY PRACTICES MOM!”

Then her tears came.

Not the Rising I had in mind.

Ugh.

Don’t wait too long, my friends.

PS. I’ve seen those high school girls at swim practice. It’s grueling. So don’t worry, no one is ever having “a blast” in that pool.

Much love to you all. xo