People Pleasing…

F339A3E3-5E50-4BBC-AAE7-429CC9B1E5C8_1_105_c.jpeg

I love love love flowers.  My favorite I think would be either the gardenia (which reminds me of my Grandma) or the Peony (which is just an incredible bloom… all from a tight little ball).  People have different favorites of course and often like and dislike different things.   Why then, is it so hard to accept that people may have differing opinions on important things… including me.  Yes - I’m talking about being a people pleaser.   GUILTY!!!!  

I’ve been thinking about why it is so difficult to have other people disapprove of us in whatever random way.  It is such a trap.  Often we don’t really even know what people think, we are just afraid of what they might think.  This fear causes us to edit ourselves and become more inauthentic to who we are.   Ultimately, people pleasing causes us to hide.


When you water yourself down, or hide your true self, to become more appealing to others, you actually become less appealing to yourself.  Ultimately, which opinions matter most?  Is it your husband? your mother? your friends?  The random unknown scrollers on insta?


I want to live in a way that is authentic to myself, or at least who I believe myself to be…. of who I want to be.  This is a little trickier than one might imagine, but it is a noble quest and one that I believe provides the ultimate freedom in life.  Untangled from what I think others may approve of, or like, leaves room for me to really understand what I want and who I am.  True, I may not be for everyone, the things I do and say may not thrill the world, some folks may not approve of me or what I think, do or say… but that is ok.  What I do or say isn’t for everyone. I’m more and more ok with this. (I think it is one of the blessings of aging) As funny as it sounds, I do really like myself and I will always have my own back.  Those that do love me at least will really know me, not some manufactured version presented to an imperfect world.  This is freedom and it is powerful.

Previous
Previous

Breast Cancer . . .

Next
Next

The beautiful brain