Before he became the Buddha, he was the most liked man in the kingdom.
Prince Siddhartha. Handsome. Wealthy. Talented. Loved by everyone who met him.
His father made sure of it – built him three palaces, one for each season. Filled them with beautiful people, entertaining people, people who smiled and agreed and made him feel important.
And it was killing him.
Not literally. Slowly. The kind of death that happens when you spend your whole life performing for approval and never asking if the performance is you.
At 29, in the middle of the night, he walked away from all of it.
The comfort. The status. The people who loved the version of himself he’d been trained to be.
Not because he didn’t care what people thought. Because he cared too much, and it was destroying him.
The Cage Made of Other People’s Opinions
You know this cage.
You built it carefully over decades:
- Say the right thing
- Don’t make waves
- Keep everyone happy
- Be what they need you to be
- Don’t disappoint anyone
- Maintain the image
And now you’re lying awake at 3 AM, replaying a conversation from seven hours ago, analyzing every word you said, wondering if they’re mad, if you came across wrong, if you need to send a clarifying text.
You’re not worried about reality. You’re worried about their PERCEPTION of reality.
The Buddha would recognize this immediately. He lived in that cage for 29 years.
What Happens When You Live for Approval
The Buddha’s first teaching after enlightenment wasn’t about meditation or mindfulness or inner peace.
It was about dukkha – usually translated as “suffering,” but more accurately: the exhausting unsatisfactoriness of trying to hold onto things that change.
Like other people’s opinions.
Here’s what happens when your peace depends on being liked:
You become a chameleon
Shifting to match whoever you’re with. No core. Just constant adjustment. Exhausting.
You resent the people you’re trying to please
Because pleasing them requires you to abandon yourself. And deep down, you blame them for it (even though they never asked you to disappear).
You attract people who need performers, not humans
The only people who stay are the ones who benefit from your self-abandonment. Real connection requires a real self.
You never feel actually SEEN
Because the version of you they like isn’t you. It’s the performance. So even when they love you, it feels hollow.
You mistake anxiety for intuition
That pit in your stomach isn’t telling you something’s wrong with the situation. It’s telling you something’s wrong with abandoning yourself in the situation.
The Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree and realized: You can’t find peace in other people’s approval because it’s not actually yours to find.
The Teaching You Don’t Want to Hear
The Buddha was blunt about this in a way that modern spirituality tries to soften:
“Even if you could make everyone in the world happy with you, it would only last until circumstances changed. And circumstances always change.”
Translation: Your plan to be universally liked is impossible and will destroy you in the attempt.
Some people will like you.
Some people won’t.
Some people will like you until they don’t.
Some people won’t like you until they do.
And none of it has anything to do with your worth.
The variable is their perception, their mood, their needs, their wounds, their moment in time.
You’re trying to control something that changes based on factors you can’t see, don’t understand, and have no access to.
It’s like trying to stop the weather by worrying about it.
The Freedom Practice (Not Comfortable, But Liberating)
The Buddha didn’t meditate his way out of people-pleasing. He practiced his way out.
Here’s the practice. It’s uncomfortable. It works.
Week 1: Notice the Performance
Don’t change anything yet. Just notice:
- When you edit what you were going to say
- When you laugh at something that isn’t funny
- When you agree when you actually disagree
- When you shrink to make someone else comfortable
- When you apologize for taking up space
Write it down. “Today I performed by: _______”
Just awareness. No judgment yet.
Week 2: Name the Fear
Every time you catch yourself performing, ask:
“What am I afraid will happen if I don’t?”
They’ll think I’m difficult.
They’ll stop liking me.
They’ll reject me.
I’ll be alone.
I’ll be too much.
Write down the fear. Look at it. Is it true? Is it actually happening? Or is it a story you’re telling yourself?
Week 3: Do One Honest Thing Per Day
Not huge. Not dramatic. Just ONE moment of truth:
- Say what you actually think
- Disagree (kindly) when you disagree
- Set a boundary without apologizing
- Let someone be disappointed
- Take up the space you actually need
Notice: The catastrophe you feared probably didn’t happen.
And if someone DID get upset? Notice that too. Notice who gets upset when you stop performing. That’s information.
Week 4: Practice the Buddha’s Question
When anxiety about being liked hits, ask yourself what the Buddha asked:
“Is this in my control?”
Their opinion of you? No.
Your behavior? Yes.
Whether they like you? No.
Whether you act with integrity? Yes.
How they interpret your words? No.
Whether your words are true and kind? Yes.
You’re exhausting yourself trying to control the left column. The Buddha says: Focus on the right column.
What Happened After the Buddha Left
When Siddhartha walked away from the palace, some people were devastated.
His father was furious. His wife felt abandoned. The whole kingdom talked about how selfish he was.
And he went anyway.
Not because he didn’t care. Because he cared about truth more than approval.
Years later, after enlightenment, he came back. Taught them. Many of them became his students.
But he couldn’t have taught them if he’d stayed in the cage to keep them comfortable.
The irony: The people who were mad at him for leaving eventually thanked him for the teachings he could only give BECAUSE he left.
Your people-pleasing is preventing you from giving your actual gifts.
The Hard Truth About Who You’ll Lose
When you stop performing, some people will leave.
The Buddha lost:
- Friends who liked the prince, not the seeker
- Family who needed him to play a role
- Followers who wanted comfort, not truth
You’ll lose:
- People who needed you small
- Relationships built on your self-abandonment
- Approval from those who required your silence
This is not a failure. This is a filtration.
The Buddha’s teaching: “Better to travel alone than with a fool who thinks you should stay small.”
(He was less polite about it, but you get the idea.)
For Your 3 AM
If you’re lying there replaying conversations, wondering if people are mad, crafting apologetic texts for boundaries you have every right to set:
You’re in the palace. The comfortable cage. The place that looks like paradise but feels like prison.
The Buddha walked away at 29. You can start walking now.
Not away from everyone. Away from the performance.
Toward the self that doesn’t need to be liked by everyone to know it’s worthy.
Some people won’t like that version of you. Those aren’t your people.
The ones who stay when you stop performing? Those are your people.
The Buddha spent 29 years being liked by everyone and hating himself.
He spent the next 45 years being himself and changing the world.
Which version do you want?
The Practice for Tonight
Before you sleep, write this:
“I am not responsible for how I am received. I am responsible for how I show up.”
The Buddha under the Bodhi tree.
You in your bed at 3 AM.
Same teaching.
You can’t control whether they like you. You can control whether you abandon yourself to try.
Choose accordingly.
The root of suffering is attachment. The root of freedom is letting go – even of the need to be liked.
—Nizar Al Haddad