“I blame my mother.”
“I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve ever heard that sentiment here, but usually there’s a lot more to it than that,” I said to Maggie, smiling.
Maggie was my last appointment of the day and someone I actually looked forward to seeing every week. She would enter my office with a lot of energy. Always cheerful, always put together, always on her way to someplace else in her busy life. She was what I would call a high achiever– successful at her job, popular in her social circle, and awesome as a marathon runner. But Maggie had one problem–a level of anxiety that was constant, and which in her quieter moments forced her to despair over decision making and her biggest problem– people pleasing.
“Why do you feel that your mother is responsible for what you’re feeling?” I asked in my very best shrink voice. I knew the answer already, but I wanted to hear it from her point of view.
“She’s perfect. And she taught me to be perfect. She never says no to anyone. Her mother, my Gran, can be an absolute bitch to her, but if Gran says jump. Mom asks “How high?”
And she is never rude or assertive with anyone. If she thinks someone is mad at her she bends over backwards to be nice.”
“How did her tendency to please others affect you?” I leaned in for Maggie’s answer while the crooked picture on the wall just behind her head suddenly caught my eye. “Damn, this place is falling apart,’ I thought. Clearly Maggie was not the only person in this room with perfectionistic tendencies. I quickly refocused on her words.
“I told you about Abby, right?”
I nodded. “Your childhood friend.”
“She’s still my oldest friend. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Our parents have been friends forever. As little kids there were times growing up that I just didn’t want to play with her. She could be so whiny. And we always had to play what she wanted to play.
“‘I would tell my mother that I didn't want to go over to Abby’s house to play, but Abby would insist and throw a fit.”
“How did your mother react?”
“She made me go. And I had to be cheerful about it. To this day, although I really love Abby, her moods are something I have to handle and help her through. But my mother and her mother were friends, and we were all neighbors. My mother felt it was important for us to look like we all got along. She insisted that I play with Abby, and I did. Always.”
“Do you resent that?” That is such a “shrink’s question," I thought.
“No. No. I love my mother. She’s the best. But she never confronts. Never says no. She would be so overcome with guilt if she did. “
“So how does this affect you?’
“Well, you’ve pretty much pointed out that I can’t say no, without feeling anxious. That’s when the insomnia and panic attacks start. And dating. I stick with guys way too long after I realize I’m not interested just because I don’t want to hurt their feelings.”
Maggie pauses and the room is quiet for a moment. Silences are hard for Maggie. She acts almost obligated to fill the room with words so as not to feel things, or disappoint me. Another form of people pleasing. But she’s confused. She wants to “fix” this and improve.
“This is a lot to realize, Maggie. I think you’ve identified the conflict between your mother’s aspirations for you and your own desires to be authentic. It’s good.”
“It doesn’t feel good.”
“It will,” I reply.
Maggie is far from alone. I've personally treated dozens of women, struggling with this kind of perfectionism. People pleasing, and what I call “Nice Girl Syndrome” (because so many young women have this problem), persists in even the most confident and accomplished women. Recently Psychology Today ran a story with the cover title, “Are You A People Pleaser?” Their diagnostic quiz included identifying with statements such as:
I rarely share my opinions because I do not want to upset anyone.
I don’t like to make decisions that might make others unhappy.
I tend to go with the flow, even if it makes me feel uneasy.
Even if something isn’t my fault, I apologize anyway.
And of course, this one killer question: “I feel responsible for the happiness of the people in my life.” As women we’re taught to take the emotional temperature of everyone else in the room. Kids, partners, parents, siblings, friends, bosses, and co-workers. The list is long, and it has a real impact. Is it any wonder that women experience anxiety at twice the rate of men? And that high achieving professional women are three times as anxious as their male counterparts?
And isn’t it time that we all try to help them?
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