The Dinner I Didn't Go To

For most of my adult life, the invite would come in, and my answer was already decided before I read the details.

Yes. Of course. I'll be there.

It didn't matter what I had going on, what I'd told myself I wanted to get done that week, or whether I even wanted to go. The invite landed, and some older, faster part of me answered for me. The part that learned a long time ago that being agreeable was the price of being liked.

I remember 1 particular evening a couple of years ago, a friend texted about dinner — a regular thing, the kind of standing plan that feels easy to keep saying yes to because saying no feels disproportionate. Like you're rejecting the person, not the Tuesday.

I had decided that to meet my budgetary goals, I had to cut down on the cost of going out for food and drink - dinner especially.

I had been dreading this moment - when I'd need to tell someone no because my budgetary goal was more important than their dinner plan. I didn't want to sound cheap or that I didn't value their friendship. I sat with the invite longer than usual...my avoidant behaviors...*shrugs*. Long enough for a question to surface that I didn't usually leave room for: what do I actually want here?

When I sat with the question, I also realized that I really wasn't in the mood for dinner at all, or to hang out. I had my own agenda - gym and some night work I needed to do. And, to preempt future dinner invites, I needed to say something that set a new direction for our hangouts.

I said something to the effect of: "Hey, I'd love to hang out soon. Tonight I need for myself, but let's find a time this weekend? And for our future hangout...at the moment, I'm trying to cut down on going out for meals and drinks. Would maybe a tea, juice or just a walk work for you?"

It felt good to both say no while also messaging that I did want something...just different than what she proposed. Even so, I braced for the version of this where she's hurt, or confused, or quietly recalibrates how much she can ask of me.

None of that happened.

She said, of course, suggested a night the following week to walk in Central Park, and that was it. The conversation I'd rehearsed a hundred times in my head lasted four seconds in real life.

That's the part I wasn't ready for. Not that I survived saying no — I'd done that before, in smaller ways. It was that the people I was most afraid of disappointing adjusted without resentment, without distance, without any of the catastrophe I'd been quietly insuring against for years. In fact, she said something to the effect of: "Oh yeah, I should be more careful with my spending too."

Metaphorically speaking, I'd been pricing in a cost that, it turned out, mostly only existed in my head.

I wish I could say this incident fixed something for good. It didn't. I still say yes too fast in plenty of rooms — to a deadline I shouldn't own, to a problem that isn't mine to clean up, to a plan that costs me more than I let on. But I did, over time, grow a new tool to combat my pleasing that I do use quite often now, and that's meant a lot more prioritizing what I want.

So, Dear Reader: Where in your life are you still pricing in a cost nobody's actually charging you?

The TL;DR:

What is people pleasing, and why is it so hard to stop?

People pleasing is the habit of prioritizing others' comfort, approval, or expectations over your own — often automatically, before you've even checked in with what you actually want. It's hard to stop because it usually developed early, as a way to feel safe, liked, or accepted. By adulthood, the pattern runs faster than conscious thought, which is why slowing down the moment matters more than willpower.

What does it actually cost you to be a people pleaser?

The costs are concrete: time spent on other people's priorities, goals that keep getting postponed, and a low-grade resentment that builds when your own needs go unmet. Less obviously, people pleasing also costs you information — you never find out that people can handle your "no," or that they respect you more for it, because you never give them the chance.

How do you start saying no when people-pleasing feels automatic?

The most useful entry point is a pause — any gap between the ask and your answer. That space is where the question "what do I actually want here?" can surface. You don't need a perfect response. You need enough of a delay to stop the automatic yes from answering for you.

Undoing habits you've had since you were young is hard - be patient with yourself, be present and live moment to moment, because the journey to self-love and feeling secure is 1 intentional action at a time. Progress is frustratingly (and perhaps beautifully) slow.

For Learning and With Love,

Chris