How to Speak Up for Yourself Even If You Feel Like an Asshole

For about eight years, I have been getting foot massages at a spa down the street from where I live.

I like to go there because it’s convenient. Duh. And because 80% of the time the foot massages are amazing. The rest of the time, they are only mediocre.

Even though it’s anti-climactic when they aren’t great, they are never bad, and the chase for the hit of a perfect foot massage is enough to trigger the craving all over again in a month or two, even though I know that a mediocre massage is statistically possible every once in a while.

But a few weeks ago, instead of accepting my fate during an unexceptional experience, I made a different choice.

Actually, I take that back. I made a series of different choices. Some I’m proud of. Others taught me I still have some shit to work through.

There were red flags from the beginning.

One of the young ladies who work at the front desk knows exactly who I am. The others do not, which is fine because they are perfectly capable of checking people in.

On that day, the young lady working at the front desk, whom I had never seen before, seemed confused that I was even there. Like, it was a total mystery that someone had walked through the front door of an open business and was interested in the service they provided. I told her I had an appointment. She still seemed baffled.

Even worse, she had the Gen Z attitude of not caring enough to even look if I had a reservation. I couldn’t tell if she was intentionally trying to go off memory, didn’t know how to look up reservations, or if she truly didn’t give a shit about how to do her job. She simply looked at me like she was expecting me to leap over the counter and pull up my own reservation.

Trust me, if I knew how, I would have.

But I didn’t, so I pulled out my phone. “Here is my email with the confirmation number,” I told her.

“I don’t need it,” she said because suddenly, since I was putting her in a position of trying at least one tactic to find my appointment reservation, she magically found it by actually searching for it in the system.

Then, she whisked me to a back room which I had never been to before. It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but it didn’t have the same Zen ambiance as the main room because it had institutional white lights and décor. I didn’t see the washers and dryers, but I could tell they were right outside the room because I heard the chime of the cycle ending.

Oh great.

Then, the massage therapist came in. One of the first things she did was cover my eyes with a cloth. After soaking my feet and massaging my head, she started massaging my feet.

Except she wasn’t massaging them. She was just loosely rubbing them. I pulled my eye covering off to look at her and asked her politely to use firmer pressure.

There are many older versions of me that would not have done this because Old Me used to be terrified to speak up about anything. Growing up, my mom was extremely angry and critical, and I had to constantly bear her wrath. It was a lot. Speaking up about even seemingly mundane things often brought on a verbal barrage of anger and criticism, so it was safer to keep my mouth shut.

I felt like a huge burden to her, which brought up a ton of shame of embarrassment. The more I could do to minimize this, the less I had to reflect on how my own mother didn’t love me the way I desperately wanted her to.

But after doing a ton of inner work to heal myself, New Me can at least speak up about firmer pressure.

I mean, I paid for this massage. I deserve the pressure I want!

The massage therapist complied with firmer pressure, but something still felt off. That’s when I realized she was wearing rubber gloves and that was causing her hands to glide over my skin instead of applying any pressure whatsoever to my feet. As long as she was wearing gloves, this was going to be a foot rub, not a foot massage.

This was a challenge that was uncomfortable for even New Me. Because I understood the gloves were probably for sanitary reasons, but I did take a shower before coming, and she soaked my feet before starting. My feet were clean.

Even though I felt all weird and awkward about it, I asked, “Is it possible to not wear gloves? Your hands are sliding off my skin with gloves, and I would like harder pressure. I took a shower before I came. My feet are clean.”

Then, she did something that made the recovering people-pleaser in me cringe: She looked visibly uncomfortable.

Oh my God, I fucked up. I need to say something to make her comfortable.

No. You paid for this massage. And it’s a reasonable request to ask her to remove her gloves. She has the right to say no.

I could feel the anxiety coming to the surface as she got up and left the room.

Oh my God. This is turning into a thing. I don’t want this to be a thing. I hate being a burden to other people.

She quickly returned with the front desk girl, who asked, “Is there a problem with the pressure?”

Oh okay, I think the problem is that massage therapist doesn’t speak fluent English. This is okay. Everything is okay.

Except my anxiety wasn’t getting the message because now I had to explain the situation to someone else, and my chest was getting tight, which wasn’t helping.

New Me stepped up and explained the situation. “I asked her for firmer pressure, but it’s not possible because she is wearing gloves, so I asked her to take off her gloves. My feet are clean. But if she can’t take off the gloves, can I please have another massage therapist without gloves?”

Even though the anxiety was exploding in my chest about speaking up, I was proud of making a direct ask without minimizing or over-explaining. Just the facts.

