The Bitch is Back: My Superpower?
Just watch me bring out my outrageous bitch version! You don’t want to see that!
By mid-January, the politeness has worn thin. The holidays are over, the new-year glow has faded. What's left is a quieter, truer question. Let’s get real. How do I really want to be in my life? For me, lately the answer has been simple and a little shocking: I am so done with people-pleasing.
Of course, be kind. And generous. And empathetic. What I mean is the people-pleasing niceness that edits truth in real time. The kind performed by the kid who scans every room before speaking. Who makes sure everyone else stays comfortable even if he’s uncomfortable. For years, I thought that was just who I was. But now I see it for what it really was: an exquisitely refined survival system, my survival system. Growing up as a masked, hiding-in-plain in sight, queer boy and later man, trained me well. It taught me hard lessons most leadership books never mention. Gave me powerful life tools. When his real, authentic self could be or often is met with rejection, or worse, that boy learns fast.
I learned how to read a room before the room read me. I learned how to sense, feel and notice emotional shifts before people spoke. I constantly monitored facial expressions, body language. I learned how to adapt quickly, soften or harden my edges, as needed. Man up as needed. To stay likeable enough to stay safe. That hyper-vigilance, that shape shifting adaptability and resilience, that flexibility, all became superpowers at the ready.
I used them in relationships, all of them. Personal and professional. Those adaptive skills helped me. They helped me belong. They also helped me lead. And they quietly showed me how to disappear.
At some point, our boy might also start understanding that his exquisite survival system that once kept him safe also kept him small.
People-pleasing that evolved into a gift of sorts can also become a cage. His nervous system warden whispering constantly to him, "Who do you need to be so this meeting goes okay? Fit in. Do not rock the boat.” Maybe it happens in that meeting where he nods along to smooth things, then leaves frustrated for not speaking up. Maybe it's the moment he realizes he spent decades perfecting the art of not taking up space. But one day he might realize that this same nervous system could instead push him in a different way, prompting questions like, "Wait just a minute. Who am I, really? What needs to be said? What do I need to say to help us all be effective?”
And then what happens when he can speak truth to whomever needs to hear it? That's when he could call up something else entirely. Maybe that is when the bitch comes in—and yep, I'm reclaiming the word.
I don’t mean he should be mean or cruel. Or careless. Just embody the clean, grounded ability to say what is true without apologizing. To see and say what needs to be said. The capacity to hold a boundary. The willingness to disappoint and survive that disappointment or judgment. My “bitch” refuses to contort herself for the comfort of others. Mine looks like saying, "Um, that doesn't work for me. Here’s why." Then fill in the truthful, helpful, needed feedback. That's not the opposite of compassion at all. It's what makes real compassion possible, because our boy is now leading in truthful compassion. He’s not hiding behind a flimsy facade built on his own self-abandonment or shame.
So, here we are in mid-January. I say that right now is the perfect time for finding ourselves. The New Year’s performative optimism has worn off. The resolutions have slipped. What's left is an opening for truth. Maybe the real invitation of this mid-winter season is not to become nicer but more whole. To thank all those old survival strategies that got us here and say bye-bye to them. Gently releasing them while stepping forward toward something truer.
The bitch is back. I guess it is possible that being a bitch sometimes could be a sort of major superpower. Just watch me bring out my outrageous bitch version! You don’t want to see that! It is also possible that understanding your inner bitch is something a bit more practical and mundane. I wonder what happens if just your willingness to summon your huge bitch when needed becomes a small step toward the real kind, compassionate, powerful, whole you, rather than a big threat to be one. Want to find out?
