THE COST OF WANTING TO BE LIKED

For many years, I did not know the difference between being kind and being liked. I thought they were the same thing. I thought that if I was kind enough, available enough, quiet enough, and apologetic enough, I would be accepted. I wanted to be in everybody’s good books, I did not know I was paying for it with pieces of myself. The cost of wanting to be liked does not show at first. It reveals itself in small ways. You say “sorry” when you are not wrong, just to keep the peace. You say “yes” when everything inside you is screaming “no.” You become the person people call whenever they need something because they know you will come running. You become Miss Sorry. Mrs. Available. The one who always understands. And for a while, it feels good. You feel useful. You feel appreciated. You convince yourself that being there for everyone is proof that you have a good heart. Until life tests you. Until you find yourself in a difficult situation and look around, only to discover that the same people you once dropped everything for are nowhere to be found. You call, but they are busy. You explain, but they make excuses. You wait for the understanding you have always offered others, but it never comes. And in that moment, you begin to understand a painful truth: not everyone who benefits from your kindness will recognise its value. Some people become so accustomed to your availability that they stop considering what it costs you. They keep taking because you have made it easy for them to do so, that is when you begin to learn the hard way. Being too available cost me my time. Being too apologetic cost me my self-respect. Being too eager to be liked cost me my peace. Psychologists often describe this pattern as people-pleasing. But those of us who have lived through it know how deeply it can affect us. Sometimes, it feels like self-betrayal in small instalments. Every time you silence your feelings, ignore your needs, or abandon your boundaries just to keep someone else comfortable, you risk losing another piece of yourself. You tell yourself you are being understanding when you are actually hurting. You call it patience when you are slowly becoming resentful. You convince yourself that keeping everyone happy is worth the discomfort of keeping yourself unhappy. And the saddest part? Sometimes, the people you are trying so hard to please do not even realise what you are sacrificing for them, but growth has a way of making you see things differently. Today, I am learning to make peace with a difficult truth: I am not for everybody, and that is fine by me. I am learning that boundaries are not wickedness. Saying no is not pride. Choosing myself is not selfishness. And disappointing someone does not automatically make me a bad person. I can be kind without being constantly available. I can love people without carrying every burden they place on me. I can apologise when I am wrong without taking responsibility for things I did not do. Most importantly, I can care about people without making their approval the measure of my worth. I am also learning that not everyone who walks away when you establish boundaries was deliberately using you. Sometimes, people simply struggle to adjust when you stop playing the role they have always known you to play. But their discomfort does not mean your boundaries are wrong. The people who genuinely care about you may not always agree with your decisions, but they should be willing to respect your right to have them. Ino longer want to be liked at the expense of being at peace with myself. I no longer want to earn acceptance by constantly proving how much I can tolerate. And I no longer want to mistake being needed for being valued, because, at the end of the day, wanting to be liked can make you betray yourself quietly. But learning to like yourself may mean losing people loudly, and if I have to choose between abandoning myself to keep others comfortable and standing by myself even when others are uncomfortable, I will choose myself.
Every single time.