The Cost of Being ‘Nice’: Fawning, Self-Abandonment & Why I’m Done Being Digestible

By a late-diagnosed AuDHD woman unlearning fawning and reclaiming her truth.

Jul 13, 2025

It started with love.

Or at least—the kind I was taught to accept as love.

He told me he wanted an open relationship. My gut screamed no. But I said yes. Not immediately, of course—I took time to think about it (which mostly looked like trying to find a way to abandon myself that felt reasonable… and like it was all on my terms).

I didn’t just convince him—I convinced myself. My friends. My lovers.

I didn’t want to lose him. I loved him. And more than that, I needed to be loved back. So I convinced myself this was expansive. Evolved. Something I wanted too. I dressed it up in spiritual growth and sexual liberation, called it ‘enlightened’, a lesson in overcoming jealousy. I journaled my way into acceptance.

But my body knew better.

The threat of losing him sent my nervous system into a freeze-fawn response—a state where I felt both frozen and compelled to move toward him.

My body shut down parts of me that wanted to scream “no”—but I stayed active in the relationship, trying to earn safety and security through appeasement.

I couldn't think clearly. I couldn't access my deeper truth.

Instead, I adapted. Smiled. Flirted. Said yes. Made myself okay with things that felt anything but okay.

What followed were years of meltdowns. Shutdowns. Panic attacks.

And rage, that I did all in my power to suppress.

I thought I was crazy for feeling so betrayed when technically—I’d agreed.
But this approach to love? It didn’t end well for anyone.

Because it was never just about that one decision.
It was about every moment that came before it—
every time I’d been taught to abandon myself in the name of connection.

That relationship held up a huge mirror—
showing me all the places I had been abandoning myself.
Not listening. Not trusting my gut.
Overriding my boundaries.
Replaying childhood trauma on a loop—
feeding my nervous system the pain, chaos, and drama it had come to mistake for love.

My unconscious fawning cost me immensely. Relationships. Friends. Jobs.

If this feels familiar, you’re not alone. I’ve created a 20+ page resource to support your own process of ‘unfawning’—language, somatic cues, and self-remembrance practices. You’ll find it at the bottom of this piece ♥

Fawning was my first language

I didn’t just use it. I mastered it.

I could sense what you needed before you did. I could regulate your emotions, perform your version of “good,” and twist myself into whatever shape made you feel comfortable enough to keep me around.

Romantic relationships.
Workplaces.
Family dinners.
Friendships.

I became fluent in likability. And exhausted by it.

I made people believe I was both good and capable—but lived in fear of the moment a crack would show. If I wasn’t impressive, agreeable, intelligent, accommodating, or helpful… would they still love me? Would they even stay?

I’m exhausted just thinking about how much energy I poured into this version of myself. What’s more alarming is how many people praised me for it:

“She’s easygoing.”
“She’s so capable.”
“She’s so liberated.”

“She’s confident.”
“She’s so fun-loving.”
“She’s just so… kind.”

And while I am those things—sometimes, authentically—when I look back, I see how much of it was a well-rehearsed performance.
A way to manage threat. To control my environment.

It wasn’t a personality trait.
In many cases, it was a stress response.

The fawn.

But here’s the thing:
Fawning isn’t kindness.
It isn’t generosity.

It’s survival.

What is fawning?

Fawning is a trauma response—just like fight, flight, or freeze.
But instead of running from or shutting down in response to threat, you move toward it. You appease. You adapt. You become whatever you need to be in order to stay safe.

It’s often described as freeze + appease—your system shuts down certain parts of you (your voice, your truth), but you stay active in service of staying safe. You perform safety through pleasing.

And it works.

Especially in childhood. Especially for sensitive, intuitive kids trying to keep connection in unstable or confusing environments.

I can trace mine back to primary school. Family functions. Friendships that scared me. Adults I didn’t trust. Smiling for photos when I didn’t want to. Hugging people I felt unsafe with (ick!!). Got praised for being “the good girl.”

And what did that teach me?

That connection is conditional.
That being myself is dangerous, wrong, or rude.
That my job is to perform my way into safety.

