The Price Of Being A Professional People Pleaser
NAPERVILLE - WHEATON - GLEN ELLYN - ELMHURST - GENEVA - ST. CHARLES - BARRINGTON - BARTLETT PHOTOGRAPHER
The Golden Domes of St. Elizabeth’s Church between the fall leaves in Wiesbaden, Germany
Happy Sunday my friend!
It's been one of those weeks that has felt incredibly full, although much of the busyness has been on the personal side of life. With my dad no longer driving because of his dementia, our family has taken over getting my parents where they need to go, which, more often than not, means me. Between doctor's appointments, hair appointments, dropping dad off at Lifetime Fitness, going for walks with dad, and a medical scan, we've spent quite a bit of time together. And while it certainly makes for busy days, I truly don't mind. It's extra time with my parents, and that's something I don't take for granted.
We also welcomed our niece and nephew from Colorado for a quick visit Wednesday through Thursday. In between all of that, I managed an extended family session, a family mini, a senior session with a young lady I've photographed since she was little, and headshots for the Alice Chin Group. And, of course, we squeezed in our beloved Mimi and Papa sleepover with Ellis!
There's that saying, “The days are long, but the years are short.” And goodness, isn't that the truth? Our family has always had a way of packing as much life as possible into every single day. This week was certainly no exception, and somehow, it flew by in the blink of an eye.
But somewhere in the middle of all that busyness, I've been thinking about the difference between doing things for others because we genuinely want to and doing them because we feel we can't say no. I've always been someone who loves making people happy, whether it's my family, my friends, or my clients. And while I consider that a wonderful quality, I'm beginning to realize that it can come at a cost.
Which brings me to this week's essay, The Price of Being a People Pleaser. It's about a particularly difficult afternoon, a lesson that took me 34 years to learn, and the realization that being kind to others shouldn't mean forgetting to be kind to ourselves.
Some BTS from this week.
Soft Focus: The Price of Being a People Pleaser
I've spent 34 years building a business around making people happy.
Thirty-four years of early mornings, late nights, missed dinners, countless hours of editing, and pouring everything I have into creating something beautiful for the people who trust me with their photographs.
And for the most part, I've loved every minute of it.
Well, almost every minute.
Because last Friday, somewhere in the middle of a busy Chicago street, with cars moving around me and a client telling me, for what felt like the hundredth time, exactly how to do my job, I had a realization.
I don't think I want to do this anymore.
Not photography.
Not creating.
Not the business I've spent more than three decades building.
I mean the part where I allow someone to make me feel small simply because they're paying me.
And it took nearly getting hit by a car to figure that out.
Let me explain.
I've had a client for several years who, from the very beginning, has been what I would politely describe as challenging.
And by challenging, I mean really challenging.
She is extraordinarily particular. Every detail matters. Every image must meet an exact expectation, and even the smallest perceived imperfection becomes something that needs to be corrected.
I remember one session in particular when she purchased nearly 200 photographs. In every single image, she insisted there was a tiny blemish above her son's lip that needed to be removed.
I couldn't see it.
I enlarged the images. I studied his face. I searched for whatever it was she was seeing.
Eventually, I found myself in Photoshop removing anything remotely resembling a blemish, hoping I might accidentally correct the offending spot.
Multiply that experience by hundreds of images and several sessions, and you begin to understand what working with this client has been like.
Now, there's something important I should explain about this woman.
She isn't loud. She doesn't scream or bark orders. In fact, quite the opposite.
She speaks in the sweetest voice.
Every request is delivered pleasantly, almost delicately, as though she's asking for the smallest favor in the world.
And I suspect she understands that old saying about catching more flies with honey.
But here's what I've learned.
A request doesn't necessarily become reasonable simply because it's delivered sweetly.
And being spoken to in a pleasant tone doesn't always mean you're being treated with respect.
Because underneath all that sweetness was an extraordinary amount of control.
There was very little room for my professional judgment, my creativity, or even the occasional suggestion that we might do something differently.
And perhaps that's part of why I had tolerated it for so long.
