On a recent road trip, my partner and I decided to listen to an audiobook. The first title that popped up was Fawning: Why the Need to Please Makes Us Lose Ourselves and How to Find Our Way Back. Over the course of the next several hundred miles, we found ourselves nodding, pausing the narration, and discussing how we each exhibit fawning behavior.
Written by a fellow Psychology Today blogger, Dr. Ingrid Clayton’s posts have attracted over 1 million views. Now that I’m primed to recognize what fawning looks like, such readership is no surprise. Most everyone I know fawns at least a bit. I fear I fawn more than many.
Fawning is the fourth “F” in how we respond to perceived threats—fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Defined by psychotherapist Pete Walker as “a response to threat by becoming more appealing to the threat,” internally it feels like I’m making myself small.
Although I’m quite a bit taller than the average woman and was once referred to as “formidable” by an old online dating prospect, I often feel quite small. I grew up in an emotionally and physically abusive household, where my efforts at fighting, fleeing, or freezing resulted in painful outcomes from my caregivers.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized I could defuse conflict and protect myself by accommodating others’ interests at the expense of my own. I see now the steep price of keeping the peace.
By fawning, I seemed to derive positive regard from others. While fawning seemed to work in budding romantic relationships, I soon lost sight of my own needs. Pleasing others gradually became second nature to me at home, at school, and at work. As I ran myself ragged fulfilling others’ wants, I lost my voice and chipped away at my backbone.
My fawning reached its acme during divorce negotiations over a decade ago. While I hoped for an amicable settlement based on our respective circumstances, I almost acquiesced to a lopsided property agreement. I got scared and took a few days to regroup. Thanks to the support of a friend with financial chops, I soon presented my ex with my best and final offer, which pencilled out better for me and impacted him only minimally. Then I stopped talking and simply waited.
In those long moments of silence, I could almost feel my backbone regenerating itself. I breathed deeply and rested in the quiet space. I did not feel small. Instead I found my integrity, along with a side of grit I’d surrendered to fawning. I’m proud to say I prevailed.
Today I’m in a years-long partnership founded on a commitment to honesty and mutual respect. Though our fawning styles are different, each of us is learning to identify and revise our own behaviors. Every time I articulate my needs I feel less anxious afterwards. When I resort to fawning, I soon catch myself, take a deep breath, and try again.