There comes a point, often in our 60s, when we start seeing our past selves with a kind of gentle clarity. Not with criticism, but with recognition. We notice the patterns we carried through life. The adaptations that once kept us safe. The ways we softened ourselves to maintain harmony or connection.
And sometimes we realise we haven’t always lived in alignment with who we truly are.
This has been on my mind recently, and it’s brought me back to something I’ve carried for decades: the fawn response.
I used to believe I was simply being kind. Attentive. Emotionally generous. But now I understand how often that “kindness” came from fear, a need to stay liked, to stay useful, to avoid tension. Many of us only see this clearly later in life, when the pace softens and we finally have space to notice ourselves.
Fawning doesn’t look dramatic.
It looks like warmth, reliability, and being the steady one.
But underneath sits a nervous system on alert. A quiet belief that our safety, emotional, not physical, depends on keeping others comfortable.
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I see this most clearly in one past relationship. At first he was affectionate and attentive. But as the relationship settled into its everyday rhythm, something shifted. I seemed to get things wrong without trying. Even small things, like how I emptied the cafetière, drew disapproval. I found myself shrinking, adjusting, smoothing the atmosphere before anything could erupt.
That’s what fawning does. It draws you closer to what unsettles you.
It tells you that if you are good enough, agreeable enough, invisible enough, you will be spared conflict.
It is exhausting. And unsustainable.
I can see now how much of myself I gave away in the name of keeping the peace. And I can also see how that pattern didn’t end with one relationship.
It showed up in my work too.
Not obviously, but quietly: striving, over-delivering, watching metrics, posting when tired, pushing myself because I felt I “should.”
A professional fawn response.
But something has shifted this year.
It isn’t that I’m disappearing or stepping back from life, if anything, I’m creating more, writing more, speaking more openly, and sharing more consistently.
The difference is where it comes from. I’m not producing to be approved of. I’m not posting to be seen. I’m not striving to stay relevant. I’m stepping into myself, not away.
I’m choosing work that feels aligned.
I’m letting go of what drains me.
I’m doing less client work so I can create more meaningfully.
I’m shaping a life that honours my nervous system instead of overriding it.
In later life, we are offered a rare opportunity:
- to stop performing, stop appeasing, stop bending ourselves to fit.
- To see our old patterns clearly, and then choose differently.
I don’t know exactly what comes next. But I know this; I want the years ahead to be grounded in truth, not compliance. In depth, not performance. In relationships, with others and with myself, that don’t require me to shrink.
If this resonates with you, you may be in this phase too; not stepping back from life, but stepping into the one that finally fits.
The images are stills from my trailcam – roe deer who live in my wood.
