in my life (predominantly to help with my endometriosis flare ups) and invariably, many of them have been crap. And it’s always for one specific reason: I’m trying too hard to be likeable.
I'm more concerned that the masseuse should warm to me, should think I'm agreeable, should leave our 60 minutes together thinking, “I wish I had more clients like her,” than whether I am enjoying the experience myself.
The experience that I have paid for.And it doesn't end with massages. I've only ever felt safe if I feel I am behaving in a “likeable” manner.
Whether that’s toward a potential employer, rewriting emails to the payroll department over-and-over until I’m satisfied that they don’t sound pushy or ungrateful—even though they’re three months late paying me—a mom at a sensory class (who I try to engage in pleasant conversation as I wrestle a diaper back onto my eight-month-old), a server at a restaurant, my doctor during an exam or, more recently, the teacher at my prenatal course, who I was so concerned should like me that I directed all of my energy toward that aim.
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