As I sang “All of Me” by John Legend with my middle school choir at our last concert of my eighth-grade year, I never expected what would happen next. After the song concluded, my teacher, Mr. Wubena, announced the Student of the Year, which was expected. But the winner took me by surprise. I was distracted when he announced it, staring off to the side and watching the families standing near the bleachers in the gym. I barely even heard him say my name because I was convinced it was not me. 

I was shocked beyond belief when I realized it. As I walked down the choir risers to receive the award, he told everyone how dedicated I was to the class and developing myself as a singer. I did not know that my passion for the class was so evident. As I grabbed the award, I looked for my mom in the crowd, and I had never seen her look that proud. From that moment forward, I knew I wanted to feel recognized in that way in every aspect of my life. This is when I began developing a very intense desire to please people – to feel valued for my hard work. 

While my people-pleasing tendencies have led me to great successes, such as graduating high school with a 4.2 GPA, earning summa cum laude honors at Seattle Pacific University and even being offered a full-time teaching position post-graduation, it has also detrimentally affected my well-being. 

I love to feel appreciated for my hard work and to earn praise, to the point where I am utterly terrified of disappointing people. It makes me sick to my stomach every time I feel the slightest twinge of disappointment, especially from people I look up to, such as professors, co-workers, bosses and close family members. It has been so bad that if I get a single point taken off on an assignment, I feel horrible about myself for days. 

In moments like these, when I feel like I am not perfect, a sense of failure creeps in. This is untrue, but I cannot move past these thoughts. How can one point, or even several points, determine my skills or value? I do not know, but somehow, I let it define me.

I have worked at Hilltop Children’s Center for the past two years. While I loved my job there, a new offer came my way, and I couldn’t refuse—but I almost did. 

I almost let these tendencies get the best of me. They nearly kept me from a fantastic opportunity to work as a full-time toddler teacher at another center, North Queen Anne Child Care.

At Hilltop, the connections I have built with my coworkers were unforgettable. Everyone there made me feel seen, valued and respected for my talents as a professional in early childhood education. Working at this center made me realize my passion for educating young children, so it holds a special and irreplaceable spot in my heart. However, this love for the center and the strong relationships were why I almost lost out on an excellent opportunity to expand my skills.

I was so invested in my work at Hilltop and loved the praise from others, including from administration members, that I thought I had to stay there. I thought I had to remain loyal forever. I felt like I was betraying them and the people I grew to love. I wanted to keep them happy, but I wasn’t keeping myself happy. I loved where I worked but felt I could never do anything for myself. 

On days I thought I had off, I was usually called in and had to cancel any plans to meet with friends, attend campus events, clean my house and do homework. Could I have said no to coming in? Yes, of course. They had other substitutes and support educators. 

But I wanted to be the reliable one—the one they loved. I was excited to have them utilize me as much as they did, but I was becoming tremendously tired. Even when I had no work or classes on the weekends, I constantly did homework or slept because my body was so exhausted from the week. 

Since Hilltop had three locations, two in the Seattle neighborhoods of Queen Anne and Fremont and one in Downtown Seattle, I sometimes had to jump on a bus directly after class to arrive at work on time. There were times when I missed the buses and cried because, in my mind, my lateness meant I was letting everyone down. They never cared that much and were happy to have me there to help as long as I gave them a heads-up, but I could not shake the disappointment. I would carry it with me the entire day. 

My life was always moving. I felt like I was constantly chasing those buses and could never quite catch up. I usually made it to work on time, but when I didn’t, it caused me a lot of emotional distress.

Constant questions of  “What will they think?” and “Will they call me in anymore if I’m late?” plagued my mind. Despite how tired I was and the pressure I was feeling to please everyone, I never stopped saying yes. I feared that if I said no, they would no longer view me positively. This is how my brain had operated for the last nine years. Only recently did I discover that I needed a change. 

While I still work long hours at the North Queen Anne and am constantly bombarded with copious amounts of schoolwork and responsibilities, I feel better. I decided to accept this new job and leave Hilltop because it gave me the two things I desperately needed: consistency and control. 

Whether the bus is symbolic or real, I no longer have to chase it or pray that it will slow down enough for me to catch up. I can now dictate when my bus leaves. The pace of my life is dependent on myself. 

I do not have to sacrifice my time because I can plan around my work schedule. I do not have to think about if I will get called in because I know when I am expected at work and what times I can dedicate to myself. I know that I can say “No” and still be okay. 

Making this big decision was hard for me, but it is one that I needed for my sanity and my well-being. I hope this action was my first step in learning that it is okay to give in to my needs and to worry less about what others need. Of course, I will never stop caring for others or doing my work, but I will also put time into myself and know when to step back.

If I ever want to catch up to that bus, I need to plan accordingly, and the only way I can do that is to stand up for myself and take back control. Otherwise, I might wait for a bus that will never arrive or slow down. It is time for me to catch that bus and ride it into the next chapter of my life – one that is not chosen by anyone else’s opinion but mine.