It's much easier to recognize someone being disrespectful when they're raising their voice.
It's considerably harder when they're smiling while refusing to take no for an answer.
But here's the thing.
She was a wonderful client financially.
Her orders were substantial, sometimes thousands of dollars, and as a small business owner, that's not something you simply dismiss.
Besides, I've always been a people pleaser.
I want my clients to love their photographs. I want them to be happy with their experience. I want them to walk away feeling that every dollar they spent was worth it.
So I accommodated.
And accommodated.
And accommodated some more.
I convinced myself that this was simply part of running a successful business.
Until Friday.
We were photographing her second son for his high school senior portraits in downtown Chicago. She wanted to recreate the photographs I had taken of her oldest son the year before, in front of the Chicago Board of Trade.
And when I say recreate, I don't mean something similar.
I mean exactly the same.
Same location. Same poses. Same expressions. Same angles. Same everything.
Before the session even began, I walked up to greet her son, who was standing with another woman whose arms were overflowing with bags and belongings.
I smiled and asked, "And who do we have here?"
"Oh, she's just here to carry everything," he replied.
I waited for an introduction.
Nothing.
"Yes, but who do we have here?" I asked again.
"She's just with us."
I asked a third time.
Finally, he told me her name was Maria and that they had paid her to help for the day.
I introduced myself.
I don't know why that moment bothered me as much as it did, but it did.
Maybe because I believe everyone deserves the simple courtesy of being acknowledged. Maybe because watching someone struggle under the weight of everyone else's belongings while being treated as though she were invisible struck a nerve.
Or maybe because, looking back, it was a small preview of how the afternoon would unfold.
As the session went on, Maria seemed to be carrying everything. Bags, clothing, shoes, whatever was needed for the next photograph. Her arms were constantly full.
And Dan, being Dan, kept stepping in to help her.
He would take things from her arms, carry what he could, and try to lighten her load.
Nobody asked him to.
He just saw someone who needed help and offered it.
It's such a simple thing, isn't it?
Noticing another human being.
Treating them with kindness.
Recognizing that just because someone is being paid to do a job doesn't mean they deserve any less consideration or respect.
During a few quiet moments when we were able to speak privately, Maria told me that she had tried to quit working for this family more than once.
And each time, she said, she was offered more money to stay.
I remember thinking about that.
Because, in a very different way, wasn't I doing something similar?
I had continued working with a client whose demands had made previous sessions incredibly difficult, partly because the financial rewards were substantial.
Different circumstances, certainly. I don't pretend to know Maria's financial situation or the choices available to her.
But something about that conversation stayed with me.
How often do we convince ourselves to tolerate something because the money is good?
And at what point does the cost become greater than the compensation?
Then there was the luggage.
My client had arrived with an enormous suitcase and clothing on hangers. Inside the suitcase, among other things, was a photography reflector and a collapsible step stool.
For me.
Apparently, she'd decided I might need a reflector to manipulate the light or a stool to photograph her son from a higher angle.
Now, I've been a professional photographer for 34 years.
If I need a reflector, I bring a reflector.
If I need a step stool, I bring a step stool.
I don't say that because I'm above suggestions or collaboration. Quite the opposite. Some of my favorite photographs have come from working together with clients who have wonderful ideas.
But there's a difference between collaborating with someone and having someone attempt to do your job for you.
And by this point, I was beginning to feel less like a photographer and more like an employee being supervised through every minute of her shift.
Meanwhile, there was Maria, managing the suitcase, the clothing, the shoes, and everything else that had been brought along.
And Dan, who kept quietly stepping in to help carry what he could.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
We had all arrived that afternoon to do our jobs.
But somehow, none of us seemed to be trusted to simply do them.
Before we'd even taken our first photograph, Dan, who accompanies me on downtown Chicago sessions to help keep me safe, quietly informed me that my client had already instructed him to tell me not to touch her son's tie.
We hadn't even begun, and the directions were already coming.
Once we reached our location, the real fun started.
