A People Pleasers Guide to Saying Hard Things

Saying something hard but true is a people pleasers worst nightmare

I’ve laid in bed late at night, paralyzed—heart pounding, throat tight, mind racing—because of the things I’ve been afraid to say. I picture the person I need to say it to, replaying every possible outcome of how it could go wrong. Rehearsing the words in my head, trying to soften them enough to keep the peace, to avoid causing pain.

And when I step outside my own spiral, I know—it’s not even that big of a deal, the thing I need to say. People say hard things all the time. But it’s the fear of what my words might do. What they might cause. What they might lead to.

There’s a particular kind of fear I know well—the fear that if I speak honestly, I’ll break something I can’t put back together.
So instead, I freeze.
Caught between my desire to be known and my desperate hope not to cause rupture beyond repair that causes someone to walk away. 

And it’s in those moments I fight to remember: I’m not alone in the process.

Most of the time, it’s conflict that triggers it, and not just at night.  A strong people-pleasing part of me gets activated—one I’ve spent years working on but that still speaks loudly. Its anxious protests often short-circuit my ability to think clearly enough to make the next best decisions.

At the heart of it, I want to have it all:

• I want to express my needs…
• And I want the other person to stay happy with me.

But when I realize I can’t have both—that there’s no way to express myself without upsetting the other person—this part of me freezes. And then comes the question that erodes clarity: Is my need really that important?

This is when reality gets fuzzy. I’m not free. I’m twisted up inside, unsure which way is up.

In those moments, I feel alone. I feel like the whole weight of the relationship’s future is resting on me. It feels like there are only two impossible options:

• Express my truth and risk losing the relationship.
• Silence myself to preserve the peace.

But when I take a step back, I see something deeper.

This inner dynamic assumes something untrue and unfair: that I alone am responsible for the survival of the relationship. That if I speak honestly, the whole thing will fall apart. But that’s not how healthy relationships work. In healthy relationships, both people’s needs, wants, and feelings have space to be expressed. My vulnerability shouldn’t cause irreparable rupture.

These fears have deep roots. But I’m learning I don’t have to be the one responsible for creating safety. I’m not the Shepherd. I’m the sheep.

Like the apostles, frozen behind locked doors before Pentecost, I can remember how the story ends: they were not left alone. Christ had promised “the Advocate,” and He kept His word. The Holy Spirit came. The fire, the wind, the boldness—it all arrived when they needed it.

And while I’m not facing wolves or life threatening persecution, sometimes the fear of relational loss can feel just as threatening. But even then—even when I’m afraid to speak or unsure how things will unfold—I am not unprotected.

The Shepherd is near.

He knows my voice, and I’m learning to trust His.

The Spirit is still coming.

And I don’t have to stay frozen.

So this is the leap I want to take:

To offer my fear to the Lord.

In those moments when the panic rises—when my chest tightens and my mind starts spinning—I want to remember: He is near. I don’t have to let fear drive the bus. I don’t have to stay frozen.

Instead, I’ll do the opposite. When the terrified part of me protests, I’ll hold her hand and tell her: It’s okay. You’re not alone. I’ll take the uncertainty—the worst-case scenarios, the imagined fallout—and lay them at His feet as a sacrifice of trust with a prayer:

“Jesus, I’m scared. But I want to trust You. I give You this conversation, this relationship, this outcome. Send me Your Spirit to help me speak with love—and leave the rest to You.”

And then I’ll say the hard thing.

Ultimately, my “yes” isn’t just about courage. It’s about love. It’s about trusting that even if things don’t go how I hope, the Lord will be with me in the aftermath. He will be the one to carry whatever gets stirred up.

He’s not asking me to be fearless.
He’s asking me to come to Him in the fear.

And that’s something I can do.