— In this article —
- The quiet trap of being “the good one”
- The origin of the niceness habit
- The cost of loosing yourself
- When your body starts saying “no” for you
- What healing looks like (hint: not everyone will like it)
- Three practices that helped me come home to myself
The quiet trap of being “the good one”
They called me easygoing. Low-maintenance. The peacemaker. Always ready to help. Mature. Efficient. All I had to do was want to make it happen.
Behind every enthusiastic "We'll do it!" was a quiet "I'll do it"—drowned in a tsunami of thoughts and fears: What if I fail? What if I disappoint? What if I can’t meet the standards I set for myself?
There was a whole list of needs, from the simple—being heard, attention, a second opinion—to the practical: time, money, support. Yet after saying "We'll do it," I’d retreat into my mind, scrambling to make everything work with minimal resources and maximum quality.
First, I was “nice”. Then, I disappeared inside myself.
The origin of the niceness habit
This "niceness" brought me success, but also a dangerous equity: "Don’t worry, she’ll figure it out." And I did—flawlessly. Because my standards wouldn’t allow anything less.
It started in childhood. I wanted to be "the good one"—the one who didn’t burden her parents, who didn’t ask for much, who didn’t disturb. I was praised for what I didn't do:
- I didn’t cause problems (until I did).
- I didn’t ask for much (until I did).
- I didn’t have big needs (until I did).
So I learned to be agreeable. To anticipate. To create harmony, even when I was chaos inside. Niceness became a survival tactic, masking my needs in subtle ways:
- I said "yes" to projects and invitations I didn’t want.
- I swallowed my anger, frustration, and sadness.
- I accepted unfair criticism to avoid conflict.
- I exhausted myself trying to salvage doomed situations.
The cost of loosing yourself
Over time, I lost myself. I no longer knew what I liked, what I wanted. Inside, a mix of rage and grief grew louder.
So I started journaling. To release the anger. To see, in black and white, how often I defaulted to niceness. To reclaim my voice.
I uncovered real fears behind my behavior:
- Fear of rejection.
- Fear of loneliness.
- Fear of conflict.
- Fear of no longer being "the good one."
All of them boiled down to one thing: the fear of being unlovable.
And yes—I had been rejected when I asked for time for myself. I had been judged when I said no. I was no longer "the good one" when I dared to ask for help.
So I kept being nice. Even when I was exhausted. I abandoned my needs, my desires, myself.
When your body starts saying “no” for you
Healing began when my body got sick.
My body said "no" for me. It could no longer sustain the niceness. It needed all its energy to survive—not out of selfishness, but instinct.
I kept journaling. Asking myself hard questions. Listening to what my body felt when I spoke my truth. I asked:
- Where am I saying "yes" when I mean "no"?
- Who am I abandoning myself for?
What healing looks like (hint: not everyone will like it)
Not everyone liked me anymore. Some relationships faded; others ended. Once, I would’ve said, "I lost people." Now I say: "Some people lost me."
There are risks in reclaiming your voice.
But the reward? You become someone you recognize again. Someone whose "no" carries weight. Someone whose "yes" is wholehearted. Someone who knows that asking for help is wisdom, not weakness.
Three practices that helped me come home to myself
- Listening to my body —it knows the truth before my mind catches up.
- Journaling —tracking patterns, contexts, and the people who made me shrink.
- Practicing my micro boundaries —"I need time," "That’s not a priority," "I need help."
Niceness kept people close—but it distanced me from myself.
Authenticity brought me back to me—and, in time, attracted the right people.
