10 Things I'm Done Pretending Are Normal
Notes from the other side of people-pleasing
I’ve been offline. I wish it was for a cleanse or a reset or anything noble like that, but the truth is: I just couldn’t keep up. There’s been too much noise in my head, and not enough of me left over to meet it. So I pulled back. Not on purpose at first—it just… happened. And then I let it.
The world has felt heavy and distorted for so long, and I’ve been working overtime to maintain some sense of normalcy for my kids and family. But I didn’t send a letter last Sunday because I couldn’t get out of bed long enough to write one. I retreated to the floor bed in my office and let my family carry things for a while. I needed the silence to think. To untangle some knots.
In the quiet, I started noticing how many things I still do out of habit, fear, or pure muscle memory—outdated scripts I absorbed years ago and never paused to question. Ways of being that once kept me safe, but now just keep me small.
So I made a list of rules I’m unlearning. Some I never agreed to in the first place. Some I mistook for personality traits. Some I still follow, even now, even when I know better.
This kind of rewiring takes time—actively catching myself in the moment, holding myself accountable, and slowly softening the patterns that became second nature just to survive. Maybe some of these will resonate with you too.
“I should be grateful. It could be worse.”
I used to recite this like a mantra, as if suffering was a competition and mine didn’t qualify. I’ve learned that minimizing pain doesn’t make it disappear, it just teaches you to ignore it better. Gratitude can be expansive, yes, but not when it’s used to silence what still hurts. I'm learning to hold both: thank you, and also, this is too much. Two things can be true at the same time.
“If I can’t do it perfectly, I shouldn’t bother.”
I struggle to start things I love because perfection takes time—and I rarely get uninterrupted time while raising young children, one of whom is still home with me full-time. This belief has cost me the chance to create, to play, to explore what I might love if I just tried. I’m learning that imperfect action is still action. It counts.
“I shouldn’t let them see how much I care.”
I’ve armored myself against vulnerability out of fear of rejection. And sometimes, yes, that rejection comes anyway. But being guarded has its own cost and I’m learning that the risk of being seen is worth the possibility of being truly known.
“It’s not that bad. I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”
I’ve told myself this in hospital rooms, during arguments, and through grief. But what I feel is what I feel—minimizing it doesn’t make it go away. My emotions don’t shrink just because I wish they would. I’m learning to listen to my own alarms without shushing them.
“If I outgrow people, I’m being disloyal.”
I’ve clung to friendships, roles, and entire identities long past their expiration date out of a misplaced sense of loyalty. “She helped me once, so I owe her my friendship forever.” But I’m learning that I can honor the past and still walk away cleanly from what no longer fits.
“If they’re uncomfortable, I’ve said too much.”
I’ve swallowed truth in real-time to keep others comfortable. I’ve rewritten my story so it wouldn’t make anyone shift in their seat. But I’m tired of translating my truth into something palatable, it doesn’t need to be digestible to be worth saying.
“I should be over it by now.”
Healing never looks how I expect it to. It’s circular, messy, sometimes invisible. I keep waiting to feel “done,” but that's just not how it works. Some wounds don’t disappear, they just become part of the map. I'm learning to move forward without pretending I’m fixed.
“I shouldn’t need anyone.”
I’ve spent my entire adulthood being self-sufficient to a fault. I still am, and this one will probably be the hardest to unlearn. I’m slowly discovering that needing people isn’t weakness and I am not going to be judged harshly for it, it's just being human.
“I should be chill. I should be low-maintenance.”
I’ve tried so hard to be easy. To not ask for much, to not take up space, to laugh off the things that hurt. But I’m not chill. I feel deeply. I want presence, attention, real care. I’m learning that I don’t want to be low-maintenance if it means being under-loved.
“I have to finish what I start.”
This ties back to my perfectionism. I used to see quitting as failure, but now I'm learning that walking away can be an act of self-trust. Knowing and trusting when to stop is a life-altering skill.
I don't remember the exact moment I started carrying everyone else's comfort on my shoulders. Somewhere between silencing myself to keep the peace and shrinking to fit into spaces that were never meant for me, I learned something that broke me open: I had been performing my entire life. Every smile timed perfectly. Every boundary dissolved before it could offend. I collected these rules like shields, thinking they would keep me safe, when really they were just keeping me hidden. It means catching myself mid-act and remembering I don't owe anyone a version of myself that makes them comfortable.
These patterns became second nature without me ever choosing them. They crept in through comments, glances, the weight of other people's expectations until they felt like my own thoughts. I'm learning to let go of beliefs that were never mine to begin with.
If any of this resonated, I think you'd love the Energy Mapping Workbook I made. It’s a quiet little tool to help you pay attention to what’s draining you, what’s feeding you, and where you might be stuck in holding patterns that no longer fit. I designed it as a companion to this kind of inner work — something to help you track, name, and gently shift your rhythms.
And one last note: this is the final week to enter my June giveaway — it’s a small thank-you for paid subscribers, and it’s full of things I love and use daily: a 2025–26 planner, a beautiful wall calendar, a notebook from one of my favorite stationery brands, a book I recently loved, artful postcards, and a few other treats. All paid subscribers as of June 30 (midnight EST) will be automatically entered & I’ll draw a winner on July 1.
Thank you for being here. Whether you’ve been reading since the beginning or just stumbled in, I’m so grateful. This space is one of the only places where I get to show up exactly as I am.
All my love,
- D
FROM THE ARCHIVES
I’m going through a similar experience, for the first time in my life. Thank you for writing this!
This was so beautifully written 🫶🏻 thank you