Despite being indifferent when I walked in, the front desk girl surprisingly swiftly sprang into action and got me another massage therapist.

Hell yes! I am so proud of myself for speaking up! This is proof that it’s safe to speak up!

The new male massage therapist understood the assignment.

There was only one problem with his firm pressure. It was way too hard and extremely painful. My body tensed up with every excruciating glide up and down my fifth metatarsal.

I couldn’t breathe.

But I can’t say anything. I already spoke up twice. I’m already a burden.

Bitch, this hurts! You didn’t pay to be fucking tortured.

I am embarrassed to admit this, but the only reason I had the courage to speak up for a third time was because I was in so much pain.

“Can you please use slightly softer pressure?” I asked. As I covered my eyes back up, I saw a look on his face that I interpreted as This fucking difficult white girl. I better get a good tip.

That was obviously my interpretation, but in my anxiety fog, that was the only possible explanation.

He did ease up with the pressure, but it was weird because he would still go into bouts of intense pressure where it was unbearably painful.

So, you’re probably thinking that because I have done so much inner work on myself and had already practiced speaking up three times in this appointment, that it would be no problem to speak up again.

I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t speak up again as he continued to hurt me.

I felt like such a burden, and the shame and embarrassment from the thought of further bothering him was too much, so I didn’t say anything, even when the pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe.

At one point I started crying because I truly believed I deserved the pain because I was such a piece of shit for not having the courage to speak up a fourth time, and I never had the courage to speak up to my mom, and how fucking sad it was how my mom always treated me like I was a thorn in her eye even though I was just a little girl with blonde curly hair and a ton of love in her heart who wanted to be loved.

The shame spiral lasted the rest of the session.

Luckily, New Me knew not to stay in that emotional state, so when I got home, I started unpacking what the fuck had just happened.

I asked for firmer pressure, got assaulted on my metatarsals, and somehow left feeling like I was the asshole.

But underneath all that was a belief I’ve spent years working to heal: My needs are a burden to other people.

I had spoken up three times during that appointment. THREE TIMES.

Many older versions of me wouldn’t have spoken up once. I would have quietly suffered through the entire appointment, tipped generously, thanked everyone profusely, and then gone home furious that I’d just paid someone to make me miserable.

But instead of recognizing how far I’d come, I was beating the shit out of myself for the one time I couldn’t bring myself to speak up again.

When I was little, having needs often meant being met with anger or criticism. So, I learned to minimize them, to be easy, and to figure things out myself. And when I couldn’t make myself small enough to avoid my mom’s anger, I learned to feel ashamed of myself.

Decades later, there I was, lying on a massage table, physically hurting because I was terrified of inconveniencing someone. And when I couldn’t find the courage to speak up, I turned that same anger and criticism on myself.

Why can’t I just say something?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I’ve done all this inner work, and I STILL can’t speak up for myself!

Except there was nothing wrong with me. I was having a hard time.

And that’s okay. I’d forgotten that having a hard time doesn’t mean I deserve to be punished for it.

This is something I think we get wrong about personal growth. We expect ourselves to reach some magical level of healing where old beliefs never show up again. We set a boundary once and think we should never struggle with boundaries again. Or we speak up for ourselves three times and then feel like a complete fucking failure when we can’t do it a fourth.

And if this sounds ridiculous, remember that our subconscious doesn’t work on reason. It follows commands that are driven by our beliefs and conditioned behaviors.

But the goal isn’t to become the person who never gets triggered, never feels anxious, or never falls into an old pattern.

The goal is to recognize what’s happening and learn how to consciously respond differently, instead of running on subconscious autopilot, including how we treat ourselves when we struggle.

Instead of asking, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

I’m learning to ask, “How can I respond to myself with the compassion I didn’t always receive growing up?

I needed to give myself permission to disappoint someone, reassurance that having a preference didn’t make me difficult, and I needed to remember that someone else’s facial expression isn’t a reliable indicator of my worth. Most of all, I needed to stop demanding that I handle every uncomfortable situation perfectly.

Because I deserved compassion when I was a little girl who was afraid to speak up. And I still deserve compassion as a forty-six-year-old woman who sometimes struggles with the exact same thing.

And this doesn’t just apply to speaking up during a foot massage.

It applies to asking for a raise when your boss is already stressed, telling a client your rates without immediately offering a discount, or saying no to another unpaid favor when you’re already drowning in work.

Because when you’ve spent your life believing your needs are a burden, asking for more money can feel just as uncomfortable as asking someone to stop hurting you.

