A gentle, honest look at people pleasing and finding your way back to yourself
Caring what people think is something most of us do, whether we admit it or not. But when that worry starts shaping your decisions, when you quieten yourself to avoid upsetting anyone, or when you spend more time scanning the room than listening to your own thoughts, it becomes something heavier. Something that slowly chips away at you.
And I say that from experience, not theory.
My Story (told gently, because it was a lot)
About thirteen years ago, I was managing a team of twelve. I won’t go into every detail — it’s not needed — but there was a group within that team who made things very difficult for me. It wasn’t one big moment or a dramatic scene. It was subtle, quiet, chipping-away behaviour that over time had a real impact on me.
Looking back, I can name it for what it was: bullying. Not the loud kind you see in films, but the slow, draining sort that leaves you questioning yourself. Little comments that lingered. An atmosphere you could feel the second you walked into the room. Hearing laughter stop when you entered. That sort of thing. It’s hard to explain to anyone who wasn’t there, but if you’ve been through that kind of situation, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
My confidence wasn’t in a great place to begin with, and the way things unfolded eroded it even further. And instead of protecting myself, I did what so many people pleasers do, I tried harder. I tried to win people over. I baked cakes for meetings, bought presents for birthdays and Christmas, bent over backwards to keep the peace, said yes to everything, smoothed over tension that wasn’t mine to fix… all in the hope things would feel easier. That I’d be accepted, liked.
But they didn’t do any of that. If anything, the more I tried to make everyone else comfortable, the more disconnected I became from myself and the worse the bullying became.
Eventually, for the sake of my own mental health, I stepped away. It wasn’t in a bold, empowered exit — it was in an onslaught of tears, anxiety, and fear culminating in a massive panic attack. I was simply the point where I couldn’t keep going the way I was. In hindsight, though, it was the first step towards a place of growth, strength and confidence. I’d hit rock bottom and there was only one way to go.
Rebuilding Myself (slow, steady, and very human)
Leaving didn’t instantly restore my confidence. There was no big, dramatic epiphany. But I knew I didn’t want to end up in that pattern again — living from other people’s reactions instead of my own truth. I had real trauma from working there, I couldn’t drive past the road without holding my breath, just the thought of seeing any of those people made me feel sick.
With the extra time I had I started trying to understand myself more deeply. Why I cared so much about being liked. Why disapproval felt so threatening. Why I felt responsible for everyone else’s emotions. Why I tied my worth to how others responded to me. Why I tried to control everything.
That curiosity led me into mindset work, subconscious patterns, boundaries, behaviour, confidence, and control.. I qualified as an NLP practitioner, honed my coaching skills, and slowly rebuilt myself in a way that felt real and grounded, not performative.
And that journey shaped the way I now support clients.
Why We Care So Much (a simple, human explanation)
People often say just stop caring what others think, as if that’s something you can decide in a moment. But the truth is far more complex and far more compassionate.
Your brain is wired to link acceptance with safety. If you’ve been bullied, dismissed, overlooked, or made to feel small at any point, that wiring becomes even stronger. And the more it happens the stronger that wiring is. Your mind goes on alert, scanning for signs something might be off, even when there’s nothing wrong. A sigh, a tone, a silence, they can all feel like warning signs.
And when saying yes or smoothing things over brings even a moment of relief, your brain learns, “Ah. This keeps us safe.” And the cycle continues.
None of this is who you are. It’s simply something you’ve learned.
Your RAS and how it can become your ally instead of your trap
One of the biggest shifts for me came from understanding the Reticular Activating System (RAS). This part of your brain acts like a filter — it decides what information gets your attention.
When you’ve gone through a situation like the one I experienced, your RAS becomes tuned to look for potential threat. Not danger in the dramatic sense — just anything that might hint at rejection, judgement, or tension. So you walk into a room already aware of who seems off, who didn’t smile, who hasn’t replied, who feels distant.
Your RAS believes it’s protecting you, but it ends up exhausting you.
The beautiful part is that you can retrain it. When you deliberately shift your focus, towards what’s working, what you’re proud of, who supports you, where you felt grounded today, your RAS will start picking up on those things instead.
Over time, it stops scanning for threat and starts scanning for safety. And that changes everything.
So… how do you actually stop caring so much?
Not by force. Not by pretending. And definitely not overnight.
But slowly, naturally, and in a way that allows you to still be a kind, thoughtful person without losing yourself in the process.
For me, the biggest shift came from changing the question I asked myself. I didn’t even realise how often I thought, “What will they think?” It was automatic. But when I started asking, “What do I think?” or “What feels right for me?”or ”What do I want?” things softened. It gave me permission to consider myself as part of the equation.
Accepting that not everyone will like me (and that this is completely normal) took the pressure away. Trying to be universally liked had been exhausting, and freeing myself from that expectation created room to breathe.
Learning to listen to my body was another turning point. The tight chest, the knot in my stomach, the heaviness; these sensations were telling me when something wasn’t right. My body knew long before my mind did.
Then there were the small acts of courage that built up quietly over time like saying no without padding it with excuses, letting someone be disappointed without absorbing it, sharing my opinion before checking the room, not rushing to fix every emotional wobble around me. These weren’t huge moments, they were gentle recalibrations, but they made a massive difference.
And one of the most freeing lessons I ever learned was this: What other people think of you is none of your business. It took years for that to land. But once it did, everything felt lighter.
If You Want Support With This…
If you’re reading this and thinking, “This is exactly what I need to work on, but I wouldn’t know where to start,” you’re not alone. It takes practice, support, and someone who understands these patterns inside out.
If you’d like help building these habits and untangling the old ones, I’m taking on new clients. No pressure, no big pitch, just an open door if you feel you’d benefit from guidance from someone who’s lived it and now helps others move through it too, get in touch.
If it feels right, send me a message. Sometimes one conversation is all it takes to see things from a completely different angle!