I am the woman who smiles nicely as I excitedly walk away, task in hand to please you. Whatever “You”, You are, I aim to please. Mother, daughter, lover, friend, employer, co-worker, stranger, friend. I aim to be liked. I want to please.
If you are happy, I am happy.
Or so I thought.
Am I happy – or am I relieved that you are happy?
You always seem to be happy with me until I can’t do it. Until I disagree. Until I can’t do it fast enough or just plain don’t want to. Or until I express my feelings on a subject. Once it no longer looks like I was put on this earth to help or agree or fix something. Once I open my mouth or don’t appear to be bending over backwards to aim to please, I am nothing.
I don’t know if its my age or what but sometimes I have to say what is on my mind too. Sorry if that displeases you.