People Pleasing is a Shapeshifter

Several years ago, it dawned on me that I was no longer obsessed with other people’s approval.

I had grown strong enough in my identity as an image-bearer of God that I no longer craved constant affirmation. Of course, it was still nice when I got it, but I didn’t need it to validate my worth. I had attained the unattainable: I was no longer a People Pleaser. It felt freeing. I must be a pretty mature Christian. To God be the glory and all that good stuff. 

I did have a nagging problem though. From time to time, I found myself consumed with worries about how I might have offended or hurt someone. My brain has the knack of remembering exact conversations, some of which went back ten or twenty years.

Each memory revolved around a situation where I might have said the wrong thing and wounded someone. These were not moments of anger when I lashed out and obviously needed to apologize. Usually, they were times when I was attempting to be funny or witty or a smart aleck. Basically, I was careless with words. 

I was uneasy about whether my words were worthy of an apology. What if the person hadn’t taken offense, and I was worried about nothing? I didn’t want to make things awkward by mentioning it. A week would pass, and it seemed too silly to bring it up again. So I would try to let it go. 

But by then, the worry had anchored in my brain and kept popping up its head now and then. It hung around on the edge of my consciousness, niggling and poking and making my stomach tighten with anxiety whenever I gave it any attention. 

I finally got sick of this and decided to drag these obnoxious memories out of their hiding places. I pulled them out by the scruff of their necks and looked them over while they squirmed there, all blinking in the sun. Why do you continue to antagonize me? I demanded. Sheesh, it’s been decades. Can’t you give it a rest already? 

I carefully scrutinized the memories. Maybe I’m just guilty of being too empathetic. That must be it. I’m probably actually just too kind. I care so much about hurting other people that I can’t let go of the prospect that I might have offended someone. So, God, can you help me with this problem of caring too much about other people? It’s such a burden being this compassionate. 

Then God, in His long-suffering grace, knocked me over the head. He dropped a thought into my brain: Who really is the focus of these obsessive memories? So I made a mental list of the people in the memories, one by one.

I was startled. Each one involved someone I respected or admired. Every single memory included a person I wanted to impress.

Oh. Huh. Interesting. I dug deeper down, fished around in the muck of each memory. Sure, the top layer looked pretty. I didn’t want to hurt people. I didn’t want them to walk away from me feeling belittled. But under the attractive, unselfish frosting was a rotten core. I wasn’t really worried about their feelings. I was worried about their feelings about me. 

Lo and behold, my consuming worries had very little to do with the other person at all. The anxiety was actually about me – my desire to be liked, respected, admired…and my craving to please people. Well, what do you know? I’m still a People Pleaser, after all. Apparently, People Pleasing is a shapeshifter, disappearing in one form and reappearing as something else.

Exposing and confessing sin takes away its power, and not long afterward, the worries shriveled. I asked God to make it clear if I needed to make amends with someone. And I reminded myself (again) that if someone thinks poorly of me, well, I probably deserve it. In fact, if they really knew me, they would probably think much worse. That’s why I must throw myself onto grace, swim in it, wallow in it, let it pour over me. And when I do, the Giver of that grace is the only person who matters.