For those unfamiliar with downtown Chicago, the area in front of the Board of Trade is a beautiful place to photograph. The architecture is magnificent, and the perspective looking down the street can create an extraordinary image.
But it is also a street.
With cars.
Actual moving cars.
And our plan involved photographing her son in the middle of it.
Normally, I work quickly and carefully, using the crosswalk and brief breaks in traffic to capture what I need.
But this was anything but normal.
We needed a full-length photograph.
Then a closer photograph.
Then a serious expression.
Then a smile.
Then looking away.
Then looking back.
Then squatting.
Then standing.
Then repeating the entire sequence without his tie.
Then changing his shoes.
Then removing his jacket.
Then rolling up his sleeves.
And every single photograph needed to look exactly like the ones I had taken of his brother.
All while my client stood in the street to adjust her son’s clothing, and insist on seeing the images on the back of my camera to make certain I had followed her instructions correctly.
Cars were moving around us.
Dan was watching traffic.
I was watching my client.
And my client was watching the back of my camera.
At one point, I was so distracted and frustrated that I turned to walk away without noticing an approaching car.
Dan grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me back.
I had nearly walked directly in front of a car turning in our direction.
And something inside me snapped.
For the first time in 34 years, I yelled at a client.
Not a polite disagreement.
Not a gentle suggestion that perhaps we should try something different.
I yelled.
Right there on a Chicago street corner.
I was angry. I was frightened. I was frustrated beyond anything I could remember experiencing during a session.
And I was embarrassed.
Not just because I'd lost my temper, but because I had allowed myself to reach that point.
When I tried to explain the danger of what we were doing, she suggested that we simply needed to time everything better with the traffic lights.
She explained that she was accustomed to busy traffic in India and therefore wasn't particularly bothered by it.
I remember standing there thinking that I was risking my safety, my husband's safety, and her son's safety for a photograph.
A photograph.
Something that, at its very best, is supposed to celebrate life.
Not endanger it.
But perhaps the saddest moment of the afternoon had nothing to do with the traffic.
It happened when I tried to explain to his mother that I wanted her younger son's photographs to reflect him.
His personality.
His individuality.
The things that made him different from his older brother.
She wasn't interested.
She wanted the same photographs. The same poses. The same everything.
Throughout the afternoon, whenever another photograph was requested, there seemed to be an explanation.
"His dad wants one without the tie."
"His dad wants to make sure we get one with the sleeves rolled up."
"His dad wants this particular pose."
Now, I've met her husband. And while I certainly can't speak for him, I found myself wondering whether all these requests were actually coming from him.
Apparently, her son was wondering the same thing.
At one point, he challenged his mother right there in front of me.
He insisted that his father wasn't the one requesting all these different photographs.
It was her.
And suddenly, I found myself standing between a mother and son who were arguing about something that had very little to do with photography.
Then he said something that stopped me.
He told her that everyone eventually gives in to her because they simply don't want to hear it anymore.
They stop arguing.
They stop pushing back.
They let her have her way.
Not necessarily because they agree, but because it's easier than continuing the disagreement.
I stood there listening, feeling an uncomfortable sense of recognition.
Because wasn't that exactly what I'd been doing?
For years, I'd found ways to accommodate her requests, even when they seemed unreasonable.
I told myself it was good customer service.
That I was being patient.
That keeping a client happy was simply part of running a business.
But standing there, listening to her son describe what he believed was happening in his own family, I began to wonder how often I'd done the same thing in other areas of my life.
How often had I said yes simply because saying no felt like too much trouble?
How often had I agreed to something I didn't want because I knew disagreeing would create an uncomfortable situation?
And how often had I mistaken keeping the peace for actually having peace?
Because those are two very different things.
One is built on mutual respect.
The other sometimes comes at the expense of your own.
And then, at another point during the session, her son turned to his mother and said something that broke my heart.
"You've mentioned my brother's name more than you've mentioned mine today."
And he was right.
His mother had spent so much of the afternoon talking about his older brother and recreating his photographs that somewhere along the way, this young man's own experience had gotten lost.
