During a recent session with my therapist, she asked what struck me as an odd question: Who is Pauline? I’ve been seeing her on a weekly basis for over 6 months, and I was kind of operating under the impression that she had been, I don’t know, taking notes or something during this whole time, but maybe that was an unfair assumption on my part.
I must have looked a bit perplexed, because she followed it up with, “Well, I’ve only ever known you during the pandemic, and none of us are living our lives to the absolute fullest right now. Who was pre-pandemic Pauline? What was she like?” This didn’t help. I found myself at a loss for words. What was I really like before? In what context? My knee-jerk reaction (and this was, unfortunately, very telling) was to wonder what those around me would say if given the question. I arrived at the somewhat unsettling conclusion that, depending on who you asked, you would probably have gotten very different answers.
Confession time: I struggle with authenticity. This might come as a surprise to you, seeing as you’re reading a personal essay that I wrote about myself, and that I’ve published on my website, which I launched in order to begin an open conversation about mental health, a semi-taboo topic that many people would rather not discuss openly. People who know me well might also find it quite hard to believe, possibly because I have very strong convictions and I’ve never really been shy about voicing my opinion. These actions and behaviors would seem to convey a general predilection for authenticity.
The truth, however, is that over the years, I’ve become very accustomed to adopting different attitudes and personas in order to fit my surroundings. This practice stems from my deep-seated desire to placate others, but on some other level, it also satisfied an impulsive need for control over my environment. I love to observe people, and over the years I’ve learned to pick up on patterns and cues that have allowed me to develop a greater understanding of a person’s motivations, which I believe are the greatest indicators of their behavior. In response to this, I developed what I believed was a clever self-preservation strategy; my exterior became a kind of clay putty that I could mold or shape to fit whatever narrative or action was required of me, which kept me flexible, aloof, and safe.
But this attitude was (among other things) a double-edged sword; in my mind, I carried the weight of everyone else’s emotions around me, because I believed myself to be responsible for the way that other people acted and felt. If someone behaved “negatively” (this is, of course, subjective) toward me in some way, it validated the belief that I had done something “bad” or “wrong” that had caused them to respond to me like that. Everything was about me, but my intentions weren’t self-centered; in fact, because I had no concept of healthy emotional boundaries, I spent much of my time feeling overly responsible for the needs of others. Over time, I found that the more that I bent and twisted myself into what I thought others wanted me to be, the more quickly I fell out of touch with my authentic self. I had relied upon the thoughts and opinions of others to dictate my actions for so long that when I was asked, “Who is Pauline?” I had no answer.
Let’s face it: we all have to wear masks sometimes. We’re not the same people around our closest friends that we are around our bosses. But there is a fundamental difference between modest censorship in the workplace and adapting your personality to fit your surroundings because you are overly preoccupied with how others perceive you. The downsides of censorship in the office are few; maybe you run the risk of not connecting with your coworkers on a more personal level, but you also enjoy the benefits of not oversharing. The downside of constantly adjusting your personality in order to satisfy others’ expectations? Over time, the weight of the emotional load that you've chosen to carry begins to drag you down. You start to lose your sense of agency over yourself, because it's your environment (and not your goals) that dictates your actions. Ultimately, you end up like the Giving Tree, willingly doling out fruit and lopping off branches when others ask, until all that’s left of you is a sad stump that can’t even answer the question of who it is.
How did we get here?
Before this year, I was unfamiliar with the concept of healthy boundaries, and I fundamentally lacked the capacity to self-validate. This was a disastrous combination. I could not accept that I was not responsible for managing anyone else’s emotions but my own, and I constantly looked exclusively to external sources to provide me with that comfort and reassurance that I was “good” or even simply “enough” exactly as I was. I let others’ interests and opinions dictate the way that I lived my life. I had no sense of direction because I relied upon comparisons and other people’s experiences to dictate where I “should” be. I became perpetually bitter, anxious, and exhausted. And worst of all, I lost all faith in my ability to make the right decisions for myself, because I spent so much time listening to what everyone else had to say.
Each time I didn’t say “No,” when presented with an opportunity to overextend myself, I gave up a piece of who I was. Each time I compared myself to one of my peers, I lost sight of my own path. Each time I refused to set an emotional boundary for the good of myself and others, I fell more out of touch with my authentic self. I kept twisting and bending and "Yes-ing" until there was nothing left to give, and I barely recognized the person that I had become.
You can't fill a glass from an empty pitcher. The only way for me to take back my power was to start listening to myself, and to take action when I started to feel "empty" again. I had to start waking up every morning and saying to myself, “No matter what happens today, you start and end this day being enough.” I didn’t believe it at first. Some days, I still don’t. The voice was quiet at first, but as I started to give it more attention, it did start to grow louder over time. By learning when to say “No,” I showed respect for my needs, and I honored my authentic self. I started to stick up for myself more, because I was no longer purely driven by the desire to please others. I made lists of the things that I was responsible for and could control (including my actions, my responses to my emotions, etc.), and what I was not responsible for and could not control (including others' actions, others' emotional responses, etc.). Whenever I caught myself comparing my life with those of my peers, I reminded myself that I was never seeing the full picture, and that no one else’s experience was going to be the same as mine. And lastly, I gave myself permission to make mistakes, because no consequence from any decision was worse than losing sight of myself again.
When you first start setting and communicating your boundaries, not everyone is going to be supportive of you. Pushing back when you previously would have just said "Yes" to avoid confrontation takes some getting used to. And sometimes, showing up and being your authentic self is just going to make other people uncomfortable. But guess what? That’s not your problem. Some people are going to prefer you being small and quiet and malleable, because that makes things easier for them. But you don’t exist to simply fill the spaces in between other people’s lives. Once you start realizing that, you begin to take back your power.
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