Loosening the noose

How I stopped strangling myself trying to please others

I’m 53, almost 54, and I only just learned to let things slide. I’m not talking about shirking my responsibilities, I’m talking about those things/events/circumstances that happen outside my circle of influence.

As a people pleaser (thanks, Mom, for doing that to me*), I feel so much guilt when things don’t go as smoothly as they should. I will do everything I can to fix a situation. I lose sleep trying to figure out how I can prevent a plan from going off the rails. My insides churn as I fester and worry, a film in which I am the star of disaster playing on repeat in my imagination. My rational brain rebels, creating a clash of emotions: fear gets challenged by indignation; confidence is trumped by anxiety.

I am so driven to be kind and helpful, it triggers stress and tension.

My desire to be valued and appreciated leaves me depleted and drained.

So, so stupid.

For most of my life, I drained my emotional and physical reserves, turning myself inside out like an empty pocket and you know what? No one even noticed. I received a perfunctory “thanks” every now and then. There was no blast of a confetti cannon celebrating me in a golden mylar shower. Without realizing it, I took my accomplishment and folded it up like origami, tucking it into a part of my psyche that fed the people pleaser.

Last Monday, though, something changed for me. As I was working out a way to fix something beyond my control, a voice in my head whispered,

“Stop. Stop trying to prostrate yourself for others. Enough. Someone else’s problems are not yours to fix.”

I loosened the noose of people pleasing and decided I wasn’t going to stress about things I cannot control or that I don’t know how to do and lack the time and resources to figure out. I sat back in my crappy desk chair and let that feeling of relief ripple though my body. When I heard the “yeah, but…” of my people-pleasing persona chime in, I closed my eyes and swiped left. Nope, not interested in you.

It dawned on me that I tend to drive myself crazy doing whatever it takes to make other people happy. I burden myself to ease their load. I am so focussed on making things go easier for others that I end up torturing myself by trying to do the impossible and repair the irreparable.

For the rest of the week, I consciously stopped myself from trying to make other people feel good and prioritized myself. Instead of turning my energy toward making sure those around me were happy, I focussed on enjoying my salad/getting my own work done/carrying on care-free. I noticed I was sleeping better, had more space for being creative, and was in a better mood overall. I dare say there was a spring in my step.

It’s surreal to me how I never stop learning about myself. Always, always improving, shedding the skin of trauma and emotional abuse that no longer fits. And if I can do it, you can too.

* There’s a clip of silent film showing me at my 2nd birthday party where I climbed on the couch to reach a balloon taped to the wall of our apartment living room. I suddenly turn my head, and I don’t need audio to know my mom just admonished me. The film cuts to a clip of me in front of my birthday cake, the flames of the lit candles flickering. I watched myself slide my eyes to my mom, crouched next to me, as if waiting for her approval to blow out my candles. It was freaky to see a little version of me, frowning until my mother smiled, basking in the glow of attention. I truly believe this is visual evidence of my mother’s narcissism and my indoctrination as a people pleaser.

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What I’m reading

I’m bouncing between fiction and non-fiction this week. Have you ever had a moment of recognition when you loudly gasp and exclaim, “THAT’S YOUR BOOK?” That’s how I discovered the woman leading our trivia team at The Writer’s Union of Canada 50th anniversary celebration was Barbara Joan Scott. Not my slickest introduction and yet, she had agreed to be a guest on What Were You Thinking

I was on the library waitlist for Paved Paradise for five months. I’ve learned so much in the 50 pages I’ve read so far: parking-driven psychosis is a thing, thinking about parking takes place in the reptilian cortex of our brains, and there are parking scholars who study these things. I’ve laughed out loud quite a few times.