I felt terrible for him.
Here he was, celebrating a milestone that should have been entirely his own, and instead, he was being asked to step into someone else's photographs.
I couldn't help but wonder how that must have felt.
To be standing there, dressed for your senior portraits, at a moment in your life that should be about who you are and who you're becoming, and feeling as though you're simply recreating a moment that belonged to someone else.
And then I thought about Maria.
Still there. Still carrying everyone's belongings. Still quietly doing what she had been brought along to do.
And somewhere in the middle of that afternoon, I realized that the three of us were carrying very different things.
Maria was carrying everyone else's belongings.
This young man was carrying the expectations of being exactly like his older brother.
And I was carrying 34 years of believing that making everyone else happy was somehow my responsibility.
Three people, all carrying something that perhaps we shouldn't have had to carry.
I don't know Maria's entire story. I don't know what her relationship with this family is like beyond what I witnessed that afternoon and what she chose to share with me. And I certainly don't know everything that goes on in the life of that young man.
But I do know my own story.
And I know that somewhere along the way, I had begun confusing being accommodating with being willing to accept just about anything.
We continued for three hours.
The session was supposed to last two.
By the end, even her son had reached his breaking point. He shouted at his mother that he'd had enough and didn't want another photograph taken.
Dan kept looking at me in disbelief.
I kept looking at the young man with sympathy.
And every so often, I caught myself looking at Maria.
But mostly, I kept thinking about something else.
This family has one more child.
And I don't think I'll be photographing that child's senior portraits.
Not because I don't care about the child.
Not because I don't appreciate the business.
But because, somewhere along the way, I've finally begun to understand that there are things worth far more than a substantial paycheck.
My peace.
My dignity.
My creative freedom.
And my right to be treated with respect.
And just when I thought the afternoon couldn't possibly offer one more lesson, there was the matter of the hundred dollars.
As we were wrapping up, my client approached me and tried to hand me a hundred-dollar bill.
A tip.
She has always done this after our sessions.
Now, perhaps this is simply pride, but I've never been particularly comfortable accepting tips. I own my business. I set my prices. And I believe the fee I've charged is compensation for the work I've agreed to do.
But with this particular client, those tips have always felt different.
Almost like an offering.
Here. Take this hundred dollars, and let's forget about everything I just put you through.
A way of cleansing her conscience, perhaps.
I can't know what she was thinking, but that's certainly how it felt to me.
And after the afternoon we'd just had, the last thing I wanted was her hundred dollars.
I told her no.
Instead, I said I wanted to give it to Maria.
The same Maria who had spent the afternoon carrying everyone's belongings.
My client wasn't particularly happy about that suggestion.
"I take care of my people," she told me. "I'll be giving her a tip."
I looked at her.
"Will you be giving her one hundred dollars?"
She stared directly into my eyes.
"Yes."
"Because otherwise, I want to give this to her."
And then, despite my objections, she shoved the hundred-dollar bill into my hand.
She simply would not take no for an answer.
And there it was again.
One more decision that apparently wasn't mine to make.
I didn't want the money. I had made that perfectly clear.
But even my refusal wasn't being respected.
I stood there holding that hundred-dollar bill, feeling something I hadn't quite been able to put into words all afternoon.
Powerless.
And angry.
Because to me, that money didn't feel like appreciation.
It felt like an attempt to wipe the slate clean.
And perhaps the most frustrating part was realizing how long I'd been allowing money, referrals, and the fear of disappointing people to influence what I was willing to tolerate.
I've spent 34 years building a business I'm enormously proud of. I've worked hard, built wonderful relationships, and given everything I have to creating something meaningful for the people who trust me.
But somewhere along the way, I think I confused being a good business owner with being someone who never says no.
And Friday made me realize just how exhausting that has become.
I wish I could tell you I handled the afternoon beautifully. That I remained calm and gracious through every unreasonable request.
But I didn't.
I lost my temper. I raised my voice. And I'm not particularly proud of that.
Maybe I should have spoken up sooner. Maybe I should have established firmer boundaries years ago.
