Why Strong Children Become People Pleasers

Day1Father Journal

People think strong children become people pleasers because they want everyone to like them. That was never the whole truth.

People think strong children become people pleasers because they want everyone to like them.

That wasn’t my story.

I wasn’t trying to be liked.

I was trying to keep my family together.

When my father left, something broke inside our house.

Then my mother’s kidneys failed.

The mirror shattered.

And somewhere in my mind I decided it was my job to pick up the pieces and make it whole again.

Nobody told me to do that.

I just did.

Mom was hurting.

Grandma needed help.

The house needed something.

And I thought my job was to be better. To bring more happiness. To carry more weight. To make life easier for everyone else.

The problem is a child can never carry enough weight to stop bad things from happening.

So I carried more.

And more.

And more.

I remember one day during the Super Bowl.

Mom wasn’t feeling well and needed ginger ale and Ritz crackers.

I walked to the store in the Florida heat.

By the time I got back I was sweating and exhausted.

Then I heard my grandmother ringing the bell because she needed help getting to the portable commode.

I was furious.

Not because she needed help.

Because I had nothing left.

I remember thinking:

Why don’t you call my uncles?

Why is it always me?

Can I sit down for one damn minute?

What about the baby boy?

That’s the part nobody talks about.

Everyone saw the sick mother.

Everyone saw the elderly grandmother.

Nobody saw the child carrying them.

I didn’t feel guilty because I wanted a break.

I felt guilty because wanting a break felt like letting them down.

After everything my mother did for me, how could I say no?

So I kept saying yes.

Strong children learn something dangerous.

They learn that everybody else’s needs come first.

If somebody is hurting, help.

If somebody is struggling, fix it.

If somebody is unhappy, carry it.

Eventually you stop asking what you need because experience teaches you that your needs can wait.

Then you grow up.

And the habit follows you.

You become afraid of disappointing people.

Afraid of letting people down.

Afraid of conflict.

Afraid of saying no.

Not because you’re weak.

Because you spent years believing it was your responsibility to hold everything together.

The cost was bigger than people realize.

It cost me trust.

It cost me friendships.

I stopped believing people would show up when things got hard.

I learned to depend on myself and a very small circle.

I became comfortable with carrying things alone.

Change felt dangerous.

Depending on people felt dangerous.

Hope felt dangerous.

I became afraid of being disappointed before disappointment could find me.

But the biggest thing it cost me was something I can never get back.

My innocence.

I missed being a kid.

I missed laughing without worrying.

I missed feeling safe.

I missed seeing my mother healthy enough to smile and tell stories about singing in talent shows when she was younger.

I missed childhood while trying to save adulthood.

People called me strong.

What they didn’t understand is that I wasn’t trying to be strong.

I was trying to save what was left.

And those are two very different things.