The Other Side of Nice

Why people-pleasing isn’t kindness, and how it nearly broke me.

For most of my life, I believed being “nice” was a virtue — the highest one, in fact. I made myself available and I said yes when I wanted to say no, I bit my tongue to avoid conflict, I went out of my way to make others comfortable, even when it made me uncomfortable. I thought I was being kind, and I thought I was being a good person.

But looking back now, I see it more clearly: what I was calling “nice” was indeed self abandonment. I was giving so much of myself to everyone else but not focusing on the one thing that was most important. Me.  As they say, you can’t pour from an empty cup, but I tried for years and years.

I Didn’t Realize I Was Burning Out

It crept in slowly. First, the exhaustion — that constant, bone-deep tiredness I couldn’t shake. Then the resentment — quiet at first, then louder, bubbling up in little sighs, curt replies, and a silent “why am I the only one who ever…?” inner monologue.

I went through the motions every day; almost robotic, until I started to feel invisible. I was rarely asked how I was doing. Everyone around me had just come to assume I’d be okay with anything that was asked of me. I had taught them that because I always handled everything that came my way, but quietly suffered. I had trained the people in my life to expect me to bend, to stretch, to smile through it.

But I wasn’t okay. Nice was never meant to cost this much.

Being nice had cost me:

• My boundaries — because I didn’t want to seem difficult.
• My time — given away like it was endless, even when I was drowning.
• My voice — swallowed down to avoid the awkwardness of honesty.
• My self-worth — slowly chipped away every time I prioritized others at my own expense.

 Resentment Was the Alarm I Couldn’t Ignore

Resentment became my wake-up call. It wasn’t a flaw in my personality — it was a signal that I was betraying my own needs.

The moment that truly cracked something open in me was during one of the most difficult times of my life — my dad was dying of cancer, and I felt as though I had no one to turn to.  I gave the support to both of my parents at a time when they needed it and I have no regrets about that. However, I was the one who got the calls in the middle of the night, I was the one driving through snowstorms to get him to the hospital and I was the one holding everything together while quietly falling apart.

And even then — when I needed support the most — I found myself completely alone in my thoughts. That was until I found therapy.  After years of not going, I found myself a wonderful therapist who helped me through Dad’s cancer diagnosis, eventually his death and then several family problems along the way (raising young adults is not for the faint of heart).  She helped me realize that I had built a life around showing up for everyone else and that I needed to allow people to show up for me.  She called it codependency. 

I had made myself so accommodating, so nice, so useful, that I had become invisible.  I didn’t want to upset anyone, and I rarely said no, it broke me.  A lightbulb went off and I understood just how deeply I had overextended myself – I had given so much of myself over my lifetime and rarely asked for anything in return.  I thought being nice meant being likeable.

Over time, that version of “nice” chipped away at me. I knew that something had to change. When I finally began to speak up and stop overextending myself, I had some close friends who cheered me on, but not everyone did, some criticized me. When I stopped being nice, I was portrayed as a bitch.  It hurt, but it also taught me something important: that some people only valued my “niceness” when it benefitted them. They weren’t used to boundaries — especially from someone who never used to have any.

 Reclaiming Myself, One Boundary at a Time

That breaking point — came 6 months after my fathers’ death.  Toxic relationships among my family members had bubbled to the surface one holiday and things unraveled quickly.  When it was all said and done, I found myself sitting in the quiet after a long night, realizing I had support from close friends and my two daughters, who showed up for me in ways I didn’t know they were capable of and I needed to let them help me.

The entire situation taught me something I can’t unlearn:

Years of over-functioning and self-abandonment had been buried. Being “nice” without boundaries isn’t noble — it’s unsustainable.

I began making slow, uncomfortable changes. I started saying no, even when it would make me anxious. I stopped explaining and justifying every choice. I began telling the truth — first to myself, then to others and I allowed myself to feel anger, grief, and exhaustion without rushing to turn it into something pretty.

I’m still learning. But now, I show up in a way that includes me in the equation. I’m still kind — but no longer at the expense of my own well-being. It became clear to me that I mattered too and instead of becoming bitter, I became better. 

If you’ve ever felt the slow burn of resentment under the weight of being the “nice one,” you are not alone. You’re not broken or selfish for wanting more. You are allowed to expect support, and you are allowed to draw the line.

 If you’ve been carrying the weight of keeping it all together, if you’ve given until you feel invisible, know this: you are allowed to stop. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to be supported.

And most importantly — you are allowed to take up space in your own life.

Has being “nice” ever cost you something important? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.