I Stopped People-Pleasing When My Dad Died - Here's What I Learned
How to recognise the pattern and reset before resentment explodes.
For much of my life, I did what a ‘good daughter’ should do for the greater family good.
Helped with bills. Supported my mum’s mental and physical health.
Didn’t take the jobs abroad or chase opportunities in case they needed me.
My mates always said I did too much. Self-sacrificed over and above, but I thought it was my duty.
To not be the difficult one when my brother was.
To hold things together.
But I didn’t realise how much resentment had built up alongside that habit or how it’d crept into my work life too.
I was the reliable one there as well, saying yes to everything, smoothing conflict, keeping things running at my expense.
And every time I tried to push back, someone’s disappointment or subtle guilt-trip made me fold.
The discomfort was intolerable.
When dad died, and everyone looked to me again to fix it, something snapped.
I didn’t have it in me anymore.
The only person who’d ever really seen and supported me was gone, and without that anchor, I fell apart.
But the guilt-tripping didn’t stop.
The faux compliments, the victim statements:
We can’t do this as well as you.
I never learnt how to do this so how can I now?
We’re all in pain, so just help for now and then you can step back.
Don’t you want to look after us now Dad has gone?
As Gretchen Rubin calls it, Obliger-Rebellion kicked in.
That explosive moment when long-term compliance flips into a roar.
That’s when I finally quit.
But it doesn’t have to reach that point, where resentment bursts and relationship recovery takes years.
Because people-pleasing isn’t kindness, but an energy-draining coping strategy that rewires how your brain keeps you ‘safe.’
Here’s how to recognise the signs and reset earlier, and the actual cost of being ‘nice.’
When helping becomes hiding
People-pleasing seems noble on the face of it.
You care. You want harmony. You’d rather absorb discomfort than give it to someone else.
But underneath this generosity is a slightly broken logic: If everyone’s OK, I’ll be OK.
We learn early that keeping the peace means we’re accepted, worthy, and spares everyone tension or discomfort.
Each yes buys us temporary respite and the hint of safety, belonging, and approval we so deeply crave.
But it’s often at the cost of energy and resources you didn’t have.
Resentment creeps in where recovery should live.
People-pleasing is often driven by fear of disapproval and displeasing others. You’re afraid of rejection if you stop keeping everyone else content.
So, your nervous system learns the wrong lessons over time.
That conflict means danger, and self-abandonment means calm.
Your brain predicts compliance is safe and saying no leads to pain.
As with other coping strategies, habits, and patterns, this is how People-Pleaser mode gets cemented.
People-pleasing isn’t weakness but a survival skill that outlived its usefulness.
Getting approval soothes in the moment but quietly drains confidence from the future.
Why your brain codes ‘nice’ as safe
Uncertainty is expensive for the brain and body. Its job is to conserve energy for what matters most by reducing surprise.
Conflict, rejection, or dealing with disapproval are unpredictable and expensive for your metabolism.
So, your system defaults to the most efficient move it knows: to appease, agree, or avoid aka people-pleasing.
Keeping social harmony lowers cortisol, stabilises your heart rate, and saves energy for what might be coming next.
And through people-pleasing, your nervous system tries to remove uncertainty and restore control by doing what’s worked in the past.
Each compliant yes, each smooth reunion with the other person gives you a micro-reward.
And in social neuroscience studies, even mild disapproval or exclusion activates the anterior cingulate cortex and insula, which track social pain and register relief when safety is restored.
You might notice it in your body too. A muscle release, or exhale, or slower heart rate.
Reconciliation and praise soothe your system and relieve the pain.
It was painful to reject mum’s requests to step in, but I knew she wouldn’t believe I meant it unless I upheld my limits.
Over time, the intensity eased, and we developed a new mutual respect. She learned to become more independent too.
How attachment and loss shape your safety defaults
Bowlby’s Attachment Theory has been around since the 1960s, and newer models place those quick reactions within a broader attachment safety system.
This system manages salience, stress, and reward circuits in the brain when people seek support from others during physical or psychological threats.
It downregulates threat and rewards reconnection through various neurotransmitters and hormones, such as oxytocin, dopamine, and endogenous opioids.
It’s why people-pleasing feels emotionally right and becomes biologically efficient.
But as usual, this short-term fix has long-term cost.
