Not a People Pleaser (Or So I Tell Myself)
On cupcakes, car trouble, and the myth of being a people pleaser.
I am not a people pleaser. I mean, that is not to say that I don’t feel an intense pull towards making other people feel good. But for some reason, I just am having a hard time owning the label. So when, over the weekend, Margaret and I got into a mild car accident and were stranded on the side of the highway, four hours from home, I got to thinking about it. For hours.
Let me back up. Besides not owning the label people pleaser, I value feeling like I can do anything. And “anything” in this context meant driving up to Grass Valley alone with M to sit by the Yuba River and bask in the contrasting hot sun and icy river. I feel like I get zero alone time with M because of her medical needs, our living situation, and my work schedule. There is something in my body that longs to be with just her all the time, and yet, when I have had the chance, I know I go a little coco. So I need the pressure of work too, in reality.
The drive up to the Yuba was uneventful, but I had given myself permission to be free, and so when we needed to stop for a bathroom break, it seemed like the right thing to do was get cupcakes. I told myself we were on vacation (an excuse to do anything you feel like without questioning if it is actually a good idea) and supporting small business. When we stepped to the front of the line to make our order, I said we wanted two cupcakes, and the owner said they were really big, maybe we should split one? (“It’s breakfast time,” she said.)
“We could never agree on a flavor. Let’s get two,” I replied, knowing full well I would be the one actually eating both. M is in feeding therapy and only willingly eats comically small amounts of even the most savory or sweet items.
When we got to the river, I started to worry that going to the river alone with M was a bad idea. We couldn’t find parking, so we parked illegally on the side of the road about a half mile down from the spot where our friends had set up. But I am a capable human. I can do anything.
We made it to the river, and by some miracle, we found our friends. I tried my best to tube-feed Margaret and mix meds by the river, and all in all, it was pretty easy. M and I floated on a tube, only encountered a few scratches, bumped knees, and a bloody toe. We closed our eyes and let our skin dry out in the sun. It was almost perfect. Perfect would have involved bringing water shoes, a tent, more snacks, a life jacket, ice, more than one towel, etc. I told myself I would be better prepared next time. Learning takes the form of small discomforts.
At the river, there was some discussion about how our mothers fucked all of us up. A friend of a friend was reading a book about it, the things her mother said or did while she was growing up, that might have made us all people pleasers at our core. To be happy ourselves, all the other people around us also had to be happy; otherwise, our joy was not actually possible. Through osmosis and the powerful teachings of mirror neurons, I and lots of people I know learned to always agree, to put others’ needs above our own, to offer things we didn’t want to give, and to seek external validation. This might just be Midwestern? I am not 100%.
“Are you a people pleaser too?” she wondered out loud to the group (confirming the need for external validation, or genuine curiosity - maybe both).
“I am not sure. I mean, I do really want other people to be happy. But do I see myself as a people pleaser? It’s not something I can own for some reason.” Kind of like when people tell me I am on the spectrum, I get it, I think. I just don’t think I am. I identify as a person with extreme anxiety and depressive episodes. My therapist agrees. Trust is a funny thing. Sense of self is also an illusion, so why am I not more open to labels that help describe why we do the things we do?
We hiked back up the side of the ravine, and M did it. In the heat, with sand in her Crocs. I didn’t have to carry her as we rose and crossed a rickety old bridge, while I squinted to make sure our car was still where we parked it (I have had cars towed before - note the plural). And to my dismay, we didn’t even have a parking ticket. Elation. The universe was telling us we had this. I say this, and it doesn’t mean I didn’t worry every step that M might fall - just that there were lots of points during the day when I felt like even if she did fall, the joy would have been worth it.
Does doing scary things make you stronger? And what is the threshold of risk that makes sense for you? For me, it is this weird negotiation between being scared to leave the house and being scared to let life pass me by. As I backed out of my parking spot, I felt a soft tap on the front right side of the car. It was a hip-high wooden post that led to a different path on the river. I got out of the car, sunburnt and dehydrated, and looked at the damage. The “tap” had taken out my bumper, right headlight, and whatever was on that side of the car.
The bumper lay limp in the dirt, its body mangled and sad. Was life really this fragile? Yes. Yes, it is. A kind person helped me bungle it back on as best we could to get up the side of the mountain without calling a tow truck. It has been my experience that when you are in need, generally speaking, there is someone who wants to help. I felt proud.
The story had now changed from, “We can do anything and be free and it will all work out,” to “Any challenges we face, we can make it through together.”
