Rejection Sensitivity or People Pleasing in a Trench Coat?
That familiar stomach drop when someone takes too long to reply. The instant urge to apologise for existing. The detailed post mortem you run after a slightly flat “okay” from a friend. Many of us have been told this is rejection sensitivity, a deep seated fear of being disliked or abandoned. Very clinical, very serious, very “this is just how my brain is”.
But what if, for many of us, it is actually people pleasing wearing a fake moustache and insisting it is a completely different thing.
Stay with me.
People pleasing is often framed as being nice, helpful, or easy going. Low maintenance, the sort of wperson who says “I’m fine with anything” and means “I will silently implode if you choose the wrong thing but I will never tell you”. Rejection sensitivity is framed as anxiety, trauma, neurodivergence, and yes, sometimes it absolutely is those things. However for a lot of people, rejection sensitivity is less about being uniquely fragile and more about being extremely well trained. Many of us grew up learning that safety came from being liked. That love was conditional, that belonging was something you earned by being agreeable, funny, useful, not too much and not too queer. As a response we developed radar, we scan rooms, texts, tones of voice, we notice everything. We call it intuition, but sometimes it is just vigilance.
When someone seems off, our brains do not think “huh, maybe they are tired”. They think “what have I done?”
That is not a fear of rejection out of nowhere, it is a habit formed by years of managing other people’s comfort in order to survive. People pleasing says “if I can just get this right, no one will leave”. Rejection sensitivity says “they are about to leave”. Same root, different tree.
The sad part is how much effort goes into this. The mental gymnastics, the emotional spreadsheets, the careful wording of messages that sound breezy but not careless, warm but not needy, confident but not arrogant. We are exhausted! And then we blame ourselves for being exhausted.
There is also a particular queer flavour to this. Many of us came out late or not at all. We learned to read the room before speaking. We learned which parts of ourselves were welcome and which were tolerated at best, so of course we are sensitive, we had to be. Sensitivity kept us safe. The problem is that what kept us safe then can keep us stuck now. When rejection sensitivity is actually people pleasing, it often shows up as over responsibility. Assuming other people’s moods are about us. Taking on emotional labour that was never assigned. Apologising when no harm was done. Saying yes when we mean no and then resenting everyone involved.We are too busy trying to control outcomes that were never ours to control.
This is not a personal failing, it is an adaptation, a clever one. But you are allowed to update it.
What helps is not telling yourself to toughen up or stop caring, that rarely works.
What helps is gently noticing when your fear of rejection is actually a fear of being inconvenient, disappointing or fully seen.
You can start small. Pause before apologising and ask if an apology is actually needed. Let someone be mildly disappointed and see that the world does not end. Notice when you are mind reading and bring yourself back to what you actually know. Practice having preferences out loud, even about small things like where to eat.
Perhaps most importantly, surround yourself with people who do not require you to perform emotional gymnastics to be loved. People who let you be a bit messy, a bit slow to reply, a bit human.