To dive deeper into what fawning is—and how it shows up in your language, body, and relationships—you can download my 20+ page guide at the end of this piece.

Culture rewards it—and calls it “kindness”

Fawning slips past radars. Gets applause. Feels like love. Looks like kindness.

We call it being polite. We call it “good manners.” We call it being easygoing. But underneath? It’s nervous system warfare dressed up as agreeability.

A child says “no”—we correct it.
A child says “I don’t like that”—we hush it.
A child pulls away—we praise them for trying anyway.

Not for trusting their instincts.
Not for honoring their body.
But for overriding it.

We’re taught to dissociate from our truth so early we don’t even notice. We call it maturity. We call it grace. We grow up fluent in self-abandonment—and we’re rewarded for it.

So we smile while shrinking.
Soften our sentences to keep people comfortable.
Bow to bosses. Nod at landlords.
Hold our tongues in relationships so we don’t get left.

Until one day, you don’t recognise the person nodding back in the mirror.

“I’m just easygoing.”
“I just want everyone to be happy.”

(Jeeze, I sure wasn’t. Especially not at the end of that open-relationship.)

Or is there a younger you in there—shoulders tight, truth clenched in her jaw, panicked at the thought that being honest might cost her everything?

Because at some point, it did. And you learned to survive by being likable.

My honesty… ended that relationship. The very thing I was so afraid to lose.

But there was a gift in the ending—a return to truth.

Painful? Yes.

But equally liberating.

And this time…
it was mine.

A gentle, vital reminder

If you’re still in toxic, abusive, or high-risk relationships—whether romantic, professional, or familial—it may genuinely be unsafe to stop fawning right now.

Sometimes, fawning is what keeps you alive.
It’s not weakness. It’s wisdom.
A brilliant, finely-tuned survival strategy from a nervous system doing everything it can to protect you.

Before dismantling the pattern, make sure it’s safe to do so.
Healing isn’t about ripping away your coping mechanisms—it’s about replacing them when the conditions are right.

So if fawning is still helping you survive? Go gently.
You’re not doing it wrong. You’re keeping yourself alive. Safe.

And honestly? I’m tired of seeing “empowerment coaches” tossing around advice like “just stop people-pleasing” with zero trauma awareness.

It’s dangerous.

For some of us, especially sensitive neurocomplex folks, people-pleasing wasn’t a bad habit.

It was a lifeline.

Remember this —

You don’t break that pattern by bullying yourself out of it.
You shift it when your body feels safe enough to try something new.

That takes time.
Compassion.
Safety.
And a hell of a lot more nuance than a 30-second Instagram reel 🙄.

When Fawning Protects

I’ve had moments where fawning quite literally protected me—and I’m grateful I had that tool.

Like the time I was pulled over by two police officers in Costa Rica. I wasn’t alone—I was with a female friend. But the fear hit both of us instantly. They were much bigger than us, carried authority, and radiated that particular kind of power you don’t argue with. One officer ordered us out of the car and began searching it thoroughly while the other stood close, stared us up and down, and said things like, “Where’s your husbands?” and “You’re too pretty to be alone.”

We both felt it. The threat. The undertone. The imbalance.

And we both fawned.

Not in a flirtatious way, but in a deeply conditioned, quietly strategic way.
We kept our voices calm. Respectful. Agreeable. Friendly, even. No “trouble.”
Meanwhile, our bodies made it clear: we’re not available, not engaging, not inviting this.

I’ve learned from past experience—being thrown to the ground by one aggressive man in a club, and choked in rage by a grown man who should’ve known better—that sometimes, standing up for yourself only makes things more dangerous.

So I didn’t.

They let us go.

Who knows what would’ve happened if we hadn’t responded that way.
But I know this:

Fawning, in that moment, wasn’t weakness. It was intelligence.

But what about the moments where it’s not needed?

Fawning isn’t always a conscious choice. Especially as a neurodivergent person, it can kick in automatically—even when there’s no real danger. Sometimes we still shrink, smooth, or over-accommodate in situations that don’t require it. And these are the moments that offer space for practice.

