The Disappearing Act We Applaud
We’ve all heard of fight, flight, and freeze. But there’s a fourth nervous system response that doesn’t get nearly as much attention and often gets misread as emotional intelligence.
It’s called fawning. And it runs deeper than just being agreeable.
It’s not “people-pleasing” in the casual sense; it’s what happens when staying connected starts to mean abandoning yourself.
It can look like:
Pausing before you speak, just long enough to read the room and edit what you were about to say.
Offering help, not out of generosity, but out of fear that saying no would cost you something.
Laughing at something that hurt, to move past the discomfort.
Staying quiet when someone crosses a line, not because you didn’t notice, but because naming it would make things tense.
Constantly adjusting (your tone, your timing, your opinions) so the people around you stay comfortable.
Fawning isn’t about being nice. It’s about placing yourself just slightly below the surface, so no one sees too much, needs too much, or gets upset. And over time, it creates distance, not from others, but from yourself.
What it protects
Fawning doesn’t usually come from nowhere. Somewhere along the way, it became the safest option. That might’ve been in a family where disagreement created tension, or where emotional needs were met with silence, guilt, or withdrawal. Over time, being agreeable became a reflex.
And it works. Until it doesn’t. Because fawning keeps things smooth, but often at the expense of agency and truth.
“Fawning is not kindness. It’s what happens when the nervous system doesn’t believe it’s safe to disappoint someone.”
More than just people-pleasing
It’s tempting to call fawning a version of people-pleasing. And sometimes it is. But it can also be much more automatic. It’s not always about wanting others to like you. Sometimes, it’s about not knowing who you are without their approval.
It’s not just about being nice. It’s about being safe.
Fawning shows up in workplaces, friendships, families, and intimate relationships. It might look like avoiding direct feedback because you don’t want to be seen as difficult. Saying yes to a project even when your schedule is full. Offering emotional support to someone who regularly drains you. Skipping over your frustration so the vibe stays good.
The emotional manager
In codependent dynamics, fawning can start to feel like the only way to keep the relationship steady. One person becomes the emotional manager, always smoothing things over, cushioning reactions, staying upbeat to avoid setting the other person off. Maybe it’s checking in constantly so they don’t feel abandoned. Perhaps it’s not bringing up hurt feelings because “they’ve had a hard day.”
The care is real, but it comes at a cost. Because over time, one person’s comfort depends on the other person’s self-abandonment. And that slowly becomes the deal: I’ll keep you regulated, as long as you keep me close.
And the self (your needs, your voice, your limits) quietly disappears.
What’s the cost?
The longer a person fawns, the blurrier their sense of self becomes. Over time, it gets harder to tell the difference between real agreement and automatic compliance. You might start to feel burned out, resentful, emotionally tired, but not sure why. Conversations feel foggy. Requests feel heavy. You leave interactions feeling responsible but unsatisfied.
It’s not always dramatic. But it’s draining.
Because when connection is sustained through self-minimizing, it’s not a true connection at all. It is performance.
So what does the work look like?
Unlearning fawning doesn’t mean becoming blunt or rigid. It doesn’t mean swinging to detachment. It means rebuilding your internal anchor, the one that tells you what’s okay, what’s not, and what matters most.
That process usually involves these things:
Values work. If you don’t know what you stand for, you’ll keep defaulting to what feels safest in the moment. Clarity about your values gives you a north star, even when tension shows up.
Understanding your needs. So many people who fawn don’t have access to their own needs. They’re too attuned to everyone else’s. Needs-awareness is essential for clarity, for energy, for emotional honesty.
Understanding your nervous system. Fawning isn’t just behavioural. It’s physiological. The body needs tools to regulate under perceived social threat. Breath. Pause. Naming. Grounding. These aren’t trendy, they’re necessary.
Boundaries work. Learning how to communicate what’s true without apology. Not with scripts, but with clarity and respect for self and others. You can’t express what you haven’t named. And you don’t need to wrap every boundary in a lengthy essay. Sometimes, a simple, clear sentence is enough.
Practice. Letting a “no” stand. Allowing silence to stretch. Not backpedaling when someone doesn’t like what you said. Choosing honesty over harmony in small, intentional ways, until it stops feeling like a risk and starts feeling like self-respect.
It lives in the slipstream
Most of us didn’t choose to fawn. We just learned early on that it worked. That smoothing things over kept the peace. That staying likable felt safer than being fully seen.
But over time, those habits start to take a toll. Not all at once, just in small, quiet ways. In the slipstream after a conversation. In the subtle resentment that has nowhere to go. In the sense that you're close to people, but not quite connected to yourself.
Slowing down helps
It gives you the space to notice what’s automatic. To check in with what’s true. To start hearing your own voice again, not the version of you that adapts, but the one that knows.
That’s the heart of the work: learning what you value, what you need, how to speak clearly, and how to stay with yourself when it gets uncomfortable.
That’s what we’ll be exploring in the studio.
My first art coaching workshop kicks off on July 18th. The theme is Boundaries: how to hold shape without armouring up. We’ll slow down, work with clay, and take a closer look at what it means to stay with ourselves in the moments we usually disappear.
Gotta feel it to shift it
Want to try what it feels like to stay with something instead of fixing it? That’s what we do in the studio. It’s hands-on, a bit messy, and sometimes uncomfortable—in the best way. Read more about art coaching.