I used to apologize for everything.

For taking up space. For existing too loudly. For being "too much."

I'd say yes when I meant no because saying no felt like I was hurting someone.

And hurting someone felt wrong.

I thought I was just too nice. Too soft. Too weak to stand up for myself.

But here's what I didn't understand:

I wasn't too nice.

My body thought saying no = danger.

When I was myself — energized, taking up space — I'd regret it.

Why?

Because people around me felt it was "too much."

And that look on their face?

It made me feel bad.

So I sold parts of myself to make people feel better.

Not knowing it was costing me everything.

Being extroverted and full of energy in a world where everyone seemed determined to fit in made me feel like there was something wrong with me. I convinced myself I was too much — too loud, too excited, too expressive — and that I needed to shrink myself to stay accepted and not upset anyone.

I thought the solution was to "train" myself to be more normal, more toned-down, more fitting. I truly believed it was a flaw in me, something I needed to fix with enough self-control. But that didn’t work, because I was trying to fix the wrong problem.

Every time I shrank my voice to make someone else feel better, I killed a part of myself that needed that space, the voice, and ability to express itself.

I thought I was protecting others, but I was abandoning myself.

I carried this for over 10 years.

Ten years of saying yes when I meant no. Ten years of dimming my energy so I wouldn't make anyone uncomfortable. Ten years of hating myself because I wasn't being me.

I always wanted to be in the center, to stand out, to be seen, but I was terrified. Because that night taught me:

being myself = danger.

So I stayed small.

I turned down opportunities to be on camera, to speak, to be visible—anything that would make me "too much" again. I spent years worrying what people would think. The resistance of not expressing myself became a weight I carried everywhere.

I thought I was living.

But I was shrinking.

I asked myself:

So I watched others, copied their behavior, tried to blend in. It felt safer than standing out.

But little did I know, that in trying so hard to belong, I was drifting further and further away from myself without even realizing it.

The Night I Started Shrinking

There was this moment I realized I did not recognize myself anymore.

I used to be this happy, energized and extroverted guy.

Where did he go?

I had spent so much time trying to fit into what people around me called normal that I did not notice how much of me I had lost.

I remember this one night at university. We were heading to a party—this big group walking outside in the cold. I could feel the warmth from the few beers I'd had in my body. I was talking, laughing, trying to connect with people I barely knew.

It felt light. It felt good for a moment.

At one point, the student union leader just screamed at me to shut up.

My body froze, even with the warm beers in my belly.

He told me I was too much.

I became silent.

Being the only one with a foreign background, where nobody stood up for me, made me feel small and honestly scared.

I remember that moment as the beginning — the day I started saying yes, staying small, and calling it "being nice."

But I had no idea what that moment was actually doing to me.

Not yet.

Years later, being on my inner path of healing, facing old wounds and trauma, this moment came back and I really felt it, as it was happening all over again.

Holy shit.

I was terrified of being judged.

I'd been shrinking myself for years, not because I was too nice.

Because my body thought being myself equaled danger.

What People-Pleasing Really Is

Here's what I discovered:

People-pleasing isn't a personality flaw. It's a survival pattern.

Your nervous system learned early—from a parent, a teacher, a moment like that night at university—that being yourself = danger.

So it created a strategy to keep you safe:

→ Say yes when you mean no.

→ Dim your energy.

→ Shrink yourself.

This isn't weakness. This is your body doing what it learned to do to survive.

When I showed up as my real, energized self, my nervous system reacted automatically. It remembered that old moment of being shamed, and it treated every similar situation like danger. So it triggered the same survival strategy: stay small, stay agreeable, don't take up space.

Think of it like a smoke detector that's too sensitive. It goes off when you burn toast, not just when there's a fire. Your nervous system is the same. It's detecting danger where there isn't any.

Someone looking at you the wrong way? ALARM.

Someone seeming slightly uncomfortable? ALARM.

You being "too much"? ALARM.

So you people-please. Not because you're too nice. Because your body thinks staying small = staying safe.

Greg McKeown, in his book Essentialism, said it perfectly:

If you're not yourself—not expressing yourself fully, not being your authentic self—you're not doing the world a favor. You're pretending to live while keeping yourself in a shoebox.

And for every day you stay in that shoebox, you teach your nervous system that your real self is a threat — and the longer you do that, the more your identity quietly fades without you even noticing.

So how do you stop people pleasing and being your authentic self?

How To Stop Shrinking Yourself

The shift begins with awareness.

Not dramatic action. Not forcing yourself to be bold. Just noticing the moment the old pattern kicks in.

Here's how:

The next time you say yes when you don't want to, or you stay silent just to avoid upsetting someone, pause.

Ask yourself:

Now notice your body.

Where do you feel the tension?

The resistance?

That sensation is where the old pattern lives.

The body holds what the mind learned to ignore.

Stay with it, with openness, without judgment, without labels.

Let it be there.

You don't have to fix it. Just see it.

And from that space, take a small step:

Say no without apologizing.

When the urge to explain shows up, feel that too.

Just don't obey it.

Here's a simple example from my own life:

I'm someone who loves to talk. When people ask me something, I like to explain. Many times, longer explanations. That's who I am.

For many years, I used to apologize for that. Always shrinking it.

A few weeks ago, a friend sent me a message. I recorded a long voice note—because that's how I naturally express myself. I could feel the old pattern rising:

My old pattern wanted to jump in: "Sorry for the long message, bro…"

But instead, I stayed with the discomfort and chose not to apologize.

He didn't respond right away.

Some time later, he said sorry for not replying sooner.

And I told him the truth: I didn't want to apologize for being myself. I enjoy sending longer messages, and he does too.

Nothing broke. No one was hurt. I was just... myself.

And that was safe.

This is all it takes to begin rewiring the pattern.

And when you do this—when you stop apologizing for being yourself, when you let the discomfort be there without obeying it—something shifts.

Conversations become lighter. You stop carrying the weight of everyone else's comfort on your shoulders.

That shitty feeling in your stomach when you say no? It loosens.

The voice in your head that says "you're too much"? It gets quieter.

You start showing up as yourself, not a toned-down, shrunk version, but the full, energized, expressive version, and you realize:

Nothing breaks.

People don't leave.

The world doesn't end.

You just... exist. Fully. Without apology.

And that freedom? That's what you've been chasing all along.

I used to think something was wrong with me.

That I was too much. Too loud. Too expressive. That I had to shrink myself to keep the peace.

But now I see it clearly.

It was never about being nice. It was never about being weak. It was a survival pattern my body learned a long time ago, and the moment I started noticing its feeling the trigger instead of running from it, everything began to shift.

Because every time I say no when I mean it, every time I let myself take up space, every time I choose to be fully me, my body learns a new truth.

Being myself is safe now.

This Saturday, I'm recorded my first podcast. In front of the camera and +40k viewers.

I was nervous. I was afraid.

But I moved anyway.

Because I'm finally partnered with someone who lets me be me—someone who wants me to be fully expressed, not shrunk down. And for the first time in years, I feel safe being myself.

I'm finding my way back to who I was before the shrinking. Before the mask. Before the fear.

Piece by piece.

Moment by moment.

No by no.

Flow, not force.

— Tomas

P.S. let me know the last time you shrank your voice to please someone else, and I'll help you release it.