The Things I Quit When I Quit Being Good

Nobody tells you that the hardest part of changing your life isn’t one big, dramatic moment. It’s the Tuesday after. And the Wednesday. And the Thursday, where you catch yourself doing the exact thing you swore you were done with.

My Good Girl Exit didn’t start with a breakthrough or a therapist’s couch or a journal prompt that unlocked something. It started with my narcissistic mother-in-law.

She lived with us for five years. Five years of daily manipulation, guilt trips, and being made small in my own home. And for most of it, I performed the role of the gracious, accommodating daughter-in-law - because that’s what good girls do. They endure. They keep the peace. They make it work.

Until they don’t.

She regularly begged me to promise I’d never put her in a nursing home or assisted living facility. I always refused (we never know what kind of curve balls life will throw us). Her signature move was to stick her tongue out at me like a child. And somewhere between the hundredth and thousandth time, something shifted.

I told her she had to leave. I didn’t ask for my husband’s permission. I didn’t bend when she cried that I was “killing her.” I had endured enough.

My husband and I had been married 30 years at that point, and it took her moving in with us and dealing with her daily to realize the immense impact this woman had on my entire life. On whom I’d allowed myself to become. On the good girl I’d built to survive her. (And let’s be real, my good girl had been instilled in me WAY before her.)

That was the first door.

The second one came when I was laid off. The good girl who had done everything right - followed every single rule, said yes to all the things, held it all together for everyone - was handed a box and a “thank you for your time”. A literal exit.

And somewhere between those two doors, something cracked open that I didn’t expect: the realization that I’d been enduring my whole life. Not just at home. Not just at work. Everywhere. And I was done.

What followed wasn’t a single moment of transformation. It was a series of small quits - tiny mutinies against the version of myself I’d been performing for decades. Some of them felt brave. Most of them just felt uncomfortable. A few of them made other people visibly annoyed, which is how I knew I was on the right track.

Here’s what I quit.

I quit saying “sorry” as a greeting.

I used to apologize before I even walked through the door. Sorry I’m late (I wasn’t). Sorry to bother you (it’s literally your job to talk to me). Sorry, but I have a question (why am I apologizing for having a brain?).

“Sorry” was the way I made myself smaller before I even took up space, just in case my presence was an inconvenience. I said it so reflexively, I didn’t even hear it anymore.

Now I notice every single one. And 99% of the time, I don’t actually mean it. And it’s 100% unnecessary.

It’s a small shift that changes everything. “Sorry I’m late” puts you in debt. “Thanks for waiting” puts you in connection.

If you’re counting your sorries right now, you’re not alone. Start tomorrow. You. Will. Be Horrified.

I quit keeping my mouth shut.

My good girl knew how to read a room. She knew when to nod, when to soften her point, when to phrase something as a question so it wouldn’t land too hard. She had a PhD in making her opinions sound like gentle suggestions.

I quit that.

Not in a burn-it-all-down way (we’ll talk about places for that later). In a “I’m going to say what I actually think in my actual voice” way. I started asking for what I need. Not hinting. Not hoping someone would notice. Not framing it as a question I already knew the answer to. Just ... saying it out loud.

“I need more time on this.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

“Here’s what I really think.”

”No.” (It is a complete sentence.)

The first few times felt super cringey. Most people respected it. Some people didn’t know what to do with this new me. A few people didn’t like it at all - and that told me everything I needed to know about those relationships.

I quit being the one who always volunteers.

You know her. It’s likely you ARE her. The one whose hand goes up before the question is even finished. The one who says “I’ll do it” not because she wants to, but because the silence was making her shifty and somebody has to, and it might as well be her because at least she knows it’ll get done right.

I was her for years. Decades. I wore “always willing” like a badge of honor when it was actually a cage.

What I didn’t realize was that every time I volunteered out of reflex, I was letting people know they had access to me … at all times. MY time. MY energy. MY capacity for the things that actually mattered to me.

Now I pause. Not because I don’t care, but because I finally do. I care about how I spend myself. I ask: Do I actually want to do this? Is this the best use of what I have right now? Or am I just filling a silence because the good girl in me can’t stand the discomfort of waiting for someone else to step up?

Sometimes I still raise my hand. But it’s a choice now, not a compulsion. And the difference between those two things makes all the difference.

I quit performing gratitude I didn’t feel.

The good girl is always grateful. Grateful for the opportunity. Grateful to be in the room. Grateful for feedback that was actually criticism wrapped in a compliment.

I quit pretending that everything was a gift. Some things are just that ... things. Some opportunities are obligations. Some feedback is someone else’s discomfort projected onto you.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still grateful - genuinely, deeply grateful - for the things that actually deserve it. But I stopped forcing myself to feel thankful for things that cost me something. That’s not gratitude. That’s the good girl.

I quit explaining myself.

This one still gets me sometimes (I’m a work in progress). The good girl always had a reason. A justification. A three-paragraph explanation for why she was making a completely logical decision.

“I can’t make it Saturday - I have this thing, and then my kids need me, JP’s been traveling, and I feel terrible about it, but …”

Now: “I can’t make it Saturday.”

That’s it. The whole sentence. No because. No justification. No Kim Black apology tour. Just a woman who made a decision and communicated it like someone who trusts herself.

The people who love you don’t need the paragraph. The people who need the paragraph are the ones who taught you that “no” required all the explanations and justifications.

A final word on quitting

Here’s what nobody tells you about quitting the good girl stuff: it doesn’t feel good at first. It feels rude. It feels selfish. It feels like you’re breaking some unspoken (or spoken) rules from back when you were five years old.

Your body will literally fight you. Your chest will tighten. Your brain will scream “they’re going to think you’re difficult” and “you’re being too much” and “just say sorry, it’s easier.”

It is easier. It’s always easier. That’s the trap.

The hardest part isn’t the quitting. The hard part is sitting with who you are when you stop leaning into the rules, the roles, and the expectations of others.

Who you are underneath all of that?

She’s been in there the whole time.

*If you recognized yourself in any of this, I’d love to hear which one hit hardest. Reply to this email or find me on LinkedIn and/or Instagram. And if someone in your life needs to read this, forward it along to her.

Until next time,