people-pleasing baggage
This post has been brought over from my Medium page, where it existed first. From April 2026 onward, all of my writing will be published here first and syndicated elsewhere.
How breaking a generational cycle starts with learning to tell your kids no.
My mother didnāt say no ā she said yes and punished everyone for it.
At 30 years old, I now fully understand how dangerous it is to say yes to everyone, even when itās your own children.
Growing up, boundaries didnāt exist in our home. My mother said yes to everyone ā me, my siblings, even random people.
She would say yes to everything people asked of her even when she didnāt have the time or energy.
What was sure to follow was the resentment. The simmering anger. The blaming. āWell they never should have asked me to do that.ā āIf they really loved me, they wouldnāt have asked me to help them.ā
Her emotional blowups had nothing to do with the people who asked, but everything to do with her inability to say no.
I remember worrying about my mom. Her mental health was always unstable and she was constantly suffering from physical illnesses ā including 2 different cancers.
I always felt bad for her, and bad about myself for needing her. Poor mama, she does so much for everyone and no one cares. Including me. Iām so selfish.
But the truth is that this was the life she had slowly curated for herself over the years by lacking boundaries.
It took me years to understand the truth beneath her behavior. It took me becoming a mother myself, and itās become obvious as my children grow up, thatā¦
I didnāt learn boundaries as a child. I learned resentment.
I learned that to love someone, you must abandon yourself. That disappointing someone was dangerous. That saying ānoā made you unlikable.
I also learned that if someone helps you, you owe them, and they are allowed to hang that help over your head forever. And when you help someone, the same rules apply.
That was the emotional economy I grew up inside of.
Earlier this year, after another painful exchange where my mother reminded me of every favor sheād done and every dollar sheād sentāalong with a slew of other wildly disrespectful texts ā I finally went no contact.
This decision didnāt come easily. I had four children and was pregnant with my fifth at the time. My older four knew and loved their Nana. They had always been completely unaware of our dysfunctional relationship.
But, I came to the realization about something I had spent my whole life avoiding:
My mother didnāt help because she wanted to. She either helped because she didnāt want to be disliked for saying no ā a form of manipulation ā or because she felt obligated.
And she resented all of us for it.
What I didnāt expect was how sheād planted the same habit inside me.
It wasnāt dramatic. I didnāt even know I had people-pleasing tendencies until I entered a relationship full of emotional manipulation.
But what really made things obvious was years later, when my children came of school age.
Children are natural boundary-pushers. Itās kind of their job. Itās how they learn where the boundary actually is. They donāt intuitively understand when what theyāre asking for is too much. Thatās your job as a parent to define and teach them.
This year, my son became a teenager, and while he is very mature and kind and helpful, he is also a teenager ā naturally self-concerned and emotionally driven.
The other day, my son called me to come pick him up from his afterschool club. I asked him if there was a bus available since I was at home with his four younger siblings (including my infant), my car needs a new tire, and I was going to need to drive him to his Martial Arts later that evening as well.
He said he wasnāt sure when or where the bus was if there even was one available. I told him okay, I was on my way. I packed everyone up, walked down two sets of stairs from our apartment, loaded everyone into the car, and drove the 1.6 miles to his school.
I called his phone as I approached the school zone. No answer. I sent a few texts. Nothing. Called again and sent one more text: If I donāt hear back from you in 5 minutes, Iām leaving and youāll need to walk home.
I get a call right after from my son. I answer and he goes āHey mom, Iām sorry. I didnāt see you so I got on the bus and Iām heading home.ā
I was infuriated. But not because he got on the bus, actually. Kids do stuff like this all the time. I was already irritated that he wanted me to go pick him up.
He knows the car needs work. He knows how long it takes to get everyone ready and in the car to go anywhere. He knew I was also driving him across town for Taekwondo later. He even knew he was interrupting my usual online work time.
He shouldnāt have even asked.
Whoa. Wait a minute.
I felt myself morphing into my mother.
The truth is that Iām the one who chose to go. No one forced me to, and I couldnāt blame my son for asking for a ride. He would have survived a walk home, even if it was something he didnāt want to do, but I chose to say āyes.ā
Situations like these keep showing me that boundaries donāt come naturally to me. Theyāre something Iām midwifing into my life.
Every no feels like labor ā painful, transformative, necessary.
Painful because itās new and goes against everything I was taught. Transformative because Iām becoming more of myself with each rejection. Necessary because if I donāt change, I will hand my children the same guilt I grew up carrying.
And I refuse to do that.
No one tells you how breaking a generational pattern often feels like breaking yourself open. I think this is especially true about boundaries because enforcing them hurts our conditioning.
Here are a couple things Iāve been doing to set boundaries with my children (I'm a work in progress here, I'll admit):
- Saying ānoā without performing an entire monologue.
- Letting my kids feel disappointed without fixing it.
- Not training my kids into entitlement just to avoid conflict.
- Modeling self-respect with my actions, not lectures.
- Teaching that love isnāt self-sacrifice.
- Protecting my time, energy, and humanity.
Reminder to you and myself: A healthy no teaches them more about love than a resentful yes ever will.
Sometimes I grieve the childhood I didnāt have. One where my mother knew where she ended and other people began. Where she didnāt drown in obligation or lash out from harbored resentment. Where she believed her needs mattered.
But gratefully, motherhood has given me an opportunity to break this generational cycle.
I want to raise children who wonāt fear disappointment, guilt, or boundaries. Children who understand that love and self-respect are mandatory. Children who wonāt spend decades unlearning what shouldāve protected them.
I am not becoming my mother. Iām becoming the woman I needed her to be.