September 28
I have trouble writing about happiness. Something about it seems disingenuous to me, which is hysterical because I am almost too friendly in person. Lately I’ve been considering how my friendliness may come across as a ruse to some.
“There must be some ulterior motive,” the stranger must think as I hold the door open a few seconds longer.
“Do I know her?” considers the man walking his dog. “Then why, for the love, is she waving?”
I am totally, completely a pleaser, there is no doubt about it. My big sister tells me so, personality tests show it, and every close person in my life expects me to step in first during a crisis. Once I described myself as “obnoxiously optimistic” in a job interview. (I wasn’t hired.)
Deep down I am deeply satisfied helping people, but I know there’s a fine line between filling a gap and taking over. Kristen, my life coach, told me that being a pleaser developed in childhood as a way to survive. When my parents divorced during my second-grade year, I tried to hold the center in our family like the eye of the hurricane.
God, I’m talking about the divorce again. Cats. I should talk about cats, right? They’re cute with tiny, kissable heads. But writing about cats is boring. It’s not interesting to read about something that’s been combed through and retold a million times over. Maybe writing about tough stuff isn’t so sad after all if it helps me come through an emotion to a better place; move through a dark tunnel toward clearer skies.
—
When my son wakes up scared in the night, I am so sleepy that many times I plop down on top of his covers, too tired to get under them. His room is always freezing; it’s our best trick to stave off nightmares. Yet, lying next to him – in my nightshirt, under the buzzing fan – I am not cold. It’s the strangest thing. Something about that quiet moment makes my body relax into the chill, adjust. The physical act of nurturing is also healing for me as well.
So, maybe being a pleaser is not all bad. I am trying to be more direct and honest with people to combat the urge to make others happy over my own discomfort. Sometimes being uncomfortable is good; it tells you you’re in the right place. Sometimes leaning into the cold brings you through to contentment.
