I’m a people pleaser, this is a true confession. Years of working on it have brought me to an honest conclusion: this one doesn’t need a cure so much as better aim.
When I produced shows, the instinct was the job. Once the audience was clearly defined, every decision ran through what would surprise and delight them and what would bring a family sitting together a little closer by the finale. The cast and crew deserved to walk off proud and hear the applause they’d earned. Pleasing people on purpose made the shows better, and everyone involved felt it. The business was giving the people what they wanted.
Things went sideways when the choosing stopped and the goal became pleasing everybody.
The clearest example happened at work, and at first the people pleasing wasn’t even mine. It belonged to a colleague I looked up to, and I followed his lead. As the touring season wound down, he could not bring himself to tell performers whether their contracts would be renewed. When they asked, he avoided the answer, and sometimes he even avoided them. Eventually the performers started knocking on my door. Those conversations were uncomfortable. There was no way to know what he had told them, and undermining his authority was the last thing I wanted. Being the one to deliver bad news and watch the disappointment land on their faces didn’t appeal to me much either. Still, what they were saying was impossible to ignore: without an answer, they couldn’t plan their futures.
What they wanted was the news, one way or the other. Sometimes the honest version was “we don’t know yet, because we’re weighing some creative possibilities that go beyond your act.” Sometimes it was “we won’t be bringing you back next season.” Those were hard words to say, and they disappointed people. They also let the performers move forward and take some control over what came next, and the candor built trust. These were acrobats, stunt professionals and ice skaters, people whose work asks them to take big leaps, literally, and to fall and get back up. They could handle the news. The silence was what wore them down. My colleague had the best intentions and believed he was sparing them heartbreak. All he was really doing was delaying their next move.
Ahna Tessler Photography
That lesson should have carried over everywhere, but my calendar tells a different story. For a long stretch, every logistically possible event and invitation got a yes. Work travel kept me away so often that time at home felt like a chance to make up for every missed dinner with friends and every school function. In trying to please everybody, somebody was always disappointed. A night out at an event meant an empty seat at the dinner table with my husband and kids. A midday fundraising luncheon attended out of obligation gave the host and the other guests a tired, half-present version of me, when that seat could have gone to someone who truly wanted to be there. These days the honesty comes earlier. A friend might hear that a big luncheon in the middle of a workday isn’t where I do my best listening, and that coffee would be a lovely alternative, a chance to hear why this organization matters to her and how to help. That conversation is almost always better for both of us. Saying no to the wrong things makes room to be fully present for the right ones, and pleasing others no longer comes at the expense of pleasing myself.
Putting people at ease is the piece worth keeping forever. Once an entertainer, always an entertainer. Walking into a meeting, a school event or a networking reception, the old audience question still runs in the background: what would make this person comfortable, and what might delight them? A warm greeting goes a long way. So does “it’s good to see you again,” or “I’ve been thinking about you,” when it’s true. One small detail from a last conversation can carry an entire reunion: how the marathon training is going, whether a son is settling in at college, how life is with the new puppy. That remembered detail does more work than anything clever could. It tells someone they were heard last time and are being heard now. With a stranger, it can be as simple as naming the nervous energy in the room or noticing a piece of jewelry they’re wearing.
The difference comes down to who the pleasing is for. When it serves the other person, it looks like a warm greeting, a remembered detail or an honest answer they can plan around. When it quietly serves me, as a way to dodge an awkward moment or be liked a little faster, it eventually disappoints everyone, myself included. That’s the version getting retired.
If you’re a people pleaser too, there may be no need to join People Pleasers Anonymous. Pointing the instinct toward the people in front of you might be enough. Before your next meeting or event, consider picking one person and thinking about what would put them at ease, or jotting down one detail from your last conversation to ask about. If someone is waiting on an answer from you, giving it sooner, and kindly, may be the most pleasing thing you can do for them.
From Your Biggest Champion,
Nicole