And sometimes the price of keeping everyone else comfortable is a lot more than one shitty foot massage.

So if you’re doing the work to change old patterns and still find yourself people-pleasing, overexplaining, shrinking, or staying quiet when you desperately want to say something, I want you to remember this:

The fact that an old belief showed up doesn’t mean all your progress disappeared.

And the fact that you struggled doesn’t mean you deserve to be ashamed of yourself.

You can recognize where you abandoned yourself without abandoning yourself all over again for doing it.

I could have spent the rest of the day thinking about how pathetic it was that a grown-ass woman who teaches other women about self-worth and identity couldn’t simply tell a massage therapist to stop hurting her.

But that would have been another version of the same pattern.

Sometimes healing is as simple as self-compassion.

Insight Is Cute. Now Act.

Realizing you’ve spent decades making yourself uncomfortable to keep everybody else comfortable is powerful.

But recognizing the pattern doesn’t automatically make it easy to change.

This week, catch one moment where you want to speak up but feel guilty, anxious, or embarrassed about doing it:

You paid $180 for a service you’re unhappy with, but you smile and say, “It’s perfect!” because you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.

Your boss hands you another dumpster-fire project, and you say, “No problem!” even though you’re already drowning in work.

Someone makes an inappropriate comment, and you laugh along because calling it out feels more uncomfortable than pretending it didn’t bother you.

Before you automatically make yourself uncomfortable to protect someone else’s comfort, ask:

What do I actually want to say?

What am I afraid will happen if I say it?

Whose reaction am I anticipating, and do I actually know how this person will respond?

Then, practice saying what you mean without apologizing for having a perfectly reasonable need, preference, or boundary.

And here’s the part I learned the hard way:

If you can’t bring yourself to speak up, don’t turn around and punish yourself for it.

Notice what happened. Get curious about why it felt so difficult. Give yourself the compassion you needed in that moment.

And try again when you’re ready.

Because the goal isn’t to become some perfectly healed woman who never gets anxious, people-pleases, or struggles with boundaries.

The goal is to stop abandoning yourself, even when you’re having a hard time standing up for yourself.

Okay, But Now What?

If you’ve ever stayed quiet when something hurt, felt guilty asking for what you wanted, or beaten yourself up afterward for not speaking up, there’s a reason that reaction may feel so automatic.

And here’s where that shit gets expensive.

The same childhood belief that makes you afraid to inconvenience a massage therapist may also be the reason you can’t tell a client your price without apologizing, ask your boss for a raise without delivering a twenty-slide PowerPoint, or say no to another unpaid favor.

Different behaviors. Same belief: My needs are a burden.

And until you start questioning that story, you may keep repeating it in your relationships, your work, and your bank account.

That’s exactly why I created my free Money Story Finder.

It helps you get nosy about where your money beliefs may have started, recognize how they’re still influencing your behavior, and question whether Adult You actually wants to keep living by those rules.

Because being afraid to ask for what you want is uncomfortable enough.

You don’t need it fucking up your finances, too.

👉 Download the free The Money Story Finder eBook here

P.S. Ever paid for someone else’s lobster when you ordered a salad?

That might be financial fawning, and holy shit, can it get expensive.

In this video, I’m breaking down how people-pleasing can turn into financial self-abandonment, why your childhood experiences may have taught you to prioritize everyone else’s comfort over your own bank account, and how to tell the difference between genuine generosity and giving because you’re terrified of disappointing someone.

Plus, I’m sharing one action step to help you catch the pattern before you crunch on lettuce while they are crunching off shells.

👉 Watch: Financial Fawning: When People Pleasing Starts Costing You Money

With love and a whole lot of glow,

Angie

https://www.innerglowbyangie.com/

I help you rewrite the childhood stories that are keeping Adult You quiet, overworked, and underpaid, so you can say what you fu*king mean, know your worth, and make more money.

Because you deserve to feel excited about your own life.

Through my signature GLOW Method, I combine money story rewriting, identity work, practical money strategy, and real-time action to help women stop playing small, use their voice with confidence, and become the kind of woman who naturally attracts more money, opportunities, visibility, and fulfillment.

I’m the author of Running in Slippers, a raw and vulnerable memoir about my journey from self-loathing and a suicide attempt to self-love and thriving. Life kicked me in the a$$, and, in hindsight, I needed it to.

I have moved from Chicago to Hawaii on my own, jumped out of a helicopter and into the ocean Navy SEAL-style, bungee jumped, skydived, and cliff jumped, yet I am still terrified about allowing myself to be seen.