As a music major in college, there was a requirement to participate in an ensemble. My freshman year, I auditioned for the university’s chamber singing group, and got in…as an alto.
My entire singing life before that audition, I had always been classified as a (mezzo) soprano. But being in the ensemble at all felt more important than being put in the right section or being seen for what I really was. I figured it was only for a semester anyway, and it was at least an opportunity to get better at harmonizing and sight reading.
I was an alto for two whole years, until my voice teacher marched into the ensemble conductor’s office and advocated that he place me into the section that actually matches my vocal range.
How many times have I told myself I’m just lucky to be in the room, even if I’m invisible or I got in there like a stowaway, contorting myself into the shape I need to be to fit in, doing whatever it takes to get there?
This is the question I’ve been thinking about as I try to unlearn people-pleasing, especially around work.
It always starts like the college ensemble: I think that I’ll be in the situation for a short time, I’ll inevitably learn something useful from the experience, and at some point, someone else (in a position of power or authority) will realize that I’m valuable. They’ll see what I’m bringing to the table, how hard I’m working, and offer me something better.
Maybe it played out that way once or twice before I was an adult, but since then, it really hasn’t. Now, this story robs me of my power, of my agency, and most importantly, of my desires. Weight and importance are always given to what someone else needs, wants, or desires, and how I can be that for them, in the people-pleasing version of the story. At its worst, people-pleasing is a type of manipulation where I make you feel like you’re getting what you want and then hope I’ll eventually get what I want, possibly by way of making you feel indebted me or martyring myself for you. Or if I don’t get what I want, then I’ll try to make something out of the scraps that are left over, but I’m left depleted out of the exchange and turn into a victim of my own making.
The story I want to live instead involves honesty about everyone’s desires. Everyone’s desires matter equally, and the first step of the relationship is locating what everyone wants. What you want out of a (working) relationship is just as important and valued as what I want. It’s like finding the venn diagram where our desires overlap.
People-pleasing is an armor that saves me from the vulnerability of having my own needs or desires. It keeps me safe from the risk of having to ask for anything or the pain of putting myself on the line, of trusting my experience and expertise and creativity. And the time has come when it’s holding me back from showing up in the world as my true self, so I have to let it go. It’s time to trust myself to find and advocate for what I really want, and not be afraid of the wanting.
Rumi has a poem that I’ve loved since the first time I heard the first line, which is “The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you; don’t go back to sleep.” I googled it one day recently, and that’s when I realized the next line of the poem speaks to my soul now in a way it didn’t before:
you must ask for what you really want; don’t go back to sleep. – Rumi