Hey there, friend -

A couple of weeks ago, just before I dragged my South-Central-Kansas-farm-boy husband to New York City for a week, a flower bouquet showed up on my front porch.

Like, an expensive bouquet.

I don't actually own a vase (vaaaahz), so I dumped the packet of flower food into a Nalgene, filled it with tap water, trimmed the flower stems—at an angle, just like I learned from my job at Designs of the Times Florist in Melbourne, Florida—and arranged the works on my kitchen island.

At which point I went looking for a card and found... no card.

Or rather, there was a card, but it was blank. No name. No note.

This might not seem like a big deal to you, but I immediately felt a wash of... shame? I guess?

Without a note, I had no idea whom to thank.
And if I didn't thank the sender, they'd think badly of me.
Like I was ungrateful.
Or selfish.
Or entitled.

If the sender had wanted to be anonymous, there wouldn't have been a card at all. Clearly, the florist neglected to write the sender's note on the card!

I sent messages to people whom I know have my address. "Was it you?"
I asked some folks who attended a retreat I'd just co-hosted. "Did you?"
I posted a photo on Instagram: "Who sent these to me?!"

No one fessed up.

I worried about it for days. (I'm still a little worried, truth be told.)

I mentioned this situation to my breathwork coach, Iona Holloway, who said (but didn't say) that I was over-reacting. She suggested I reflect on why it felt so high-stakes to thank the person who showed love or appreciation through those flowers.

I explained "good people" express appreciation, and I want to be thought of as a good person.

And do you know what she had the nerve to ask me?

"Is 'a good person' a personality or a coping strategy?"

When I read that line, I swear I lost my breath for a sec (which is kinda of ironic, no?).

I read Iona's words again, several more times, and then responded: "F*ck off. You don't know me." And then, because I wanted to maintain my "good person" status, I added this: "Please don't f*ck off. You do know me."

The truth is, I'm in the early stages of recovery from perfectionism and people-pleasing, and the idea that my nice, thoughtful, "good person" vibe might be how I've coped with no-win situations, unreasonably high expectations, and religious trauma is both horrifying and really, really freeing.

So here's the pep talk...

Pep Talk #017: Make sure your good isn't actually bad for you.
In general, I am a thoughtful, kind, empathic human. But sometimes, I'm nicer than I should be. I swallow my words when I want to speak up. I apologize for things that aren't my responsibility. I mend fences when it would be better to tear the posts from the earth.

And I know I'm not special in this regard.

So, the next time you find yourself trying to manage your reputation, pause for a sec to make sure you aren't damaging your soul.

Much love to you,
Kelley

P.S. OMG did you send that bouquet to me? Please someone confess.

P.P.S. Using f*ck instead the full-strength version is another symptom of "good person syndrome." I don't want to offend anyone—not for your sake but for mine. I don't want you to not like me because sometime in the long months of COVID I developed a serious swearing habit. And using f*ck is just absurd because it's not like you don't hear the actual word in your head. Right? Right.