I can’t stop people pleasing and it’s ruining my life

I know my parents meant well with how they raised my siblings and me. I know that they just wanted to raise children who grew to be good, kind people. But I cried during Supergirl (2026). Not when her dog was in pain. Well, I did cry during that part, but I mean not just when Krypto was in trouble. This is not a spoiler, it’s in the trailer. What had me in my feelings was a flashback scene where Kara (Supergirl) is sitting with her sick mother. Her mother asks her to promise to be “good” after she’s gone.

“Just be good. That doesn’t mean you cannot be tough. And that doesn’t mean you have to be nice. But you must be good.”

⸺ Alura Zor-El in Supergirl (2026)

I wished, watching that scene, that I was given permission growing up to not be nice. I wished I was taught the difference between being kind and being palatable. I was brought up to not be difficult.

“Don’t argue, it’s rude.”

“Don’t stand up for yourself, it’s rude.”

“Don’t speak your mind, it’s rude.”

I was brought up by strict parents who constantly got praised for how polite all their children were. They were diplomats with an image to maintain. And we were little aristocrats, prim and proper, thinking about every little thing we did. Overthinking every little thing we did. Did you know that your bad posture is an insult to your companions?

Is that how I ended up here?

Where? I’m glad you asked.

The other morning I went to pick up a croissant from one of my favorite bakeries. As I approached the line, making my way around the belt barriers, a woman approached the belt, lifted it up, and limboed down under it, cutting right in front of me as I walked up. Once I got up to my new place in the queue, a man behind me went “excuse me, that’s my wife” asking, in not so many words, I don’t know why I’m expecting any politeness from this family at this point to cut in front of me too. And I let him!

No questions asked. No clever retort about how his wife should join him instead. Just a smile, and a step to the side.

I hate myself.

As a young woman, standing up for myself was always treated like one of the most disrespectful things I could do, a personal affront to the person mistreating me.

I got told during formative years, by a “friend” I never worked up the courage to drop, that I was a bitch for not agreeing to date guys I was not interested in.

In university, I was called a “fucking bitch” by a conceited man, old enough to be my father, who couldn’t handle not being liked by me. He didn’t like me either, but it was a crime on my part that the feeling was mutual.

I was told since I was a teenager to lose my “Resting Bitch Face”. I’ve lost it now. I want it back. That’s why I’m writing this essay.

Is this coming across as too dramatic? Is it a problem that I’m concerned about that right now?

I’ve been very self reflective in my late twenties. I’ve discovered a lot about myself, like the fact that:

• I love oysters, with just a squeeze of lemon.

• My marketing and PR career, which I’ve thankfully left, ruined my focus and confidence in my writing.

• I’m terrified of being seen as a Karen, so I don’t tend to say anything when someone does something shitty to me—in my career, friendships, and while out buying croissants.

• I let people I don’t like befriend me, like I’m a toy without thoughts or feelings that they found at the playground.

I’ve also rediscovered a lot of things from my childhood, which is a great way to reconnect with yourself and a good way to try to understand where your current problems might be coming from, for example:

• I’ve gone back to swimming, a sport I always loved but was always dissuaded from by my mother, who thought that chlorine was bad for me.

• I’ve gone back to playing guitar, a hobby I was very passionate about but was always dissuaded from, because my mother preferred it when I played the piano.

• I’m trying to get back into reading, despite my shortened attention span. You’re waiting for her to show up here too, right? Truthfully, somehow she wasn’t a fan of that, either. She said I read too much instead of socializing with her friends’ kids who were usually older and had very little in common with me. I also had my own friends and a decent social life, but I digress.

Looking at all these things it looks like: I either blame all my problems on others, or I actually lack a lot of agency and let others cause me problems. Either way, I am the problem — the connecting thread.

I know this already. I know this was drilled into me as a child. You get conditioned for long enough to put yourself last, you can’t even begin to dream of putting yourself first.

And I don’t exactly surround myself in adulthood by people who respect boundaries and autonomy. It’s good to be kind and generous, it’s bad to do it at your own expense. Day, after day, after day.

I don’t want to become a selfish asshole. But I really need to stop being so cruel to myself.

I rewatched Supergirl since having this epiphany. It’s not an amazing movie. It has its flaws. But the message was really important to me.

I also tried to think of other people, real or fictional, who are kind and authentic; well-liked, while not being a pushover.

Because let’s face it, that’s what a people pleaser is. There’s no greater act of submission for a human being. It’s the equivalent of a dog showing its belly at the park to say “hey, I’m not at all a threat, look how vulnerable I’m willing to make myself for you”. I don’t want to be that dog anymore.

During this exercise, two people came to mind: My little brother, and Anthony Bourdain. Both men, and I think that says something about the social conditioning women are subjected to, but I still know male people pleasers, so I’ll give credit where credit is due.

