Alright, mate.
This is a vulnerable one today.
But I’m not using this newsletter as my therapy room.
Because there’s an important lesson here that I think many of us need to hear.
I’ve been back in the UK with family for a few weeks.
And like always… it’s been challenging.
The hardest part is being around my father, who is a depressed alcoholic and has been for decades.
Here’s how this usually plays out.
He drinks himself into a stupor most nights.
A couple of bottles of red wine. A few pints at the pub.
In that state, he becomes an emotional whirlwind.
Negative, volatile, sometimes hurtful, sometimes outright abusive.
Eventually, the fire burns itself out. He goes to bed.
Everyone breathes again.
And then morning comes.
He wakes up cheerful.
It’s as if none of it happened.
Rinse. Repeat. Repress.
It’s been this way for as long as I can remember.
We’ve lost three family members to alcoholism.
How my father is still alive is honestly a mystery, even to him.
In the past, this is how I dealt with it:
Be quiet. Smile. Act friendly. Be his pseudo-therapist.
And whatever you do, don’t mention the elephant in the room.
For most of my life, this didn’t even register as a problem.
It was just how I learned to cope and I didn’t know any better.
But over the last few years, something has changed.
Each time I come back, it’s become harder and harder to keep quiet and pretend everything’s fine.
I’ve felt trapped between two options:
A) Say everything and watch it go nowhere.
B) Keep playing the suffocating people-pleaser role.
Trying to communicate with him is hopeless.
We’ve been through countless “I’m quitting alcohol forever” episodes…
Only for him to hit the drink even harder a few weeks later, with the elephant quietly returning to the room.
Each time I emotionally invest, it leaves me drained and hollow.
He does not want to get better.
And I’ve outgrown the “good boy” role of my childhood.
So if speaking my full truth is pointless, and people-pleasing is suffocating, what do you do?
An answer came to me the other day.
And it was much quieter than I expected.
The morning after another one of his drinking episodes, I was clearly not okay.
He noticed and asked:
“What’s up with you today? You seem miserable.”
I know that tone. He wasn’t really asking.
He was nudging me to put the happy mask back on.
And for the first time, I responded differently.
I simply said:
“Yeah, I’m not feeling good right now… but I don’t want to talk about it.”
You could cut the tension with a knife.
My inner people-pleaser went into full panic:
“What are you doing?”
“You can’t say that.”
“You’re rocking the boat.”
“Brace for impact.”
But here’s what actually happened.
He said, “Oh alright then.”
And we carried on with our day.
That moment taught me something important.
Stepping out of the people-pleaser role isn’t always loud.
It isn’t always confrontational.
It doesn’t always involve dramatic truth-telling.
More often, it’s quiet.
It’s a calm refusal to lie, because people-pleasing is lying at its core.
It’s protecting your emotional boundaries.
It’s choosing not to engage in situations that don’t serve you.
You do not owe anyone an explanation.
You are allowed to be quiet.
To be sad, tired or angry.
To not process things out loud.
To not reassure others.
And this doesn’t just show up with family.
It shows up with partners, with friends, at work.
Basically anywhere you feel responsible for managing someone else’s emotions.
You are not a performing monkey who exists for the comfort of everyone else.
So the next time you’re choosing between keeping the peace and telling the truth…
Tell the truth, but only as much truth as you are willing to share.
This is what it means to shed the pleaser you were conditioned to be…
And start becoming the leader you truly are.
If this resonated, don’t just nod along.
I put together a free, simple boundary exercise to help you practice this in your own life this week.
Happy new year, mate.
Stay courageous,
Oliver