Here are a few examples you might see yourself in—especially if you’re also late-identified neurocomplex:

Saying yes to a social invite when your body is screaming no—just to avoid disappointing someone
Laughing at a joke that makes you uncomfortable, so you don’t seem “uptight”
Overexplaining a boundary to seem “reasonable” rather than simply stating it
Sending an over-apologetic email at work to soften feedback or avoid conflict
Downplaying your sensory needs to avoid being “too much”
Smiling during overstimulation or dissociation so people don’t notice you’re struggling
Suppressing your truth in relationships to keep the peace and avoid abandonment

These moments may not carry the same threat level as abuse or authority—but they still chip away at your self-trust.

And they’re often the safest places to start practicing something new.

Noticing.
Pausing.
Asking: Is this authentic? Is this necessary? Is this mine?

And if the answer is no?
That’s where sovereignty begins.

Be Willing To Disappoint

Fawning isn’t your personality.
It’s a brilliant—often painful—adaptation.
One that helps you survive… but slowly eats away at your sense of self.

To truly heal, you have to accept and forgive the version of you who relied on that strategy.
That part of you was doing the best it could.
And that kind of forgiveness takes time.

But remember this:

You don’t owe anyone the watered-down version of you that helped you survive.

You heal your fawning patterns by learning two things:

You can disappoint someone and still be worthy.
You can be seen in your truth—even when it’s inconvenient for others.

That’s the edge—not being more agreeable or getting “less triggered.”
It’s staying with yourself.

When your voice shakes.
When they might leave.
When your truth feels messy, ungrateful, or too much.

These days, I catch myself in the pattern. That flash of fear. The urge to smooth it over. The tightness in my chest when I say something honest that could make someone uncomfortable.

And still—I try to speak. To stay. To choose me.

I’ve come to a point now where I actually feel physically ill when I catch myself fawning.
It lives in my chest. My gut. My skin.
It’s like my body’s finally had enough of the performance.

Old habits die hard. But I’m attuned enough now to notice the moment it happens. And instead of spiraling into shame, I pause. Breathe. Ask myself:

“Am I being authentic?”

If the answer is no—I try again.
Clumsily. Imperfectly.
But I try.

Even when it feels messy or unfamiliar. Because honestly?

I’d rather stumble my way through an unfamiliar heaven than keep performing inside a familiar hell.

Neurocomplexity — The Sacred System Disrupter

This is especially important for late-diagnosed, neurocomplex folks living with C-PTSD after a lifetime of unmet needs. Many of us live with deep conditioning to be palatable, to be useful, to be low-maintenance.

But our needs matter. Our truth matters.
Our sensory overwhelm. Our emotional nuance. Our pace. Our boundaries.
They’re not weaknesses.

They’re wisdom.

Neurocomplex people often disrupt the systems that ask us to shrink—and that disruption is vital. Especially in schools, families, workplaces. We’re improving—but we’ve still got a long way to go.

We should be listening to the ones who struggle to fit in.
Because often, they’re the ones showing us where the cracks in the system are. Where it is broken.

Know someone who might relate or could benefit from these insights?

From Fawning to Authenticity

Fawning taught me how to survive.
But authenticity is teaching me how to live—
in harmony with Self, others, and nature.

Recovery hasn’t made me colder.
It hasn’t made me harder.
It’s made me more honest.

What I’ve come to realise is this:
Authenticity isn’t about being perfect—
it’s about being true.
And in a world that rewards performance,
being real is revolutionary.

So I’m doing my best
to no longer offer kindness out of fear—
but out of choice.

Because real love doesn’t ask you to shrink.
And I’m done being digestible.

A FINAL LOVE-NOTE…

I truly believe that when neurocomplex folks reclaim their truth, the system begins to bend—toward something more just, more human, more whole… for the greatest good of all.

That’s why I share what I share. To remind you of your brilliance. To help you rise.

Thank you for being part of the change.

With love,
Nicole ♥

♥ 𝗡𝗘𝗨𝗥𝗢-𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘-𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 ♥

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