Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

For as long as I can remember, I’ve tried to be what everyone else needed me to be. The easygoing friend, the accommodating daughter, the quiet, non-confrontational one who never asked for too much. It wasn’t conscious at first—it was survival. When your nervous system is hardwired by trauma, your body learns to scan for danger, to predict emotional shifts before they happen, and to become whatever version of yourself is least likely to trigger rejection.

Fawning—also known as people-pleasing—is a trauma response, though it took me years to realize that’s what I had been doing my entire life. I wasn’t just a “nice” person or someone who naturally put others first. I was bending, reshaping, and contorting myself in an attempt to earn my place in people’s lives. Because at the end of the day, if I wasn’t useful, if I wasn’t accommodating, then who was I?

The Floater Friend and the Search for Belonging

I’ve always envied people who have their group—the ride-or-die friends who gather for birthdays, book clubs, and weekend getaways. The ones who have decades of inside jokes and text chains that never go unanswered. The ones who never have to wonder where they stand because their place in the group is solid, unshakable.

I don’t have that.

But, if I’m being honest, that’s somewhat of my own doing. After years of living in constant fight-or-flight, I’m having to retrain my mind and body for joy—but also for trust. Trauma doesn’t just steal your sense of safety; it rewires your brain to anticipate abandonment, to expect the worst even in the best of moments. When you’ve spent a lifetime protecting yourself from hurt, it’s terrifying to believe in the possibility of genuine connection.

So, while I long for deep, unshakable friendships, I also recognize that part of my healing is learning to let people in—to accept kindness without suspicion, to allow myself to be loved without feeling like I have to earn it.

And in that process, I remind myself of a simple truth:

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” ― Bernard M. Baruch

Healing means no longer shaping myself into what I think people want, just to keep them close. It means trusting that the right people—the ones who truly see me—will stay.

How Trauma Makes Us People-Pleasers

When you grow up with instability, neglect, or emotional unpredictability, you learn that love is conditional. That being easy to love is the key to staying safe.

For me, this meant:

• Over-giving – Being the friend who always showed up but never asked for anything in return.
• Never setting boundaries – Saying yes even when I was exhausted or overwhelmed.
• Avoiding conflict at all costs – If something hurt me, I swallowed it rather than risk losing the relationship.
• Carrying the emotional weight of others – Taking on other people’s problems as my own, believing it was my job to fix things.
• Being “low-maintenance” to a fault – Never letting people know I needed them because I feared being too much.

And the worst part? It worked—until it didn’t.

Because people-pleasing doesn’t build real relationships. It creates one-sided connections where one person is always giving and the other is always receiving. And over time, that imbalance leads to burnout, resentment, and a painful realization:

I spent so much time making myself indispensable that I forgot to make myself known.

The Burnout of Fawning

If you keep giving without receiving, something breaks. It’s inevitable. Your body starts to rebel. Your nervous system, which has been running on high alert for decades, starts flashing warning signs:

• Exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.
• Social burnout, even with people you love.
• A deep, aching loneliness that doesn’t make sense because you’re never actually alone—just unseen.

And eventually, you hit a breaking point.

For me, that moment came when I realized I was still putting myself in situations where I was valued for what I could do, not for who I was. That no matter how much I gave, it never seemed to be enough to secure my place. That despite all my effort, I still felt disposable.

And I knew something had to change.

Building Real Connections (Without Losing Myself Again)

I won’t sit here and say I’ve mastered the art of boundaries overnight. It’s still uncomfortable. I still have moments where I default to old habits, where I say yes before I’ve even considered if I want to, where I catch myself trying to prove my worth through action instead of presence.

But I’m working on it.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you are too.

Here’s what I’m learning in real time:

1. Not everyone will like the real you—and that’s okay.
   • I used to think being liked was the most important thing. But the truth is, I’d rather be truly known than universally liked. Because if people only like the version of me that serves them, then they don’t really like me at all.
2. The right people will still be there when you set boundaries.
   • The ones who leave when you stop over-giving? They were never your people.
3. Friendship isn’t about earning a place—it’s about mutual care.
   • If you feel like you constantly have to prove your worth in a friendship, it’s not a friendship. It’s emotional labor.
4. You can’t build a community while pretending to be someone else.
   • If you want real, lasting friendships, you have to be willing to show up as yourself—not the version of you that’s easiest for others to digest.

Choosing Myself First (For Once)

I want a village. I want deep, meaningful friendships. I want the kind of connections my dad seemingly had—where people show up for concerts, game nights, and big moments because they want to, not because I made myself indispensable.

But I also know I’ll never find those connections if I keep betraying myself for the comfort of others.

So, I’m choosing to do the hard thing: being myself, even when it feels risky.

I won’t be the floater friend anymore. I won’t be the easygoing one who never asks for anything. I won’t spend another decade trying to be everything for everyone and ending up nothing to myself.

And if you’re feeling the weight of this too—if you’re tired of over-giving, over-performing, and never quite belonging—I hope you know this:

You don’t have to earn your place in someone’s life. The people who are meant to be there will make room for you, exactly as you are.

And that? That’s worth waiting for.

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If This Resonates With You…

Have you ever felt like the floater friend? Have you struggled with people-pleasing and fawning? Let’s talk about it in the comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts. ❤️