You stay hyper-vigilant, scanning for the next threat or ripple to tackle or defuse.
It’s exhausting and you never fully recover, walking a tightrope between connection and collapse.
As the strategy is repeated over time, the wiring shapes your attachment safety defaults: the Anxious repairer who rushes to please others, the Avoidant peacekeeper who agrees to escape the moment, or the Fearful-Avoidant who swings between over-giving and withdrawal.
But these traits aren’t fixed but learned and become habits your brain developed under pressure to save energy.
Often from an early age, we might have experienced these hidden losses:
The Loss of Belonging: When connection feels conditional, approval is a survival strategy. You say yes to stay safe in relationships rather than secure in yourself.
The Loss of Identity: When your worth is built on being needed, saying no feels like you’re losing yourself. You confuse being helpful with being valuable.
The Loss of Trust: Repeated disappointments or emotional unpredictability teach you that others can’t manage your needs or limits, so you carry everything to keep the peace.
These losses pull you away from who you are and wear you down.
Yet this People-Pleasing burnout pattern can be rewritten.
Every time you assert a boundary, challenge your autopilot behaviour, and still tolerate distress, you teach your brain a new rule: boundaries create safety too.
Do this: The Boundary Reset ARC loop
To break The People-Pleaser mode, you’re not fixing a weakness, but retraining your prediction system.
Each pause before your automatic urge to say yes or stay quiet provides new evidence that discomfort isn’t danger.
Here’s a loop to try if you’ve suspected this pattern:
Awareness:
Notice the Niceness script.
Catch the automatic yes and notice what happens in your body. Perhaps it’s a tension in your shoulders, shortness of breath, or your heart starts racing.
Name the story your brain’s running e.g. “If I say no, they won’t like me.”
Ask: Am I being nice, or kind? Nice avoids tension. Kind includes truth and respect.
Noticing the full mind–body pattern helps you spot and interrupt the habit.
Reconnection:
Give permission to choose yourself.
Remind yourself: Kindness includes me and that’s OK.
Add a pause buffer if you need it: Let me check and come back to you. That short pause gives you a chance to regulate before responding.
Expect the guilt surge: It’s not failure but what’s associated with the old story.
Undoing the habit isn’t immediate so expect the usual discomfort emotions to crop up. Learning to surf these will ease intensity over time.
Containment:
Practise the No ladder.
Write a list of boundary assertion activities and score them from 1 to 10: 1 being the easiest to try, 10 being the hardest.
Test your list, starting with the easiest first, with distinct types of No:
Soft boundary: “I can’t do that today.”
Boundary + option: “I can’t take the whole thing but can review a draft next week.”
Clean no: “No, I’m not available for that.”
Truth-first no: “If I say yes, I’ll have to drop other priorities, so I can’t.”
After each test, notice how you feel after. How did you react? How did the other person react? Focus on what’s said, not what you assume they meant. Lead with evidence, not assumptions.
Each safe outcome updates your brain’s model and suggests connection survives honesty and boundaries.
This week's permission slip
You don’t have to prove your worth by being agreeable all the time.
Being nice feels safe because it worked before.
But being kind keeps you honest now.
You’re allowed to disappoint people without being cruel, to rest without explaining, to say no without collapsing into guilt.
If guilt or beating yourself up still appears after testing new approaches, treat it as a sign of growth.
It’s your brain rebalancing safety and self-respect.
Here's an extract for The People-Pleaser from To Be of Use by Marge Piercy:
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.Marge Piercy
You do not have to be useful to be loved.
And when you stop equating usefulness with worth, your choices are yours and protect you from becoming resentful.
Key takeaways
People-pleasing is a learned safety strategy we develop to avoid social pain and conserve energy.
Your brain links approval with relief and safety because rejection triggers the same neural systems as physical pain.
The attachment safety system reinforces this, making compliance feel soothing and smart.
But putting others first too much ramps up your stress system, trading recovery for reassurance.
Catch yourself before resentment blows up.
Build assertiveness with small, repeated boundary tests to update your safety predictions.
Over time, you’ll recognise that limits are safe and connection doesn’t need self-sacrifice.
P.S. Where does people-pleasing show up in your day-to-day and what’s the most challenging aspect for you?
This is so true! I am reducing the people pleaser because I just don't want to do it anymore. I want my choices to matter. Me first and my preferences first.
Condolences on loosing your father.