This article isn’t easy to write. 

I’ve always been the “nice guy,” the supportive friend, the high-achiever “success story,” the good son.

I always had the big smile and the funny anecdote ready to tell to brighten up people’s day.

You get the picture… 

I was the one who helped out when somebody needed a hand, the friend who’d listen on the phone when friends had major life issues.

Did I have faults? 

Sure, I had mood swings, self-isolated sometimes. I got impatient with people sometimes and experienced a lot of frustration, especially in my lack of a love life. 

But I did my best to appreciate my blessings and be grateful. 

Life is too short to spend it focusing on what’s wrong. That’s what I used to think, anyway.

But there was no point in denying it…

I was watching life pass me by

The term FOMO describes how I felt almost all the time: fear of missing out. 

I saw evidence of it everywhere around me: the charismatic guys, the risk-takers, and the ones who seemed to exude confidence – they were the ones getting all the attention, the promotions, and, of course, the female attention.

I couldn’t escape the feeling of being over-dominated by others who appeared to have life figured out. 

It felt like I was stuck in a never-ending loop of being the supporting character in my own story, always one step behind the “protagonists” of life.

Everyone said how “wonderful” and great I was. Just great…

When would my life finally happen? When would I get the lead role instead of just credits stacked somewhere at the end that nobody watches? 

Then I had a breakdown – and a breakthrough

The end of my over-niceness came after one disappointment too many, a disappointment that broke me. 

In my mid-30s I had a breakdown after a painful breakup. I had thought that the fledgling relationship I was in was going somewhere and I was wrong. 

Dead wrong.

I had poured my heart and soul into this relationship and felt an intense connection. 

But I’d also held back from my frustrations and being direct with my partner about times I felt she was distant and uncommunicative, doing my best to keep my problems to myself. 

The end of the relationship shattered the carefully constructed facade I had built around myself. 

My kindness and good intentions didn’t save me from heartache, in fact as I wrote about earlier, I saw more and more evidence of selfish and pushy guys getting the women they wanted, even starting families and settling down.

I wanted that. 

But looking in the mirror I saw the mask I’d been wearing: the mask of being “fine” and being happy when I actually wasn’t. 

It was during a particularly introspective moment that I had a revelation – I was not being true to myself. The niceness I projected was a mask, a shield that protected me from the vulnerability of revealing my true thoughts and feelings, especially the more uncomfortable ones.

I was left with raw emotions and a sense of loss that I could no longer mask with a smile. In the midst of the emotional turmoil, I realized that my niceness had become a shield, protecting me from the harsh realities of relationships and life.

I had avoided conflict, swallowed my true feelings, and put my partner’s needs above my own, all in the name of being a good and accommodating partner. 

But looking on the bright side had somehow led me to a very dark place. And I had to start being more honest about it.

The breakdown that followed the breakup became the portal to my breakthrough. 

But it didn’t happen all at once…

I was still a people-pleaser in many ways. I still smiled even when I felt miserable inside. I pushed myself to move on from the breakup and go back to my “old self.”

Even though I’d had this breakthrough and knew my old self was at least partly a lie, it was a lie I knew and was used to. 

Slowly, however, my broken facade stopped working. Over the coming months I stopped trying so hard to be OK all the time and focus on the “positive.”

I began to get used to the feeling of not always being outwardly OK and not always needing to please others.

I argued with several friends and stopped being so nice. I allowed myself to feel the pain and disappointment in its raw form, declining calls and turning down invitations to go out. 

I resisted the urge to put on a brave face and pretend that everything was fine. This was my opportunity to be honest with myself about how alone I felt. 

The realization that being overly nice hadn’t spared me from heartbreak, but had, in fact, contributed to it, was a bitter pill to swallow. However, it also became the catalyst for a fundamental shift in my mindset that played out over the coming months. 

I began to set boundaries and communicate my needs more assertively with work colleagues, friends and family. It was a departure from my old habit of silently accommodating others, and at first, it felt uncomfortable. 

But as I embraced the discomfort, I found that people respected me more for being genuine about my needs and expectations. 

I emerged from these months not as a victim of circumstance and being dumped by the girl of my dreams, but as an empowered individual who understood the importance of balancing kindness with assertiveness. 

As I navigated the post-breakup landscape, I realized that my newfound authenticity was attracting healthier relationships into my life. 

I was no longer attracting partners who took advantage of my niceness and positivity but instead found connections with individuals who genuinely appreciated my honesty and willingness to be honest about who I was – flaws and all.

The roots of my challenge

I still believe in being kind to people and considerate. I know that taking out your problems on others is a sign of weakness and immaturity. 

But I also know that learning to have stronger boundaries, make time for myself and be able to sometimes put myself first was a huge step forward into becoming much happier and stronger.

Looking back at the roots of my challenge I could see how growing up in a single-parent home where I felt like a burden had made me a people-pleaser from a young age. I’d had the deep impression from a young age that I needed to “earn” love. 

My journey from being the quintessential “nice guy” to discovering my true value was a U-turn from these early childhood patterns. 

For the longest time, I played the role of the perpetual nice guy with a smile on his face. I was the one who always said yes, who never rocked the boat, and who put everyone else’s needs before my own. 

Deep down, I felt like an outsider in my own life. I wasn’t only trying to earn the approval of others: 

I was trying to convince myself that I was worthy by checking all the boxes and behaving in the way I believed was good and positive. 

Coming to see that sometimes focusing on the problems is an authentic reaction and that sometimes not being OK is the step to a transformation was a huge growth process for me. 

The turning point came when I decided to peel back the layers of my self-imposed persona and confront the discomfort that lay beneath. 

It was time to acknowledge my own pain, insecurities, and desires – even if it meant stepping out of the comforting shadows I’d been accustomed to. 

Admitting that I wasn’t as happy and content as I appeared on the surface was a difficult first step. I started opening up to friends about my struggles, allowing myself to be vulnerable, and breaking the pattern of always putting on a happy face. 

As I began to embrace my true self, I discovered that I had been selling myself short for years. 

I was not just a sidekick in someone else’s story; I was the lead character – I had been all along. 

Recognizing my own value and acknowledging my desires allowed me to set new goals and pursue them with a newfound determination. 

There’s no “end point” to it, either. I’m still learning. But I no longer feel a rush of happiness to hear friends praise me for being nice or positive. Life’s too short to always be buzzing with good vibes. There’s a lot of dark that goes into a good brew, too. 

No, I don’t feel validated by being told what a great guy I am. Not anymore. 

The rush I get now is when a friend tells me I’m the realest person they know.