True Love's Kiss

A People-Pleaser's Awakening

Have you seen Maleficent? It's the retelling of Aurora's (Sleeping Beauty) story, and I absolutely love it—so much so that I make sure to watch it at least once a year. I've been investing heavily in my personal growth lately, and rewatching Maleficent recently really hit differently this time because the villain's origin story suddenly felt like I was looking in a mirror. I had a lot of emotions rewatching it, and after the initial wave of nostalgia wore off, I found myself writing. It was at that moment it dawned on me that Disney had accidentally created the perfect metaphor for recovering from people-pleasing.

You see, Maleficent wasn't evil by nature. She was betrayed by someone she trusted, and her "villainy" began when she started protecting herself. King Stefan, the real villain, rewrote history to make himself the hero. Does this sound familiar? It's the oldest trick in the oppressor's playbook. As a recovering people-pleaser, I've had many experiences where I was labeled "difficult," "mean," and "too much" for setting healthy boundaries or simply saying no. It was quite shocking to realize that doing so made me the "bad guy" in other people's stories. It was really painful to see that people who had benefited from my people-pleasing suddenly painted me as selfish.

People in power always get to write the history books, and this played out in my personal relationships too. Manipulators reframed my boundary-setting as my character flaw. The moment I stopped being convenient, I became the problem. I was conditioned to believe my worth came from serving others. Society also teaches us that women especially should be endlessly giving. When I stopped over-giving, others experienced it as a loss and blamed me for "changing." They'd rather maintain their cognitive dissonance than examine their own entitlement—they'd rather see me as a villain. It's pretty ironic to be praised for self-sacrifice while slowly disappearing. Trying to be everyone's hero and please everyone left me exhausted and resentful, and it cost me my sense of self. People-pleasing enables others' worst behaviors, and after a while, I realized I had been complicit in my own mistreatment.

I began rewriting my story with baby steps. I practiced saying no to low-stakes requests. Putting myself first started with tracking where my energy was going and comparing it with what I was getting back. I wish someone had told me to expect pushback because apparently, it's pretty normal for people to test your new boundaries—but journaling and documenting my truth helped me counter gaslighting attempts. "Let me think about it" became my default response because I now practice pausing before accepting requests. I learned to clarify my values, knowing what truly matters to me versus what others expect from me. I was also able to find my tribe—people who support my growth and help me remember that setting boundaries is self-care, and self-care isn't selfish; it's essential maintenance.

The plot twist in Maleficent (spoilers ahead) was that true love wasn't romantic—it was Maleficent's love for Aurora. The plot twist in my life was that true love started with loving myself enough to say no. I had been seeking validation from others when the love I needed was my own. I know now that self-love isn't selfish; it's the foundation that makes healthy relationships possible. I'm not a bad person for wanting basic respect and reciprocity, and the people calling me "changed" or "selfish" are telling on themselves. My healing threatens their free labor source, and that's their problem, not mine. I've realized that sometimes being the villain in someone else's story means I'm the hero in my own—and I'm going to wear that villain badge with pride.

Maleficent getting her wings back wasn't just about magic; it was about reclaiming her power. I can say the journey from people-pleaser to boundary-setter is me getting my wings back. The "true love's kiss" that broke my people-pleasing curse was learning to love myself. I now constantly examine where I might be playing small to avoid being labeled difficult, because the story I tell myself about my worth matters more than anyone else's narrative. It's time to stop auditioning for the role of supporting character in my own life.

The villain badge looks good on me—how about you?