I spent decades pleasing everyone. Then cancer changed the equation.

I spent decades pleasing everyone. Then cancer changed the equation. The author, pictured with her husband, said she has been a lifelong people pleaser. A cancer diagnosis gave her a crash course in setting boundaries. Courtesy of Lynn Shattuck. The summer I turned 50, I was diagnosed with lymphoma. While the type I have is considered to be very treatable, it's also considered chronic."You'll likely die with it, not of it," my oncologist told me.The one-two punch of turning 50 and receiving a cancer diagnosis became a crash course on managing another chronic ailment that's long plagued me, people pleasing.As a firstborn daughter, disappointing people I love has always felt physically painful to me. When my son was a toddler, and I'd leave to go to a yoga class, he'd sob as we watched me through the window, his face scrunched up like he was being tortured. I'd try to override the ache in my chest as I backed the car out of the driveway, reminding myself that my son was safe in my husband's care, and it was healthy for me to take a little time to nurture myself.As my kids grew and I attended regular therapy, the silent, impossible expectations of myself that I hadn't realized I'd been carrying started to appear, like invisible ink being revealed. I started to see that the flood of guilt I felt when I put my kids in part-time childcare or hesitated to volunteer at their schools was neither necessary nor healthy.Cancer offered clarityLymphoma occurs when the white blood cells responsible for fighting infections mutate and multiply. People-pleasing, I've learned through the years, is, for women, a cultural norm and often a survival tactic. It's meant to keep us safe, but if unchecked, it gnaws at us, depleting us.Cancer brought my people-pleasing into sharper contrast. When someone asked me to do something I didn't have the time, energy, or desire to do, I began to feel a "no" rising up. I'd start to push it away, as I'd always done. But a quiet voice said, "You have cancer. You can say no." More on being a people-pleaser Sometimes my nos were silent, like deleting the school emails looking for parent volunteers. Other times, they were more challenging, like when my mom asked for a ride home from the ER late one night when she was sick. To battle the tug of guilt, I summoned that quiet, wise voice, and I heard, "You need to rest. Mom can get an Uber." Sometimes the boundaries were just for me, like deciding to swap out our oversized SUV for a smaller car because I was tired of the anxiety that flooded me every time I pulled into our garage.Practice makes it easierWith practice, it became easier to set boundaries. Boundaries, I began to see, are actually benevolent, because they communicate our needs and limits to others. I began speaking up about things I wouldn't have in the past. No, I really don't want Chinese food tonight, I'd say, gritting my teeth for a moment before realizing I could exhale. I'd stated a preference, a need, or a limit — and the world had kept on spinning. As women, the world will give us as much as we can carry, and then it will pile a few more blocks of concrete on for good measure.We're the only ones who can say, "That's enough."I'm now two years out from my initial diagnosis, and I still see my oncologist once a quarter. As the doctors look over my bloodwork, I check in with myself. Am I still setting boundaries when they're called for? Is my work-life in balance? Am I prioritizing my well-being and scheduling things to look forward to?Like lymphoma, people-pleasing requires surveillance. It's a chronic condition, and one I'll be working on for the long haul. This article is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult your qualified physician or healthcare provider. Read next Essay Family Cancer More