As a result, we get really good at focusing on other people, and giving others a positive experience. In short, being pleasing. We decide (without knowing we’re deciding) that being pleasing (likable) is the most important thing we can be and do, and thus begins our lifelong pursuit of likability. 

It’s not our fault.  Being liked is all about safety and survival, which according to psychologist Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, is our primary drive, just above food and water. To be liked is to get to stay with the herd, and thus survive. Simultaneously, being liked provides belonging and self-esteem, which we also need. But as long as survival relies on being liked, it makes sense to pursue likability, whatever the cost. 

Much has changed for women in these last decades, but our relentless pursuit of likability continues to run as a background program behind everything we do and say. Social media tells us, “You be you,” “Do you,” but what it leaves out is, “Do you—as long as you’re still likable!” 

In the thick of the pandemic, my friend Ali met a colleague in town for the day. When he greeted her, despite coming straight from the airport, he wasn’t wearing a mask. Instinctively, Ali removed her own mask, so as not to “make him feel dangerous.” She wanted to ensure that he would enjoy his time with her, and ultimately, like her. Ali then lived with fear and self-recrimination for the following week, not knowing if she had made herself (and her family) sick. Just last week, a woman told me that she didn’t ask the flight attendant for a blanket because she didn’t want to be a “bother.” Once again, she wanted the flight attendant, whom presumably she would never see again, to like her. In a particularly poignant example, a dear friend’s nineteen-year-old daughter was date-raped this semester. She didn’t report the incident because she didn’t “want to be seen as a Debbie Downer,” and consequently disliked. She chose to stay likable and suffer in silence. Yes, we’ve come a long way as women, but we still abandon ourselves every day in small and profound ways, and still believe that safety and likability are a package deal. 

It’s remarkable: we’re compelled to be liked, even when we don’t know or don’t like the people we’re trying so hard to get to like us, and even when being pleasing comes at the cost of our own wants and needs and basic well-being. Without knowing it, we function from inside a likability cage, living off the fumes of being well perceived while still expecting ourselves to create bold and authentic lives.

As women, we have a profound capacity for empathy and kindness, and these natural aspects should be celebrated. But we need to—also—include the parts of ourselves that might not be so likable or well received—so easy to enjoy. Ultimately, we need to welcome and be able to express the whole of us—the full miracle and catastrophe that we actually are.   

We might not realize that we’re living inside the likability cage until we start to feel the exhaustion and dissatisfaction that results from relentlessly pursuing likability. Constantly managing ourselves; sweetening, distorting, and apologizing for our truth so as not to be labeled and dismissed, drains and stymies our fundamental energy: mental, emotional, physical, and sexual. It leaves us disconnected from our authentic self, and therefore from our primary vitality. It leaves us disconnected from our authentic self, and therefore from our primary vitality, which can only arise from our truth. We end up in a suspicious and adversarial relationship with ourselves, vigilantly monitoring, managing, and controlling what we want and need so as to make it work for other people. Still believing that the best way to take care of ourselves is to abandon ourselves.   

At the same time, we imagine that someone or something else must open the door to this likability cage, to let us out so we can live as our authentic selves and not just our likable selves. What we don’t realize however, is that the door to the likability cage opens from the inside.   

Like every change process, liberating yourself starts with baby steps: respectfully sending the food back that you didn’t order, saying (out loud) that you’re not okay (when you’re not okay), admitting that you don’t want what you should want. Shifting the question you’re asking, from What do they want and need from me?—to—What do I want and need from me?  And furthermore, from What do they think of me—to—What do I think of me? 

In truth, we’re frightened of the risks that come with not being so likable—with good reason. We don’t want to be labeled selfish, difficult, demanding, controlling, bossy, hysterical, needy, high-maintenance, angry, and all the rest of the judgments we encounter when we show up authentically. We don’t want to be dismissed and rejected. And yet, when we start experiencing the mountain-like strength and immeasurable self-confidence and clarity that come with choosing authenticity over likability, we realize that it’s worth the risk.   

