unlearning the need to be everything for everyone

the cost of always putting others first

I used to be someone who would put everyone’s needs before my own. Who would say yes automatically, without any hesitation. Without ever checking in with myself.

I think it’s because deep down, all I wanted was to be liked. By everyone.

And I think, in part, it’s because I didn’t really like myself.

I had little self confidence growing up. Part of this was because I didn’t know what it was - I wasn’t taught how to love myself, the fundamentals or the importance of building a relationship with yourself.

The other part was because I always felt inferior, not quite as good as everyone else.

Not quite as pretty, not quite as smart, as confident or interesting or funny or social. I feared rejection from others, because internally, I had already rejected myself.

My people pleasing tendencies carried with me into high school, university, and then eventually into my working life.

It manifested in little ways - how I would automatically say yes to help a coworker with a project they were struggling with, even though I had a full plate and realistically no time to help. How I agreed to set my friend up with a guy, even though I knew he wasn’t good for her and she needed to heal from her last relationship. How I continued to stay late at an event because I was scared of disappointing others, even though I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was go home and curl into bed.

I operated from a place of anxiety driven compliance. From a lack of self worth. Sure, I enjoyed elements of myself - I had grown into my features and had come to like the way I looked. I could be confident and outgoing in front of new people. I liked when I made others laugh, when I hit major milestones, when I was recognised at work, praised for my accomplishments.

One of the badges I wore with great honour was being the youngest at my workplace, being a respected and esteemed coworker and being looked up to by my colleagues, despite my age.

But who was I, without accomplishments to my name? When you stripped away the fancy job titles and flashy achievements, beneath the layers of makeup and fashionable clothing and extravagant jewellery I adorned myself with, the fancy piercings and tattoos and dyed hair - I didn’t know what I was left with. Because underneath the surface, I didn’t really know who I was. I had constructed all these layers of armor to protect myself from the outside world, but in reality, I felt lost.

I remember one moment in particular, where I started to realise the cost of feeling unseen. I was seeing this guy and I remember spiralling about something that was bothering me, being heavily conflicted about whether I should bring it up to him or not. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I was also having a mental breakdown everyday, and after relentless coaxing from my friends, I decided I was going to bring it up to him.

The nerves I felt before I saw him were at an all time high, but I had already hyped myself up enough by that point, having imaginary conversations and replaying countless scenarios in my head. I was ready for this, and nothing was going to stop me-

“What did you want to talk about?”

I looked at his expectant smile, and my words instantly dried up in my throat. We had just had a really good day together, going to his favourite coffee shop and walking along his favourite route, visiting all his favourite spots. He seemed to be in a really good mood and I didn’t want to ruin that, didn’t want to be a burden, a smidge on this otherwise good day he was having.

So I stayed quiet. I brushed my feelings under the rug and smiled and changed the topic.

I remember going home afterwards and feeling all this pent up frustration and anger. I’d spent weeks mulling on this, talking through it with countless friends, and I was upset that I wasn’t able to express my truth, to talk through how I was feeling, because I was too scared to upset him.

I knew that my friends would be disappointed, and deep down, I was disappointed in myself.

Most of all, I was tired.

Tired of always thinking about and putting others before myself. Tired of anticipating other people’s emotions, how they would feel before I even considered my own. Tired of moulding myself to satisfy everyone else.

I wasn’t happy, and in part, that was because I was too busy trying to make everyone else happy.

At this point, I had already done the self work. I had spent time with myself, learned how to sit with my thoughts, to understand them instead of running away from them.

Slowly, I began rebuilding my relationship with myself. And for the first time in a long time, I started to like who I was becoming.

But even then, it wasn’t as simple as just stopping.

The biggest blocker was my self identity. I had always been the easy one, and I struggled to grapple with who I would be if I wasn’t easy going, easy to make plans with, easy to rely on.

So I told myself I’d start in baby steps. Not giving up this side of me entirely, but just shifting it slightly.

The first time I said no to something was to an after work drinks event. I remember my heart pounding, voice trembling as I made my way to the group and timidly told them that I was going home. “No! Why?” a few exclaimed, urging me to come out for just one drink.

“I’m sorry guys, I’m super tired and I’ve got a big day tomorrow”.

Somehow, I managed to withstand their cries of discontent, their playful teasing that for the youngest one there, I was starting to act like a grandma. I laughed and tried to play it off, promising I would join them next time.

As I made my way home, I suddenly felt a pang of FOMO, a slight twinge of regret. But bigger than that, more heightened, was a feeling of pride.

After this, once I realised that it wasn’t the end of the world when I said no to someone, it became easier to keep saying no.

At first, it was small things like not apologising for every little thing I did.

Taking a breath to consider what people were actually saying instead of just automatically agreeing with whatever came out of their mouth.

Offering advice and support to my co-workers instead of doing the work for them. The first time I did this, I remember feeling unhelpful, like I was suddenly less reliable. Maybe if they’d asked someone else they would have helped them without hesitation, and then what would that make me?

But I pushed through those feelings, and over time got stricter with my boundaries.

I think when you spend so much of your life bending and shaping yourself to fit everyone else, a small part of you will always remain unfulfilled.

And when you finally start to listen to it, to look slightly closer, it’s like the floodgates unlock.

All the things you suppressed come rushing back to the surface, all at once. Your needs, your wants, your opinions, your limits.

This feeling overwhelmed me, to the point where it started to go in the complete opposite way. It felt like I had hardened - I wouldn’t smile at people anymore, wouldn’t hold the door open if they were just that tad too far, wouldn’t offer to help anyone with their projects at work. I was too busy trying to self protect, trying to stay self sufficient and not let my boundaries be broken again.

I wouldn’t ask anyone else for help, because if it did it meant I would owe them. And I didn’t want to go back to that state of myself where I was doing everything for everyone but myself.

But eventually, I realised this wasn’t the way to exist either - both extremes are harmful in their own way. And in all honesty, I’m still trying to find that middle ground.

I’m still trying to learn how to balance the ability to think of others without letting it consume me. How to be firm in my beliefs, yet still warm.

I used to think that not putting everyone else’s needs before your own meant you just weren’t a nice person. I thought that if I stopped, I would somehow become someone who didn’t care at all. And who was I if not someone who deeply cared about everything?

But that was never really true, because caring for others and abandoning yourself were never meant to be the same thing.

There’s a difference between being nice and being kind. And people pleasing isn’t kindness - it’s fear dressed up as generosity.

It can be easy to go down this rabbit hole, but it’s also dangerous. It diminishes your self worth and your self confidence because you lose a grasp on your boundaries.

It’s draining to constantly put others before yourself, it’s draining to have people walk all over you and take advantage of your kindness because you’re so quick to offer it.

Exercising boundaries, putting yourself first, doesn’t mean you aren’t kind. Being nice is polite; it’s superficial. Being kind is rooted in genuine care, by truly acting in someone’s best interest.

I think when you stop looking to everyone else for validation, something shifts. You begin to move through the world from a place of authenticity.

And it’s there that your real kindness begins to show - not the kind rooted in fear, but the kind that is honest, intentional, and entirely your own.

Not because you have to, but because you choose to.