‘Everyone knew I was a people-pleaser’

antonia Hoyle, 39, lives in London with husband, Chris, and children, Rosie, seven, and Felix, five.

My husband was out, my kids were with their grandparents and my Saturday afternoon was earmarked for the sofa. But as I picked up my supply of Ben & Jerry’s from the shop, the call came. My friend had an emergency at work. Would I look after her son for a couple of hours? ‘I wouldn’t normally ask…’ she said. But of course, she would. She’d always ask me, because she knew I’d be incapable of saying no. ‘Sure,’ I replied through gritted teeth. Until recently, if you needed someone to provide childcare or make up the numbers at a charity fête, I was your woman. Put it down to insecurity, perfectionism or an over-sensitive personality, but I was a pushover whose self-esteem came from pleasing others – even if I barely knew them.

Martyr missions

Once, I went to a friend’s party with a pulled calf muscle. We hadn’t seen each other for years and I could barely walk, but the idea of letting her down was more painful than my leg. So I drove four hours to make small talk with a woman who was effectively a stranger.

Then there was the night I left my bed to traipse across town to comfort an (admittedly closer) friend. All because she was worried her new boyfriend might have snogged someone else. ‘I knew I could rely on you,’ she sobbed. My daughter Rosie and son Felix were similarly savvy early on in toddlerhood, sussing that if they ignored my pleas to tidy their room, I’d do it for them.

As a freelance writer, I did constant all-nighters on work projects because the idea of not impressing my editors brought me out in a cold sweat. But for what? Exhaustion and a reputation as a pushover, that’s what, not to mention a tendency to take out my resentment on my poor husband, Chris, who fell, much to his annoyance, outside my people-pleasing remit. He was instead forced to listen to me moan endlessly about my latest martyr mission.

‘I knew I could rely on You’

Enough is enough

Then one day, three years ago, I reached the end of my tether. Fed up feeling the pressure to people-please, I started to say ‘no’ without apology or explanation.

When invited to events I didn’t fancy, I said I was unavailable. If friends asked me to babysit, I said I was busy. I simply ignored employers’ emails that would require working through the night. And when the kids wouldn’t tidy up, I said there would be no pudding till they did.

It wasn’t always easy. A colleague didn’t reply for weeks when I told her I couldn’t make her leaving do. A boss asked if I was ill. My children wailed and announced they were moving out.

But the world didn’t end – and as time passed, I was treated with something that resembled respect.

After her frosty response, my colleague requested another night out at a time that was convenient for me. The endless requests for favours fizzled out. My employers stopped demanding the impossible, and my kids actually started cleaning up after themselves.

Yes, I felt better, but I wasn’t the only one to benefit. I was a more honest friend, a more reliable employee and a better parent to boot.

Now, if I’m tempted to revert to being a pushover, I remind myself that, for the sake of everyone I care about, the most important person to please is myself.