Maybe the lesson isn't that I finally yelled.
Maybe it's that I waited so long to say no that yelling became the only way I knew how to make myself heard.
Because this wasn't really about one difficult client.
She was simply the straw that broke the camel's back.
I've reached a point in my life where I no longer want to spend my days trying to please people at the expense of my own happiness. Not because I've stopped caring about others, but because I've finally realized that I deserve some of that consideration, too.
And I've made a decision.
There is no amount of money, no potential referral, no future opportunity that will make me willingly accept that kind of treatment again.
I will say no.
And I will be okay.
After the session, Dan and I headed to the West Loop.
I ordered a dirty martini with blue cheese olives.
My absolute favorite.
One I hadn't enjoyed in years.
And then I ordered another.
Because, quite frankly, it had been a two-martini kind of day.
As we sat there, trying to salvage what was left of our afternoon, I thought about how much I still love what I do.
The beautiful light. The interesting locations. The people who trust me to capture moments they'll treasure for a lifetime.
I don't want to lose any of that.
But I no longer want to lose myself in the process.
I don't know if Maria ever got to put those bags down that afternoon. I hope that young man eventually gets photographs that feel like his own.
But I know one thing.
After 34 years of carrying the weight of everyone else's expectations, I've decided it's time to put some of my own baggage down.
And perhaps that's what getting older is really about.
Not becoming less kind. Not becoming less generous. Not caring less about other people.
Just finally understanding that you matter, too.
*This essay and more can be read on my Our Cozy Compound substack
WHAT I’M LOVING THIS WEEK
Inspiring Follow: @buttergirlnyc
Okay, this is a fun one.
Greer Hiltabidle, better known on Instagram as @buttergirlnyc, is a Brooklyn girl who started making homemade butter—and somehow turned it into the most delightful little corner of the internet.
And we're not talking ordinary butter. Think French Onion Soup Butter, Caesar Salad Butter, Grilled Cheese Butter, and most recently, a Crème Brûlée Butter she created for Josie Maran. I haven't actually tried any of it yet, but believe me, Instagram has me convinced I need to.
What I really love, though, is Greer herself. She's funny, real, completely authentic, and just cute as can be. Watching her little butter business take off has been so much fun.
She recently found herself at that terrifying/exciting crossroads of wondering whether she should leave her job and take a chance on doing this full-time.
She took the chance.
And then, because sometimes life has a funny way of rewarding a leap of faith, she received an invitation to cooking school—in Julia Child's home in the South of France.
Suddenly this girl from Brooklyn who decided to follow a crazy little dream about butter was standing in Julia Child's kitchen in Provence, cooking.
I mean... come on.
If that isn't a reminder to follow the things that light you up—even when you have absolutely no idea where they're going—I don't know what is.
This girl is living her best life, and I am thoroughly enjoying watching it unfold.
What I’m Loving: Hulken Forest Green Signature Rolling Tote Bag
Okay, this is one of those things that makes me wonder how I’ve gone this long without one.
The Hulken is basically an enormous tote bag on wheels—and I can think of about a hundred ways I could use it. Hauling things back and forth to the studio, farmers market trips, groceries, flowers, props for shoots, travel... basically all of the schlepping I seem to do on a daily basis.
It’s lightweight, water-resistant, folds flat when you aren’t using it, and those little 360-degree wheels mean you can load it up and roll it instead of carrying everything. The large can hold up to 66 pounds, which feels slightly dangerous for someone like me who tends to think, Oh, I can fit one more thing.
And naturally, I’m drawn to the Forest Green. Practical, useful, and actually good-looking—which is pretty much my favorite combination.
I have a feeling this could become one of those things that lives permanently in the back of my car.
Local-ish: Kyle Johnson—Personal Trainer
Okay, this week’s Local-ish is for anyone who keeps saying, “I really need to start working out…” and then promptly finds something else to do.
Meet Kyle Johnson. Kyle is a personal trainer and is incredibly knowledgeable at what he does. He has worked with everyone from Division I and high school athletes to people who simply want to get stronger, feel better, and have someone who actually knows what they’re doing tell them what to do at the gym.
