MY THERAPIST SAYS I need to be more assertive. I’m a ‘people pleaser’, apparently. I’m not sure if I agree with her, but I nodded and smiled anyway.

I probably got it from my mother, who wasn’t a single parent but did the lion’s share of the parenting. Cart-wheeling through the house, deliriously performing multiple tasks at once, a domestic Tasmanian devil. She put the needs of everyone else ahead of her own and we took it entirely for granted.

There’s a cultural dimension too. Something written deep with the Irish genetic code abhors a fuss. We start small and then pack our needs even tighter, giving up physical and emotional space for whoever might need it.

Negative emotions are bottled up, only to explode later at something unrelated. When the European Central Bank imposed austerity on the bold children of the Mediterranean after the 2008 banking collapse, the Greeks demonstrated in the street. In Ireland, we grumbled, accepted the terms without a quibble, then years later staged mass demonstrations when the government tried to upgrade our national water infrastructure. Politically, it was like having a bad day at the office, not standing up to your boss, and then shouting at your kids when you get home from work. 

The challenge of honesty

The woman I’m dating finds it frustrating when I’m not direct. She’s from Spain, so she has no difficulty expressing how she feels. In her culture, people are not self-conscious about telling you what they’re thinking, as they’re thinking it. The whole body becomes an instrument of communication – words alone are insufficient. They come from a once great empire that collapsed under the weight of its own silver, only to be strangled by years of repressive fascist rule.

Flailing limbs and agonised facial expressions are not just about conveying a message, but a means to etch out your place in the public sphere. ‘Here I am!’ the Spanish appear to be telling the world. ‘Observe me as I complain about the weather, the food, whatever. I exist, I have needs, and I want you to see me’.

Being honest with myself and the people around me is something I’m trying to work on. But when is being too truthful with someone also a little unkind? I went on a first date years ago with a French woman, who texted me afterwards to say she wouldn’t like to see me again. After years of getting ghosted, I was taken aback by the blunt feedback. Open communication is one thing, but no one needs a withering Google review after a bad date.

It’s a matter of personal opinion as to whether it’s more polite to text someone to say you’d rather not see them again, or just disappear. My view is that the former is more mature, but there’s nothing wrong with a little white lie. Something like ‘Lovely to meet you tonight. But I’ve been framed for a murder I didn’t commit, so I’m escaping to Paraguay via cargo ship in the morning.’ You’re getting your message across while protecting the other person’s ego.

Self care

Being honest with ourselves and the people around us is good spiritual hygiene. It’s good for your professional life too. In the workplace, it’s usually the most assertive person who goes farthest. You know the type, the person who sings loudly about their achievements, whether they’re responsible for the labour or not.

In my past life working in an office, I nicknamed myself ‘the human toilet’. Other people’s crap inevitably ended up swirling around my desk. I never pushed back. I lacked the confidence to say no, but more than that – I wasn’t really sure what it was I should be doing.

I let others decide what it was I should be focusing on, and — surprise, surprise – what they felt I should be working on was usually the dull tasks that they didn’t want to do themselves.

Knowing what you want, then, is the hard part. You don’t need a five-year plan, but saying ‘no’ to friends, colleagues or your partner when your plate is full is a good start. If you feel someone is letting you down, let them know in a measured way.

In other words, don’t push the feeling down into your stomach, bathe it in a layer of red wine, leave it to stew over time, and then throw it up everywhere at the office Christmas party. Not that I ever did that.

Peter Flanagan is an Irish comedian and writer. You can find him on Twitter @peterflanagan and Instagram @peterflanagancomedy.