Up the mountain we drove, in silence after M was able to stop crying. I cos-played being okay in hopes that she would be okay too - not scared. Finally, I begged her to stop crying so I could try to hear if anything was dragging on the gravel below.
When we got on the highway, it was a different story. After we cleared the on-ramp, there was a dragging noise that lurched into our ears out of nowhere. Our wheels spun out. How long can you drive on something before it just falls off? How do I know if the car is going to catch fire? If I pull over, will it all be nothing?
Another mile went by, and the car was doing worse. I have started doing this thing, out of decision fatigue, I’m sure, where I just ask an adult what they would do and then do it. For example, jumping in the river from ten feet: “If the other parents think it is a good idea, then go for it.” I just really don’t trust my gauge of danger and appropriateness.
Since there were in fact no other adults present, I was forced to make the decision to inch over four lanes of cars traveling at 90 mph. Thank God, on the right side of the road there was a patch of gravel before the drop down into the ravine. I called 911. 911 said that I needed to call roadside assistance. Roadside assistance said I needed to call 911. I called Josh.
“Now, I don’t want to worry you, but M and I are stuck on the side of the road and the front part of the car is having a moment. I didn’t want to call you, but I’m just not sure what to do.”
Since Josh is in a good mental space at the moment, he remained calm and told me to wait. So I did. Maybe for ten minutes. I called 911 again. I am not above this, but I told the 911 person that I had a kid in the car with complex medical needs, that I was too scared to work on the car alone, and I really needed help. The operator started to ask my location and I saw, out of the corner of my eye and through M’s sobs, a highway patrol car pull up behind us.
I can’t tell you the relief I felt. I feel conflicted about this (about law enforcement in general) but the honest truth of this story is they really helped us. I hung up with dispatch, tried to smile my biggest smile despite being in a terrible mood. I wanted to seem friendly so hopefully he would also be friendly back. I got out of the car and showed him the glaringly obvious problem. And he just ripped it off. The whole thing. Just like that, exposing the inner digestive system of our car. I asked him if we could make it three hours to Oakland without the front of the car, and he was like, “You can drive for the next 100,000 miles with the car like this.” I doubted him, but I wanted so badly to believe him. After all, it seemed like he knew enough about cars to know that he could dismantle the front of mine with only a few kicks and pulls.
We were fine. Our story stayed at, “Any challenges we face, we can make it through together.” M fell asleep in the car. I told myself that I was going to just drive home in silence to make certain I didn’t miss the second half of our car falling off. In a way, it was an odd punishment to see if I could actually find joy in reality.
Looking out over the corn-covered hills, dotted with wild sunflowers, I wondered if the person who wrote The Wizard of Oz was from Northern California. The fields glowed, the trees were green, I projected the cows were happy in the partly cloudy sky. At any moment a human-sized bubble might drift down my way, confirming that life is indeed magical.
I am not a people pleaser. Or so I tell myself. I am not one because, in my mind, I have no way of really knowing what others want. There are limits to the assumption that I would or could ever have that awareness - even if they expressly tell me. People are complex; our needs are nuanced. Situations contain multiverses of understandings, and I, for one, am afraid of the idea that I could ever really know what it is like to be someone else. And yet, I am comfortable with the idea that yes, I do feel responsible for other people’s emotions and needs. I want so badly to be loved, at my core, to feel worthy of all the resources my life consumes.
There was a moment, when I was feeling opposed to owning being a people pleaser but okay with the idea that I think I am responsible for other people’s emotions, that I realized this whole thing is kind of ridiculous. I choose to be happy. With a family-size container of chocolate-covered raisins to keep me alert, and from time to time, quickly gazing back at M.
When we made it home, I felt amazing. We rushed towards Josh, who was cooking in the kitchen. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” And I meant it.
Love, Carissa
PS I am so grateful for you being here. Reading this. I LOVE to write. And process things this way. You being here kinda justifies it. So thanks.
PPS A different way to support me and my life, is to buy something from www.peopleiveloved.com
PPPS Or if you need to CALM the FUCK DOWN - but don’t know how, I write a book about it with Vera Kachouh here.
Really found myself in this piece, and it’s comforting to know I’m not alone. I don’t always fit neatly into the word people-pleasing. Some days I don’t tick all the boxes, but most times I do. For me, it often comes from unconsciously wanting to make others feel better, which I see as a gift of paying attention. I don’t know what to fully call it, and I’m not ready to jump on the bandwagon of labels, especially when blessings also come from it. My hope is that with each step, I keep learning to read between the blurred lines. Truly loved this piece.
I was on the edge of my seat. So glad you made it home safe!