When your self-esteem no longer depends on being liked, and your truth is not a threat to your internal safety, then your relationship with yourself can heal—you can join your own team, get interested in your own experience, and welcome all of yourself to the table. This is real safety. 

Give it a go. See what it’s like to shift your goal from being liked to being real. Remember, baby steps; you didn’t choose likability as your North Star overnight, and you won’t give it up overnight. That said, it’s important to celebrate when you tell the truth and don’t apologize for it. Each time you show up authentically, no matter the contents of the truth you tell, it’s always a big deal. It may feel scary at first and for some time, but it gets easier and (spoiler alert) it gets great. Eventually, telling your truth, without managing everyone else’s experience of it, becomes empowering and self-loving, like coming home to yourself after a long journey away. Experiment for yourself—see what it’s like to open the door to the likability cage and step out. Ask yourself, your own still small voice, how you want to live (as the poet Mary Oliver wrote) this one wild and precious life.    

The post The Likability Cage: Open the Door and Step Out! appeared first on Nancy Colier.

In addition, many of us live without close family nearby, without people we can rely on to help and relieve some of the burden (other than the people we pay). It can feel like we’re trapped inside a tsunami of needs, all coming at us with no end in sight. Spending time with friends, downtime, relaxation, rest, and dare I say it, time to just be…all feel like luxuries. The result is emotional burnout, chronic stress, physical conditions, depression, fatigue, hopelessness, resentment, anger, frustration, depression, and apathy, to name a few.

Unless you want to drop out of society and live off the grid, the reality is that there are too many demands, needs, and responsibilities to take care of in a full, modern life. Still, there may be ways that you are adding to your own burden and stress—overgiving when it’s not necessary, giving without discernment, and depleting yourself without questioning it.

It’s important to remember that we give so much largely because we care about and love the people we’re giving to, and we want them to be well. We give because what we’re taking care of matters to us. And yet, the problem is that we give past the point that we are OK; we give at our own expense, and often until we have no resources left at all, and are completely burnt out.

We also don’t acknowledge how much we’re doing and how hard the demands of life can be. There exists a belief that we should be able to navigate all this, should be able to live in this crazy way, and should be able to do more than we can do. The fact that it’s too much, unmanageable, and hard is not allowed into the picture. We don’t give ourselves that grace.

If you feel like you overgive, it’s important to ask yourself what’s driving you to give more than you can or want to. What beliefs and fears prevent you from being more discerning about how much you give?

While the overwhelming demands of modern life and caregiving fall on everyone, they are frequently experienced differently by men and women. Women, in particular, are often conditioned to be caregivers. From the time we are little girls, our value and likability are linked to how well we take care of others, and how willing we are to put other people’s needs above our own. The more selfless, the more worthy, respected, loved, and admired. For women, it can be a badge of honor to be able to meet everyone’s needs and never say no.

Simultaneously, our society judges women who cannot be superhuman caregivers. The “selfish” label is quickly launched at women who are unable to jump through the hoops, or even more boldly, who choose not to. There is a myth that, as women, we should get our needs met and feel nourished by meeting other people’s needs. Giving to others should be enough for us to feel good. And yet, this myth is just that: a myth.

Regardless of gender, however, if you identify with being an overgiver, and feel consistently stretched beyond your limits, you might ask yourself (with curiosity, not judgment): What (really) keeps me on this treadmill of giving to the point where I end up feeling depleted and frazzled? Is all of this giving genuinely necessary or do I have options that I’m not seeing or allowing myself to see?

The core belief may be that you simply don’t deserve to not give, you’re not worthy, and don’t have the right to say “no.” As long as you’re still breathing, it’s your job to be there for everyone who needs help. Other people’s needs matter more than yours do. If you grew up in a dysfunctional family in which you had to earn your love or value by doing for others, giving may be how you earn your worthiness and feel like enough. Or, perhaps you envision taking care of your own needs something that happens at the expense of others, as if you’re choosing your needs “over” or “instead” of other people’s needs (which would be unthinkable)? Are you not worthy of that privilege?