And no, you absolutely do not need to be an athlete to train with him.
Kyle is great at meeting people wherever they are. He works with athletes looking to improve performance, people who simply want to build strength and feel better, and clients working around injuries or transitioning from physical therapy who need someone knowledgeable to help them continue building strength safely.
Basically, whether you’re training for a sport, trying to get stronger, dealing with an old injury, or just tired of wandering around the gym pretending you know what half of those machines do, he can help.
Kyle is currently taking on new clients locally, so consider this the little nudge you’ve been waiting for.
Call or Text 630-915-6517
FROM MY KITCHEN
Who says you can’t have crumble for breakfast?
This has quickly become one of my favorite easy breakfasts. Warm berries, a cinnamon-oat crumble topping, a little honey—and it tastes far more indulgent than it actually is.
The berries, egg whites and chia seeds make it a nutrient-packed way to start the morning, and I love serving it warm with a generous spoonful of Greek yogurt on top for some extra protein. You can also throw a handful of nuts or seeds into the crumble for a little extra crunch. I used pepitas for that warm nutty flavor.
Best of all, it makes a big batch, so you can keep it in the refrigerator and warm up a serving whenever you want one.
Mimi's Homemade Bagels
Prep & cooking time: Approximately 2 hours, including rising
Makes: 8 bagels
Ingredients
1⅓ teaspoons instant yeast
1¼ cups warm water, plus up to ¼ cup more as needed
3½ cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for kneading
1½ teaspoons salt
Toppings — choose your favorites!
Everything bagel seasoning
Shredded Asiago or Parmesan cheese
Sesame seeds
Cinnamon sugar
Instructions
Make the dough. In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the flour, yeast, and salt. Add the warm water and mix using the dough hook until a dough forms. If necessary, add a little additional water at a time. The dough should be moist but firm.
Knead. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for approximately 10 minutes, adding flour as needed, until smooth, elastic, and fairly stiff.
Let it rise. Lightly oil a large bowl and place the dough inside, turning it to coat. Cover with a damp kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place for approximately 1 hour, or until doubled in size.
Shape the bagels. Punch down the dough and allow it to rest for 10 minutes. Divide into 8 equal portions and roll each into a smooth ball. Using a floured finger, poke a hole through the center and gently stretch it until the opening is about one-third the diameter of the bagel.
Rest again. Arrange the shaped bagels on a lightly oiled baking sheet, cover with a damp towel, and allow them to rest for another 10 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 425°F and bring a large pot of water to a boil.
Boil the bagels. Carefully lower a few bagels at a time into the boiling water. Boil for 1–2 minutes on each side, then remove and return to the baking sheet.
Add toppings. While the bagels are still damp from boiling, sprinkle generously with your favorite toppings.
Bake. Bake for 20–25 minutes, or until beautifully golden brown. Allow to cool slightly before slicing and enjoying.
A little tip from Mimi: If you've never made homemade bagels, don't be intimidated by the boiling step. It's what gives them that wonderful chewy texture. And trust me, once you've tasted one fresh from your own oven, you'll understand why.
Studio Happenings
Fall Sessions!
Fall is putting on quite a show this year, and the timing couldn't be more perfect! Our Fall Mini Sessions are happening next weekend, October 24th and 25th, and there's still time to book!
The autumn colors are looking beautiful, and the weather forecast is looking promising, too. If you've been thinking about updating your family photographs or getting a head start on those holiday cards, this is your opportunity!
These relaxed outdoor sessions are all about capturing your family just as you are, surrounded by the gorgeous colors and natural textures of fall. Think cozy sweaters, warm autumn tones, and beautiful, timeless photographs you'll treasure for years to come.
We'll be photographing in the Wheaton/Warrenville area, with additional weekday appointments available throughout October and November.
Spots are limited, so don't wait too long! I'd love to see you and your family in front of my camera this fall.
with love and light,
Alicia Staley Johnson
of Alicia’s Photography
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