I’m proud of my little brother. I don’t tell him that, though. When I graduated university, I took an internship at a pet shop that had a doggy daycare attached, with the promise that their Marketing and PR team would be interested in hiring me afterwards. My brother had just graduated high school and I talked him into joining me, assuring him that his tasks would only be within the daycare, as I was promised they would be.

The day before his first day, I was asked about what he was like. I was complimented by the employees and told that I was “really chill and easygoing” so he must be like me.

I told them he was like a cat. These were animal people after all, and I still think the metaphor holds up. I said he has the personality of a cat. You know how it takes them a while to warm up to you? Aloof, reserved, but chill and really lovable once they get to know you? That’s how I’ve seen him since his mid-teen years.

Week one of his internship, one of the more pushy employees tried to get him to work the sales floor. He didn’t need anyone to stand up for him and stress that, as an unpaid intern, he only agreed to daycare duties. He just said “nah, I’m good”, with a polite smile, as if he was offered a cup of tea he didn’t feel like. The other guy just blinked at him, stunned. He never bothered him again.

If I apply the same cat vs dog thought experiment to myself, I got that dog in me. The dog: the one baring its belly for all the other dogs at the park.

Dog people often shit on cats because of their complete lack of compromise. A cat won’t do anything it doesn’t want to do. And that’s seen as somehow mean.

On the other hand, cat people shit on dogs because their desire to please comes across as insincere to them.

Whether you do your thing like a cat or aim to please like a dog, someone’s always going to have an issue with you. You can’t be liked by everyone. So why be the dog?

No shade to dogs, I’m over-simplifying complex animals and putting them into neat boxes just to make a point. In reality, my own dog doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. Not a single trick for free. Not a single “come here” obeyed without a piece of chicken promised.

You could call him a cat.

And I love that guy to bits.

Like many people raised on the Food Network and Travel Channel, I’m very fascinated by Anthony Bourdain. I don’t pretend to know the man. I don’t sanctify him. I respect him, though. A big part of that is the humanity he showed. Bourdain may not have called himself a good person, but to many around the world, he was. He was kind and compassionate. But he also did things his own way. Cut his own path. Spoke his mind without fear of offending his companions. He did this with tact, but he still did it.

Many of us have now seen his Jerusalem episode of Parts Unknown where he showed the reality of Palestinian lives under apartheid. A bold move now. An even bolder one in 2013.

In the Singapore episode, Bourdain has a now-viral conversation with locals about “maids” (migrant domestic workers, usually women) where he calls them out to their faces, saying "you're living off the labor of a repressed underclass," as his dinner companions laugh awkwardly. He ends his criticism with “I’m just fucking with you,” which puts everyone at the table back at ease, but it’s clear he meant what he said.

And then there was his final interview with Fast Company, an unfiltered and unedited glimpse into just how authentic this man was. He called conventional things “competent” and said he abhorred competence.

“A powerful reaction, one way or the other, is infinitely preferable to me than pleasing everybody. If I walk in a room where everybody agrees with me, I find that frightening and dismaying and boring as fuck.”

⸺ Anthony Bourdain

Society deems men like this charming. Rarely is a woman who behaves and thinks the same way seen as “cool” and “authentic”. Usually, she’s called a bitch and told to smile.

Should that keep you a people pleaser? Do you really want to please that type of person? They’ll never really be pleased with you anyway.

Back to the croissant shop: I was scared of being seen as a Karen, not by the people who cut in front of me, but by everyone else in the vicinity who didn’t have the context.

Nobody’s ever called a man a Karen. It’s exclusively reserved for women. Sometimes these women are being rude to service workers and should rightfully be criticized. But what do we call a man who does the same thing?

Around the corner from this bakery is my favorite Gözleme place in the whole city. It’s run by three Turkish women who never crack a smile or stop for a chat. Someone once described the lady who took the orders as “rude” when talking to me about that place. I didn’t think she was rude. She’d done nothing rude. I’m not entitled to a cheery attitude from a stranger.

One day someone tried cutting in front of me at that place.

I know, this is getting ridiculous. Bear with me.

He was quickly scolded by this woman. A woman who, before that moment, I’d never heard utter a single word more than “hi,” as she stares at me blankly waiting for me to place my order, and “yogurt, darling?” when my order was ready.

“You’re not always nice, but you’re kind. You’re not always perfect, but you’re good.”

⸺ Ruthye in Supergirl (2026)

So, be like Turkish auntie. Be like Supergirl. Be like Anthony Bourdain. I know it’s easier said than done, but picture a dog rolling onto its back at the dog park whenever someone cuts in front of you or insults you and you’re tempted to let it slide. Say something. You’re either a bitch or a submissive little dog. I’d rather be a bitch.

Don’t turn into a selfish asshole, though. Know when to bite back.

But bite back.

Talk soon,

Dahlia