Perhaps you give so much because it feels like just what you should do, as a good and caring person, and that you owe the people in your life for everything they do and have done for you. Or, you just owe them for some unknowable reason like putting up with you.

In addition, you may overgive because you can’t bear the idea of disappointing others or letting them down—not being who they want (and count on you) to be. You need to be that person—the one who is always there for them. The compulsion to give comes from the discomfort you feel at the mere idea of not being what other people need you to be. Maybe it was a chaotic home environment, and in order to feel or stay safe, you had to meet the needs of caregivers instead of the adults meeting your needs. There also may exist a fear of being judged as selfish and uncaring, if you were to start giving less.

You probably also enjoy the perception others have of you’re a super-giver. You’re seen as strong, reliable, generous, invincible, and many other good things. People say, “I don’t know how she does it,” for which you’re admired, respected, and loved, and even more so if you can do it all without needing anything for yourself. Consequently, you build a sense of self, and an identity as someone who can do it all, which feels good. There are real cash and prizes that come with being an overgiver, which understandably you don’t want to give up.

At the same time, you may also harbor a belief that if you don’t take care of it, it won’t get done or done right. Saying no or not now feels too risky and scary as far as the mess or chaos it will leave in its wake. It is the belief that you cannot rely on anyone else to take care of things properly.

There are many reasons to give past our limits. But when we stretch ourselves too thin, and deplete ourselves at the deepest level, there are profound consequences to our own well-being.

In Part 2 of this series, I’ll address the costs of being an overgiver. And most importantly, I’ll offer ways to break free from this habit of giving too much and create new ways of being in the world that take care of you in addition to everyone else.

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Indeed, it was the clichéd story: the popular, handsome fraternity boy from a powerful family who happened to be a big donor to the university was the attacker. Socially important, he was someone you needed to like you–so that others could like you. Adding to the cliché, my friend had imbibed some spiked punch that night and was flirtatious with the guy, who later drugged and sexually assaulted her. Read more… https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/inviting-a-monkey-to-tea/202303/why-its-so-empowering-and-hard-to-say-whats-true

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Based on the fact that he was a public figure and had planned a jam-packed few days of in-person social and professional meetings, she had assumed (without realizing it) that her friend had recently tested for the virus, although she hadn’t confirmed that assumption.

They met on a chilly evening in New York City.  Without thinking, Petra grabbed a table inside the restaurant.  Her friend showed up wearing a mask and they elbow bumped a warm hello.  But then, her friend took off his mask, claiming that it wasn’t required because they would be eating.  For a moment, Petra also took off her mask, and the two dove into conversation.

After a few minutes, however, Petra was overcome with fear.  It suddenly dawned on her that her friend had been on an airplane the previous day.  Her friend had also (nonchalantly) mentioned that the last time he’d been tested was more than two weeks before the trip to New York.  As he went on talking, Petra found herself feeling increasingly afraid, and simultaneously, utterly trapped.

Petra made the decision to put her mask back on.  But what she didn’t do, and was so angry at herself about, was ask her friend to put his own mask back on.  She felt paralyzed, as if she had to stay in the seat and also had to stay silent.  Why hadn’t she asked her friend to be safe?  This was the question we explored the morning after.

What became clear was that Petra felt guilty about asking him to put his mask back on.  To ask felt unkind, particularly given how much pain he was in, and how happy he seemed to take it off.  Asking would have been a “bother,” and she certainly didn’t want to be that.  So too, it would suggest that he might be infected, which would be insulting, and a way of saying she didn’t trust him.  As if that weren’t enough, being honest about her concern would have made her a “buzz-kill,” difficult,” and “neurotic.”  Clearly, in Petra’s mind, there were huge risks associated with taking care of herself.

