Confessions of a Former People Pleaser
How I Stopped Letting Everyone Take Advantage Of Me and Took My Power Back
Being "The Chauffeur" wasn't just about driving people around—it was about how I lived my life. For years, I lived in a constant state of self-abandonment, seeking approval and validation from everyone else. I let others dictate my journey while telling myself I was in control because I was the one holding the wheel. But the truth? I was merely a passenger in my own life, steering toward destinations chosen by others.
The transformation to Mike Tyson—a confident, unapologetic version of myself—wasn’t instantaneous. It was messy, grueling, and required dismantling years of ingrained habits, beliefs, and fears. It’s a war I continue to fight, but the battle lines are more precise now.
The roots of The Chauffeur run deep, starting in childhood. Growing up, my needs were secondary, a minor footnote in a narrative centered on survival. I learned early that minimizing myself was the best way to avoid conflict or punishment—to shrink, to disappear. I became the agreeable, compliant, ever-helpful child because being anything else felt dangerous.
As children, we’re wired to love and need our caregivers, even when they don’t treat us well. That meant internalizing a contradictory belief: if I could just be better—more giving, more selfless—then maybe I’d earn the love and safety I craved. This belief became the seed from which The Chauffeur identity grew.
But survival mechanisms that serve us as children often turn into prisons as adults. I carried my coping strategies into every aspect of my adult life, unconsciously seeking relationships, careers, and situations that reinforced the belief that I didn’t count.
The Characteristics of The Chauffeur
Living as The Chauffeur was defined by a set of behaviors and beliefs that became second nature:
People-Pleasing: Saying “yes” when I wanted to say “no.” Bending over backward to meet others’ needs at my own expense. Avoiding conflict as if my life depended on it.
Fear of Rejection: A constant dread that standing up for myself would lead to abandonment. I believed catering to others was the only way to secure their love and approval.
Low Self-Esteem: I didn’t think I deserved respect, so I accepted crumbs in relationships, friendships, and even professionally.
Crippling Guilt: Setting boundaries felt like a betrayal. Prioritizing my own needs felt selfish. The guilt was a constant, unrelenting voice in my head.
Toxic Dynamics: Because of my subservience, I attracted people who exploited me. My willingness to sacrifice became a source of power for others.
Victim Mentality: I saw myself as powerless, deriving a sense of identity from being wronged. This mindset shielded me from accountability and trapped me in a cycle of self-abandonment.
Take a single scenario—a disagreement with a partner—and watch how The Chauffeur handles it.
My ex demands that we leave the gym early, even though I haven’t finished my workout. The Chauffeur doesn’t argue or assert himself. Instead, he complies immediately, telling himself it’s easier this way. After all, avoiding conflict is the priority.
But deep down, resentment brews. I feel disrespected and unseen. Yet, instead of addressing the problem, I suppress it. I convince myself this is how relationships work. I blame my ex for not recognizing my needs and failing to see that I taught her to ignore me.
Enter Mike Tyson
Mike Tyson represents everything The Chauffeur is not. He is confident, assertive, and unapologetically himself. He doesn’t seek approval because he knows his worth. He sets boundaries not out of defiance but as an act of self-respect. He doesn’t avoid conflict; he faces it head-on because he knows that discomfort is a small price for authenticity.
When my ex-wife demanded that we leave the gym, Mike Tyson said, “I’m here.” It wasn’t loud or combative—it was firm and undeniable. For the first time, I prioritized myself over her demands. Her reaction—shock, outrage—was revealing. But for me, it was a turning point. I realized I didn’t need to sacrifice my needs to maintain a relationship. A relationship that required such sacrifices wasn’t worth keeping.
Becoming Mike Tyson wasn’t easy. The people who loved The Chauffeur—who benefitted from his silence and compliance—weren’t thrilled about his disappearance. When I started setting boundaries, I was called selfish. When I stopped bending over backward, I was accused of being unkind. But Tyson didn’t care. He knew the cost of staying the same was far greater than the cost of change.
The transformation wasn’t about becoming someone new but about reclaiming who I was always meant to be. It was about learning that my needs mattered, my voice deserved to be heard, and my life was worth living on my terms.
Lessons from the Transformation
Self-worth comes from Within. When you believe in your worth, you stop seeking validation from others. You set boundaries, attract healthier relationships, and demand more from life.
Being Nice Isn’t Being Good: The Chauffeur’s niceness is rooted in fear, whereas Tyson’s strength comes from authenticity. True goodness isn’t about pleasing everyone; it’s about living in alignment with your values.
Peace Isn’t the Absence of Conflict: Peace comes from respect, which begins with self-respect. Tyson taught me that standing up for myself, even if it meant rocking the boat, was the ultimate act of self-love.
The Chauffeur’s worldview was shaped by fear and scarcity. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of being unworthy. Scarcity of love. Scarcity of self-esteem. Scarcity of agency. Every action, decision, and relationship was influenced by the belief that I had to earn my place, worth, and even my right to exist.
Tyson operates from a place of abundance. He understands that his worth is intrinsic, not conditional. He knows that love and respect are not scarce resources to be hoarded or begged for—they are reciprocal gifts shared between equals.
The differences between these two worldviews are profound, but the shift from one to the other was anything but smooth.
For The Chauffeur, boundaries were nonexistent
They weren’t just avoided—they were feared. Setting boundaries felt like risking everything: love, approval, security. But the reality was that a lack of boundaries didn’t prevent loss; it guaranteed it.
Take my first marriage. For years, I let my ex-wife set the terms of our dynamic. I complied, accommodated, and sacrificed. I believed that keeping the peace meant giving her what she wanted, even at the expense of my own needs. But peace without respect is a lie we tell ourselves to avoid hard truths.
