There’s a voice that shows up in almost every conversation I have about choice.
It arrives just as someone begins to feel clear about what they want. Right when the path forward starts to feel obvious. And it always asks the same question:
But what will they think?
Last month, I was walking with a friend who mentioned her book club’s recent discussion about career transitions—how many felt stuck between what they knew they wanted and what they thought they should want.
One member had been dreaming of opening a pottery studio. She had the skills, modest funding, even a location in mind. But she couldn’t leave her marketing job.
“Everyone will think I’m having a midlife crisis,” she’d said. “They’ll wonder why I’m throwing away my career for something so frivolous.”
Another was considering homeschooling her struggling teenage daughter—the girl had even asked for the change. But the mother hesitated.
“People will assume I can’t handle public school,” she’d shared. “They’ll think I’m overprotective.”
As my friend recounted this, I found myself thinking about how often we make “they” the decision-maker in our lives.
We give this invisible audience such power. We imagine their judgments, anticipate their questions, and then reshape our choices to avoid their imagined disapproval.
But here’s what struck me: both women were making major life decisions based on what anonymous “they” might think.
“They” weren’t specific people with names and faces. They were a composite, a blur of assumptions drawn from social media posts, overheard conversations, cultural messages, and old voices from the past.
I’ve done this too.
A few years ago, I found myself explaining to friends why I was making shifts to how I worked, not because I owed them an explanation, but because I was afraid they’d think I was losing momentum professionally. The truth was simpler: I wanted more time to focus on the conversation of choice. But somehow I felt I needed to justify work that fueled me to what others expected of me.
When I really examined it, the “they” I was worried about weren’t even people whose opinions I particularly valued. They were an amalgamation of expectations I’d absorbed about what ambition should look like.
When my friend first shared these stories, both women were still stuck—the potter remained in marketing, the mother kept her daughter in traditional school despite the daily struggles. Both were making choices to avoid disappointing people who weren’t even paying attention.
And that’s the thing about “they”—they’re often not watching as closely as we think they are.
Most people are too busy managing their own invisible audiences to spend much time judging ours.
Here’s what I’m learning: The voice that asks “what will they think?” is usually a signal to pause and ask better questions.
- Who specifically am I trying not to disappoint?
- What am I afraid this choice will say about me?
- If I stripped away the need to look consistent, capable, or impressive—what would I choose?
Sometimes the most courageous thing we can do is disappoint “them” so we don’t disappoint ourselves.
For your reflection:
- What decision are you making more complicated because you’re managing how it might be perceived?
- If you could choose without explaining yourself to anyone, what would you do?
- What might become possible if you let “them” think whatever they’re going to think?
Just last week, my friend texted me an update: the pottery studio woman had finally made the leap. She told the book club that the anticipation of judgment was far worse than the reality. Most people were supportive. Some were curious. A few seemed indifferent.
None of them thought she was having a crisis. They thought she was brave.
If you’re holding a choice that feels right inside but hard to defend publicly, you’re not alone in that tension. Sometimes the path forward becomes clear when we stop trying to make it make sense to everyone else.
If you’re wrestling with your own version of “they,” I’d be honored to explore it with you. You can book a session to help you separate the real voices worth listening to from the imaginary ones that might be holding you back.
I’d love to help you return to your own knowing.