Petra was aware of her fear, and even the legitimacy of her fear, but nonetheless, could not bring herself to voice it.  No matter how she tried to rationalize what was happening, she knew she was putting herself at risk.  Still, she sat there like a “good girl,” quietly and empathically listening to her friend, watching the saliva droplets fly from his mouth.  Despite her discomfort and dread, she was not willing to stop what was happening.  She was not willing to risk being unpleasing.  In the end, Petra chose to protect her friend’s experience over protecting her own.

It can feel so hard, particularly for women, to not be what we imagine other people want us to be, to let other people down.  To please or not to please can feel like a life or death choice, like emotional survival.

Most of us have lived something similar to Petra’s experience, and also the regret, confusion, and anger that result from it.  What’s important is that we remember (and continue reminding ourselves of) these experiences, and how we felt in their wake.  These experiences are fundamental to our growth; we cannot change if we don’t recognize and deeply respect the power of our conditioned need to be what we imagine others want us to be.  Petra may or may not end up with COVID, but either way, she put herself at increased risk for it because she couldn’t risk not being what her friend wanted her to be. The threat of not being pleasing proved stronger than that of getting a potentially deadly virus.  If we resist the impulse to criticize ourselves for our choice, and instead use such experiences as teachers, they can lead us to change—and serve as fundamental turning points in life.

The need to people-please is a complicated topic about which I will write more in future posts.  But for now, here’s what I suggest.  First, start by paying close attention to your own experience.  Awareness is key; without awareness, we will continue acting out our habitual people-pleasing patterns.  Notice where you’re straying from your truth, where you’re “behaving” and becoming who you think is wanted.  If we don’t become conscious of our unconscious efforts to be pleasing, we cannot change them.

Furthermore, when you notice that you’ve slipped into pleasing mode, consider the possibility of pleasing yourself too.  If it helps, you can close your eyes, so as not to see the person you think you’re disappointing.  Now, say the words that are true.  Imagine saying them to yourself, but say them out loud.  And remember, everything can be said nicely.  In our re-written script for Petra, she said, “Hey, you just got off an airplane, I’d be more comfortable if you wore a mask.”  The ask is simple, direct, and honest.  It doesn’t seek to explain her feelings. What’s most important in these moments is that we own our own experience, without blaming or defending, and without indulging the story we have going in our own mind.

While some of you may see Petra’s choice as incomprehensible, something you would never do, in reality, most of us fall prey to the habit of people-pleasing, at our own expense, in one way or another.  Let me be clear: Taking care of others is not a bad thing and we’re not bad for doing it.  But we run into trouble when taking care of others comes at the expense of taking care of ourselves.

Remember too, each time we people-please, we strengthen the belief that it’s not safe to be who we really are, and that the only way to be accepted is to become who someone else wants.  This keeps us stuck in the same habitual patterns.  And worse, it can keep us feeling fundamentally unloved, and un-lovable, believing that our lovable-ness depends upon our willingness and ability to please.

We don’t become people-pleasers overnight and we don’t recover overnight.  It’s a process.  We start with small steps, practicing in what feel like low-risk situations.  Maybe we tell the waitress, nicely, that this isn’t what we ordered, or let a friend know that we don’t really want to take a walk in the cold, even though she needs some exercise.  Through practice, we build the muscle for taking care of ourselves. And, each time we practice, it gets a little easier and the muscle gets a little stronger.

The more we learn to express our needs, the more we feel we deserve to express our needs.  Each time we choose to be real, rather than to be pleasing, we experience a feeling of strength, self-respect, and groundedness.  Furthermore, we end up building relationships that are correspondingly grounded and real, based in the truth, and therefore, trustworthy.  Precisely what we’re trying to create by pleasing.  Most importantly, we build a relationship with ourselves that is self-loving and unshakably on our own side.

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