When I began to adopt Tyson’s mindset, boundaries became my lifeline. I stopped saying “yes” to things that drained me, tolerating disrespect disguised as humor or criticism disguised as advice, and allowing people to treat me as though my wants and needs were secondary.
At first, setting boundaries felt like walking through fire. The pushback was intense. She would lash out, accusing me of being selfish or unloving. But Tyson didn’t flinch. He knew that a boundary wasn’t a rejection of the other person but an affirmation of myself.
The Chauffeur found comfort in subservience. It was familiar. Predictable. Safe. Being the sidekick in someone else’s story absolved me of responsibility for my narrative. If things went wrong, I could always point to someone else and say, “See? It’s their fault.” But this comfort came at a cost—a life of unfulfilled potential, muted joy, and simmering resentment.
Tyson Thrives in Discomfort
He takes the wheel, knowing that the road ahead will be bumpy but that the destination is worth the journey. He understands strength isn’t about control over others—it’s about mastery over yourself.
The Chauffeur saw himself as a victim of circumstance. Life and relationships happened to him. He felt powerless, perpetually at the mercy of other people’s decisions, moods, and whims. This victim mentality was both a shield and a prison—it protected me from taking responsibility but also trapped me in a cycle of helplessness.
Tyson shattered that illusion. He showed me that agency is not given; it’s claimed. Life doesn’t happen to you—you happen to live. When I stopped seeing myself as a victim, I started seeing opportunities where I once saw obstacles. I started taking risks, making choices, and owning the outcomes, good or bad.
This shift wasn’t just theoretical—it was practical. It showed up in my career, where I stopped waiting for clients to value me and started demanding what I was worth. It showed up in my friendships, where I let go of people who drained me and prioritized those who uplifted me. Most importantly, it showed up in my relationship with myself, where I began to treat my needs with the respect they deserved.
One of the hardest lessons Tyson taught me was the courage to disappoint others. The Chauffeur lived in fear of letting people down. He said “yes” when he meant “no.” He overpromised, overextended, and overcompensated, all in the name of approval. But in doing so, he consistently disappointed the one person he couldn’t afford to lose: himself. You MUST have the courage to be disliked. Sometimes, you MUST go against the crowd, even if that crowd is your family.
Tyson taught me that disappointment is inevitable, but self-betrayal is optional. By prioritizing my own needs and values, I began to live with integrity. While this meant disappointing some people, it also meant gaining the respect of the one person who matters most—myself.
Transformation Isn’t Free
It costs relationships, comfort, and the illusion of certainty. When I transitioned from The Chauffeur to Tyson, I lost people who had thrived on my subservience. I faced criticism, rejection, and even outright hostility. But the rewards far outweighed the costs.
I gained the freedom to live authentically, pursue my dreams without apology, and build relationships based on mutual respect rather than manipulation. I also clarified who I am, what I want, and what I’m willing to tolerate. Finally, I gained strength.
For The Chauffeur, self-worth was an external commodity. The approval of others measured it, the success of relationships, and the avoidance of conflict. If someone was upset with me, it was my fault. If a relationship failed, it was my failure. My sense of self was fragile, held together by the validation I received—or didn’t—from those around me.
Tyson operates from an entirely different paradigm. He taught me that self-worth is internal. It’s not something you earn; it’s something you uncover. It exists inherently beneath the layers of insecurity, self-doubt, and fear. This shift from external validation to internal self-assurance was like stepping into a new world where my value wasn’t contingent on anyone else’s opinion.
This transformation showed up in ways both big and small. In my professional life, I stopped underpricing my work to secure a deal. In my personal life, I stopped tolerating one-sided relationships where I gave everything and received nothing in return. And in my inner life, I stopped beating myself up for not being perfect. I realized I didn’t need to be flawless to be worthy—I just needed to be accurate.
“No” was a word The Chauffeur feared. It felt dangerous, defiant, even cruel. Saying “no” risked conflict, rejection, and the loss of approval—things The Chauffeur worked tirelessly to avoid. As a result, I said “yes” to things I didn’t want, couldn’t handle, or outright disagreed with. I became a people-pleaser, bending over backward to meet everyone’s needs but my own.
Tyson Embraced the Power of “No.”
He understood that it’s not just a word; it’s a boundary. It’s a declaration of agency. Saying “no” isn’t about rejecting others—it’s about affirming yourself. And while it may upset people now, it ultimately builds healthier, more honest relationships.
The Chauffeur was emotionally dependent. My mood, self-esteem, and sense of identity were tied to the people around me. If someone was upset, I absorbed their anger. If someone was happy, I basked in their joy. I lived like a leaf in the wind, at the mercy of forces beyond my control.
Tyson is emotionally self-reliant. He doesn’t need others to validate his feelings or dictate his state of mind. He recognizes that emotions are transient, not truths. They’re signals to be understood, not storms to be swept away by. This emotional independence has been transformative, allowing me to navigate relationships with clarity and strength.
The Chauffeur was reactive. I lived in constant emotional reactivity, swinging between appeasement and resentment. A sharp word from someone could ruin my day. A minor criticism at work could send me into a spiral of self-doubt. I was a prisoner of my triggers, and they controlled me.
Tyson is responsive. He doesn’t react impulsively to external events; he chooses his response with intention. This shift from reaction to response has been one of the most liberating aspects of my transformation. It’s allowed me to break free from the cycle of defensiveness and engage with life from a place of calm and confidence.
Until next time,
Anton
Dancer, Writer, Buddhist