When Fawning Feels Like Safety: Learning to Relate to the Part That Keeps You Small
There’s a part of us—often quiet, often unseen—that has worked tirelessly to keep us safe. It doesn’t scream for attention. It doesn’t rebel. It doesn’t demand.
Instead, it accommodates.
It over-functions.
It pleases.
It helps us disappear just enough to avoid being seen as “too much” or “not enough.”
For so many of my clients (and yes, for myself too), this part shows up in the form of chronic people-pleasing, perfectionism, and emotional shapeshifting. It’s the internal voice that says, “Just stay small. Be agreeable. Don’t take up space. Then you’ll be safe. Then you’ll be loved.”
In the therapy world, we often call this the fawn response—a deeply wired nervous system adaptation to environments where connection felt conditional. Where our needs or emotions weren’t safe to express. Where “being good” or “being useful” was the closest thing we had to feeling secure.
Fawning Isn’t a Character Flaw—It’s a Survival Response
This is one of the most important truths I wish more people understood:
Fawning isn’t weakness.
It isn’t about being fake or manipulative.
It’s your body doing its best to keep you connected in the only way it knew how.
When we grow up in relationships where presence, love, or attention were unpredictable or attached to performance, our nervous system learns to adapt. To survive. And sometimes survival means disconnecting from our voice, our limits, and even our sense of self—because that’s what it took to stay close to the people we depended on.
So if this is you, I want you to hear this:
Your fawn response isn’t weakness. It’s intelligent.
But over time, it gets exhausting.
It gets lonely.
It becomes impossible to know where you end and others begin.
And maybe that’s the moment we start to wonder: Is there another way to be in the world?
Healing Doesn’t Mean Erasing the Fawn—It Means Relating to It
The truth is, we don’t “get rid of” these patterns. Not with force, not with judgment, not with yet another perfectionistic plan for healing.
What we can do is begin to relate differently to the part of us that fawns.
We can begin to recognize:
When we’re slipping into accommodation out of habit rather than choice
When we’re abandoning our needs to avoid discomfort
When we’re saying yes because we’re afraid of what a no might cost
And from there, we begin to build relationship. Not rejection. Not erasure.
This looks like:
Noticing how your body feels when you're defaulting to people-pleasing
Gently checking in with your values before jumping to say yes
Naming, with compassion, “This is my inner protector trying to keep me safe”
Taking one small risk toward being more fully yourself—and staying regulated while you do it
Reclaiming Your Voice Is a Slow, Brave Act of Nervous System Repair
I tell my clients often: We’re not here to fight against your nervous system. We’re here to work with it.
So we go slow. We build capacity. We practice staying with the discomfort of being real, honest, and boundaried.
We celebrate small wins like speaking up in a meeting, saying “let me get back to you” instead of a knee-jerk yes, or even just noticing when you’re dissociating in a moment of conflict.
This work takes time. And tenderness. And safety.
But over and over again, I’ve watched clients learn to live in their lives—not just perform well in them. Because the truth is:
You don’t have to earn love through your usefulness.
You don’t have to abandon yourself to feel connected.
You don’t have to carry the weight of peacekeeping just to be worthy.
You get to be in relationship with you—fully, honestly, messily. And from there, real connection can finally begin.
Therapy for Deep Feelers and Ambitious Women in Fort Collins, Co
Interested in exploring how your nervous system might be driving your relational patterns? I help clients understand and gently shift the survival strategies they’ve carried for years—so they can live in more authentic, connected, and aligned ways. Reach out today to see if we’d be a good fit!
Or—just start here. Breathe. Place your hand on your heart. And tell your inner fawn:
“I see you. I understand why you’ve worked so hard. And we don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
