Fawning is a survival mechanism that develops in response to trauma—a fourth response alongside the better-known fight, flight, and freeze reactions. Psychotherapist Pete Walker defines fawning as “a response to a threat by becoming more appealing to the threat.” When we fawn, we mirror others’ desires, suppress our own needs, and prioritize external validation to maintain safety. This isn’t simply people-pleasing or codependency—it’s a physiological trauma response that develops when fight or flight aren’t viable options.
Recognizing the signs: are you fawning at work?
For some fawners, it’s hard to identify their fawning because they’re just “meeting expectations” and in that context, fawning looks an awful lot like success. We pursue these paths, in part, because success is safety. It’s a shield. It brings us titles and money and all the things. At least that’s what we are told and sold.
Working at a law firm is the perfect environment for a compulsive fawner. Administrative assistants fawn over lawyers. Associates fawn over partners. Partners fawn over clients. It’s a very clear hierarchy, and self-abandonment is expected. The more hours you bill, the more the firm makes. So, while my client Anthony was at the top of his game, he was also just like the rest of us, at the mercy of the culture he was in—avoiding conflict to gain financial security and access to a secure life.
Anthony was referred to me when his 20-year-old son went to rehab. On paper, Anthony was impressive: Harvard grad, law school, partner in a global powerhouse firm—details that could’ve intimidated me. But I’ve never felt intimidated by Anthony. He is one of the most loving and loyal fathers I’ve ever encountered as a therapist or otherwise. But also, Anthony is a fawner, and fawners want to be liked. With his black tee and salt-and-pepper beard, he logs onto every Zoom session with a cheerful smile that evokes one of my own.
Early in our sessions, Anthony remarked, “I think I’m trying to win therapy.” We both laughed before he continued, “It’s like I’m implementing insights from our work so you can tell me all the progress I’m making. It’s all about the pat on the head.”
How your family dynamics followed you to work
While Anthony’s parents never told him to go to an Ivy League school or to become a lawyer, he always felt he needed to do those things. In a way, it was their lack of interest—he never got approval for anything—that led to his endless quest for validation. As the stakes of achievement kept getting higher, he thought, how can my parents deny me approval now? And yet, they did.
Any time I brought up his parents, he would defend them. Anytime he started to speak about how they hurt him, he would backpedal. “I can’t speak badly about my parents. I’m making them sound like monsters.” He stuck with the party line he had learned over the years: “We are a close and happy family.”
But then, a couple of years into our work together, Anthony received a voicemail that altered his life.
He was in a period of real transformation, beginning to advocate for himself in personal and professional relationships, setting boundaries, and leaning into new interests. He was trying to communicate differently with his parents, expressing apprehension about an upcoming family wedding. It would be the first time his son would be exposed to both extended family and that much drinking since his time in rehab. So, he made himself vulnerable, telling his parents his concerns about his son and how they both might react to this potentially stressful event.
His parent’s reaction to his son’s addiction recovery had always been, “He’s all better by now, right?” Their avoidance made Anthony’s skin crawl. But he dug in, trying to be in real relationship, giving them the benefit of the doubt. “I know you guys are really excited about the wedding, and I am too for a lot of reasons, but I’m also nervous . . .”
It soon became clear that they didn’t want to talk about his genuine concerns, so Anthony just got off the phone. Two hours later, he saw his mom calling back and he let it go to voicemail. When he listened to the message, his stomach dropped. It was a mistaken dial. His parents had accidentally recorded a two-minute, vicious snippet of their private conversation about Anthony and left it as a message on his phone.
“Does he think he has to protect his son forever? He just needs to suck it up and get in line for this wedding! And how do we even believe him in this fight with his sister-in-law, when he’s always exaggerated everything?”
“Unfawning” and breaking the cycle
As Anthony shared what happened, I saw his devastation. “Deep down, I knew all of this was true,” he said to me. “But maybe I needed to hear it. Now I know I wasn’t making it all up.”
After that day, Anthony made a conscious choice to stop living for his parents’ approval. He saw that he couldn’t fawn enough to ever get it. This was all deeply painful, but ultimately freeing. Grief unlocked necessary anger about how long he’d lived his life with a diminished sense of self. And that anger led to change. I call that behavior change “unfawning”—and it’s a powerful, healing step in our recovery journey.
When we learn to unfawn, we learn to detach from our old ways of people-pleasing and tune in to the self we had to abandon long ago. Anthony’s parents didn’t change. Knowing they’d never take personal responsibility; he never confronted them. The culture at his firm didn’t change, and he didn’t have to retire early or find a new career.
His son was living his own life, in a new relationship, starting to find his own way. Anthony was doing the same, changing the way he showed up in every area of his life.
One way he took back his power: He started to lean into the “weird stuff” his family had made fun of, but that he had always been drawn to. Battling a lifetime of messaging, this is not what a man does, he spent a week at a men’s wellness retreat. While some guys swapped the more vulnerable activities for golf and networking, Anthony immersed himself in all the taboos he’d avoided out of ridicule for 50 years.
Anthony’s life is a testament to what happens when we stop fawning. Something finally turned. He dropped the script he’d been reading forever, and in letting it go, he found a life that feels unique, creative, and expansive. Unfawning is a kind of growing up. Especially for those who relied on this safety strategy since childhood, we inadvertently stayed small and childlike and we didn’t know it. We were stuck in time. Unfawning means getting reacquainted with the self we tucked away—to discover who we truly are.
Adapted from Fawning: Why the Need to Please Makes Us Lose Ourselves — and How to Find Our Way Back by Dr. Ingrid Clayton, published by Putnam, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC.