The Forever-Eager People-Pleaser

Before I left Los Angeles, I’d actually been debating moving home for a fair amount of time. I found myself leaning more toward the move than not, but there were certain hang-ups I had that, for a while, fully prevented me from committing to the move, even though I knew it was ultimately what I needed. And I’m not talking about tangible external factors like Nicole, my nearest and dearest friend of the city, or the plethora of career opportunities that would likely fall away once I made my way home. No, when I say hang-up, I’m referring to a literal psychological inhibition — my own thoughts that have kept me from doing what’s right for me.

I’ve always been a people-pleaser, to the point that I can’t stand it when people don’t like me, or are mad at me, for whatever reasons they may have. This inherent need has also affected my decision-making, from both everyday, mundane activities, to huge, life-altering ones. Like a move across the country, for example. The problem with making such a life alteration like the one I made, was that it would be absolutely impossible for me to please everyone. Someone, somewhere was sure as hell going to be disappointed by my decision, whether it was for their own selfish (and I use that term lightly) reason or because they felt like I was making a mistake.

And, as always, there comes a time when you start to figure it out, that if you spend your life living on someone else’s terms – or everyone else’s terms for that matter – you’re doing so at a grave cost to yourself. You start to hinder your own growth, stagnant and immobile in everyone else’s perception of you.

So here I am at home, trying to figure out how to be the person I’ve become in the year that I’ve been away, learning more about myself than I ever imagined. I haven’t lived in this town full-time since I was 18, a scary thought when I remember how completely miserable I was at that age. And I’m not insinuating a correlation between unhappiness and coming home, but I’m merely suggesting a relationship between conforming to expectations and self-satisfaction.

To get a kick-start on embracing “the new me” in an old town, I threw myself into changing my circumstances before I could fall back into old patterns. Even before I stepped off the plane, I’d already set up my own place (with my best friend) and lined up a job interview. Weeks later, I’m completely enamored with my cozy place and have never been more pleasantly surprised by how much I love my job and everything that comes with it, including the fast-paced atmosphere and my sharp, like-minded co-workers.

But it’s still going to take some practice for me to be able to actively listen to the advice that others bestow upon me and balance it with what I need, to remind myself that quitting a job I love for a more financially stable one isn’t written anywhere in my autobiography, but rather crossed out voraciously in red pen, along with getting married and having children at 24. And in case you’ve chosen both of those options in your life, I am not putting them down, but merely saying that they seem to be the norm around here where I’m from, which is tough for me, the forever eager “people-pleaser.”  

It’s difficult to reconcile living in a place that simultaneously fits like an old glove and a shirt that’s three sizes too small. But at this point in my life, I’m happy to be here, spending time with my family and friends and just trying to figure things out.

…Til my next big adventure, that is.

*In keeping with my writing goals, I’m starting a new blog series called Manic Mondays, in which I write about whatever’s grabbed my attention that particular week. Stay Tuned!*