Stop Being So Fucking Helpful

The hidden cost of always being the easy one

You know that moment when you realize you’ve spent the entire day responding to everyone else’s texts, requests, and needs, and you haven’t eaten lunch?

Or when someone asks, “What do you want to do?” and you genuinely can’t remember the last time you had a preference about anything?

That’s not just being nice. That’s something else entirely.

The pattern nobody talks about

Here’s what we’re taught: Good people are selfless. Kind people put others first.

So you learn to suppress what you want. You get good at anticipating needs, smoothing over tension before it starts. On the surface, you look generous and easygoing.

But in reality? You're suffocating.

Therapists call this echoism—one of the most overlooked forms of people-pleasing. And it’s not the same as narcissism’s loud, attention-seeking counterpart. Echoism is quiet. It hides behind helpfulness.

It’s a term coined by psychologist Dr. Craig Malkin to describe people who are terrified of being seen as narcissistic, selfish, or “too much.”

Echoists have an intense fear of taking up space or being a burden. They struggle to voice their needs, set boundaries, or ask for what they want because somewhere along the way they learned that their needs don’t matter as much as everyone else’s.You become so practiced at reflecting back what others need that your own voice gets lost in the echo.

What it actually costs you

The guilt hits first. Every time you think about doing something for yourself, this voice whispers, “Who do you think you are? Other people need you.”

Then comes the anxiety. Because when your entire sense of worth depends on keeping everyone else happy, any conflict feels like a threat to your survival.

And the shame? That’s the worst part. You feel ashamed for wanting things. For taking up space. For existing with needs of your own.

Over time, this constant self-suppression doesn’t just make you tired. It makes you disappear.

You look in the mirror one day and don’t recognize the person looking back. You can’t remember what you like, what lights you up, what you stand for when nobody’s watching.

That’s burnout. Not the kind where you need a vacation. The kind where you need to remember who you are.

The pattern started early

Maybe you grew up in a home where someone else’s emotions took up all the oxygen. You learned to manage their moods before you could manage your own.

Or maybe you were praised for being “so mature” and “such a helper” when you were eight years old. Nobody told you that kids aren’t supposed to carry grown-up burdens.

Either way, you figured out that your value came from what you could do for others. And that pattern stuck.

Here’s the thing, though. You can’t heal what you can’t see. And most people don’t even realize this is a pattern—they just think they’re being kind.

Let's talk about emotional autonomy

Emotional autonomy isn’t about becoming selfish or shutting people out. It’s your ability to have your own feelings, thoughts, and needs without needing someone else’s permission or approval to experience them.

It means you can:

Feel what you feel without someone else having to validate it first. You don’t need your partner to agree that you’re worn out before you’re allowed to rest. You don’t need your friend to confirm that something hurt you before your hurt is real.

Make decisions based on what’s right for you, not just what keeps everyone else comfortable. You can choose the job that pays less but feeds your soul. You can skip the family event without writing a dissertation about why.

Hold onto yourself in relationships. You can love someone deeply and still maintain your own opinions, boundaries, and identity. You don’t have to become whoever they need you to be to feel secure in the connection.

Here’s what it’s not: It’s not about being independent to the point of isolation. It’s not about ignoring others’ feelings or doing whatever you want without consequences.

Think of it this way: Emotional autonomy is knowing where you end and other people begin. It’s the difference between “I feel guilty when I disappoint you, but I’m still choosing what’s right for me” versus “I can’t disappoint you, so I’ll abandon myself instead.”

It’s basically the ability to be yourself in relationships with others, without losing yourself in the process. You can care about someone without taking responsibility for their feelings. You can say no without a three-paragraph explanation. You can feel guilty and still choose yourself. Because guilt isn’t always accurate, sometimes it’s just old programming.

How to start reclaiming your voice

Breaking this pattern doesn’t happen overnight. But it does happen. Here’s where to start:

Notice the pattern. Start tracking when you automatically defer to others. When you say “I don’t care” about dinner plans, is that true? Or are you afraid your preference won’t matter?

Practice tiny acts of self-assertion. You don’t have to make huge declarations. Start small. Order what you actually want at the restaurant. Take ten minutes before responding to that text. Say “Let me think about it” instead of an automatic yes.

Expect discomfort. Your nervous system learned that keeping others happy keeps you safe. When you start prioritizing yourself, that system will panic. That’s normal. The discomfort doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re doing something new.

Find your non-negotiables. What are the things you won’t compromise on anymore? Maybe it’s sleep. Maybe it’s time to yourself on Sunday mornings. Maybe it’s not explaining your boundaries three times.

Get support. This work is hard to do alone. A therapist who understands attachment patterns can help you see what you can’t see on your own. A friend who models healthy boundaries can show you what’s possible.

The truth about changing

Here’s what nobody tells you about developing emotional autonomy: Some people won’t like it.

The ones who benefited from your endless accommodation will resist. They’ll call you selfish. They’ll say you’ve changed (and they won’t mean it as a compliment).

But here’s the other truth: The people who actually love you will adjust. They’ll learn that you having needs doesn’t threaten the relationship—it makes it real.

And you? You’ll start to feel like yourself again. Not the self you were before you learned to disappear. A new self. One who knows that kindness doesn’t require self-erasure.

One who can show up for others and for themselves.

That’s not selfishness. That’s survival. And it’s the foundation for every meaningful relationship you’ll ever have—including the one with yourself.

You’re allowed to take up space

The work of emotional autonomy isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about unlearning the old rules that never served you in the first place.

You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to need things. You’re allowed to be a whole person with preferences and boundaries and a life that doesn’t revolve around keeping everyone else comfortable.

It’s going to feel awkward at first. You’ll second-guess yourself. You’ll wonder if you’re being too much or not enough.

But keep going. Because on the other side of this work is something most people spend their whole lives searching for: the ability to live as yourself, without apology, without constant negotiation, without disappearing into everyone else’s needs.

That’s freedom. And you’re allowed to have it.

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Next week, I'm releasing something that took me 18 years of marriage, one divorce, and a whole therapy career to figure out. The Midlife Clarity Assessment is almost here. Stay tuned.

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