Hey friend,
Last week I was on a coaching call — me, paying, on the clock — and she played back what she thought I'd said. It wasn't quite right. And I felt the old pull instantly:
just nod. Let it go. She's trying so hard; let her feel good about it.
That's my half-second. Not a dramatic exit — a kindness.
I'd say "yeah, maybe that's it," and hand my own truth away so the other person felt like they nailed it.
(For years I got mistyped as an Enneagram 2 — this “make everyone feel good” reflex is exactly why. Turns out I’m a 7 and discovering that mismatch kicked off my whole unraveling.)
Even when I was the one paying for the help.
Even when my honesty was the entire point.
I’d love to say this particular people-pleasing habit shifted with the others — that I noticed, named, and chose differently when it came to doctors, therapists, and coaches at the same time I started showing up honest in other major aspects of my life…but it just didn’t click as quick.
The old habit of thinking that if I held my tongue, softened the truth, and avoided being seen as disagreeable it somehow equaled kindness, humility, politeness…goodness…was set in deep.
What turned it for me was watching my daughter at a physical therapy appointment.
When the therapist asked, "Did that help?"
— my girl just said, "No. No difference."
Plain as that. No rudeness. No sugarcoating. Just plain honesty.
It hit me like a bell: her honesty wasn't rude. It was the most helpful thing in the room. It's how the therapist knew what to do next. It's how my daughter could actually heal.
It seems so obvious now, but I swear, I just didn’t see it that way before.
Softening your truth doesn't protect anyone.
It just leaves everyone — including you — working from the wrong information.
So this time, with my coach, I said it. Warmly, but true:
"Actually, not quite — can I push back a little? Here's what it felt like for me."
And the room didn't fall apart.
It got more honest. And I felt a whole lot more seen and understood.
Your Pinkie-Toe practice this week:
Find one place where someone's helping you — a coach, a doctor, a trainer, your hairstylist — and give the true answer instead of the comfortable one.
Even just "honestly, no difference."
Or a, “Can we try something different?”
That's not unkind. It's the most useful thing you can offer.
The catch, of course, is that the true sentence is almost impossible to find when you're frozen in the half-second. That's the whole problem — and it's exactly why I'm building a room where we practice this together, before we ever need it.
It's called the Good Girl Ghosting Reset, and right now I'm gathering a small circle of Founding Sisters to shape it from the inside, at the lowest price it will ever be.
The founding doors close soon. Reply to this email with the word RESET and I'll send you all the details. No big pitch, no push, no pressure. Just information I really wish I’d had a few years ago.
I'll meet you back here next Friday — where we get into the values you'd swear are yours… and the ones you only inherited. (Sneakier than it sounds.)
With Joy,
Rachel
P.S. If this one stirred something, there's more in the same vein this week (no homework — only if you want it): the new episode of The Joyful Rebel, "The Half-Second Where You Disappear," and the deeper companion essay over on my Substack, Goodbye, Good Girl — "You Don't Disappear All at Once."
Same thread, more room to breathe.
