The ‘Pick Me’ mindset and childhood trauma

Women who degrade other women usually do so as an unintentional protective measure

First published at Dahlier

For a long time, I thought I was different—better, even—than other women. I avoided female musicians, dismissed women’s opinions, and rolled my eyes at anything that felt too girly. I prided myself on being one of the boys, believing that aligning myself with men somehow made me smarter, cooler, and above all that feminine drama.

But the truth? I wasn’t different. I was just drowning in internalized misogyny.

The ‘Pick Me’ girl is often mocked, but at its core, this behavior is a survival mechanism. Society teaches us early that men’s validation equals worth. So, many of us learn to shrink, shapeshift, and compete with other women to be seen as special.

I absorbed this without even realizing it. I avoided associating too much with women because I saw them as lesser—too emotional, too dramatic, too superficial. I laughed at men’s misogynistic jokes. I believed female comedians weren’t funny. And let’s not forget, I used to think women who relied on men financially were lazy.

Meanwhile, I was out here paying for men who wouldn’t even buy me a drink.

The mother wound: The betrayal that cut the deepest

I grew up watching my mother worship a man who was pure evil.

Not just love him. Not just stay with him. Worship him.

I literally watched her bow before him, addressed him as her God, and praise him like he was a deity. And it didn’t matter what he did—it didn’t matter that he was a pedophile, that he’d viciously beat the entire household, that he raped a child, got her pregnant, and had the baby living in our house.

She still stood by him.

She still worshiped him. She still put him above her own children.

I was around 7 or 8 when I realized she would never protect me. That if it came down to it, she would choose him over me every single time. And that’s exactly what she did.

I remember always looking at her, observing how small she made herself for a man who was so full of hate and depravity. Something inside me snapped. I never wanted to be like her. But I didn’t just reject her—I rejected all women. Because if this was what it meant to be a woman, then I wanted no part of it.

How being a parentified child shaped my self-worth

Before I ever became a Pick Me for men, I was already a Pick-Me for survival.

I was a parentified child. I was always the one fixing things, taking care of people, and making sure everyone else was okay. My worth was directly tied to how much I could help, heal, or sacrifice for others.

I wasn’t allowed to just exist. I had to prove my value through labor, through responsibility, through taking on burdens that weren’t mine.

So when I started dating, it wasn’t about being loved—it was about being needed.

I clung to independence like my life depended on it because I was taught that needing help was weakness. At the same time, I constantly played the victim, crying out for help in my own way—just hoping that someone, anyone, would step in and save me.

But no one ever did.

So I learned to grasp for control in whatever ways I could. And that meant doing what I’d always done: helping, fixing, over-giving.

Being a Pick Me didn’t save me, it made me easier to use

I thought being low-maintenance, independent, and easygoing would make men love and respect me more. I thought my ability to do it all, handle it all, and never ask for anything would earn me loyalty, commitment, and appreciation.

Instead, it earned me nothing.

At my lowest, I was engaged to a man who never took me on a single date. Not once.

If we went out to dinner, I paid. If we went to lunch, I paid. But the moment that still makes me sick to my stomach?

One day, we went out for lunch. I had just finished paying our rent and barely had any money left. I didn’t even have enough to buy food for myself.

But instead of speaking up, instead of saying I can’t afford this, I reached into my purse and paid for him.

And not just for him—for his friend, too.

I sat there starving while they ate, convincing myself I needed to be thinner anyway. They didn’t notice. They didn’t ask if I wanted anything. They didn’t care.

That moment should have been a wake-up call, but it wasn’t. Because I had been trained to believe that this was normal. That being a good woman meant giving, sacrificing, and never asking for anything in return.

But looking back? I was invisible. I was an ATM with a heartbeat.

I was attracted to women—and still misogynistic

A lot of people think that being queer and attracted to women means you can’t be misogynistic. But that’s not true—I was proof of that.

Though I was sexually attracted to women, I still didn’t fully see them as people—because I didn't know how to. A lot of it stemmed from the pain of being rejected, both in romantic and platonic relationships with women. And at its core, it all traced back to my mother wound.

There were times I thought I loved a woman, but really it was very superficial, admiring from a distance, but not as full, complex individuals. I saw them as objects of desire, not as whole human beings.

It’s ironic because I resented men for how they treated me, yet I was doing the exact same thing to women.

I thought I was looking for love, but I wasn't truly connecting with women— I was projecting onto them. And when I kept experiencing rejection, it only reinforced my resentment toward them.

That's when I decided, dating men is easier.

Sex work changed my brain chemistry

Traditional dating wasn't working for me so I eventually turned to sex work. I still had a lot of healing to do.

Sex work changed my brain chemistry in a way I never expected.

For the first time, I saw that I was finally being valued—not just for my presence, but for the energy, effort, and time I was putting into these interactions.

Before, I was giving everything to men for free—my love, my attention, my body, my labor. I poured into them endlessly, believing that my willingness to give would eventually be reciprocated.

But through sex work, I saw the stark contrast:

When something has a price, there is a certain level of respect attached. When something is free, it is often taken for granted.

Once I internalized that truth, it became nearly impossible to look at my life the same way.

I became more demanding.

I set boundaries.

I advocated for myself and other women in ways I never had before.

And once I saw my worth, I could never go back.

Decentering Men Was Pivotal in Prioritizing Myself

For years, my self-worth revolved around how men saw me.

I existed to be chosen. I measured my value based on how much I could offer men—how much I could heal, nurture, or sacrifice.

Decentering men was the most pivotal step in unlearning my Pick Me conditioning.

I had to unlearn the belief that my purpose was to serve men. I had to teach myself that I was worthy even when I wasn’t giving.

For the first time, I asked myself what I wanted. What made me happy? What did I need?

And once I started prioritizing myself, I realized just how much I had been neglecting my own needs for the sake of being desirable—that I wasn't a selfish bitch for going after what I wanted.

Letting go of the need to be wanted by men allowed me to finally focus on what I actually wanted for myself.

If I’m honest, I still hope for love

For all the ways I’ve grown, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still dream about finding romantic love. I’ve learned that there’s no amount of self-love and growth that will replace that— for me at least.

Whether I find that love with a man, a woman, someone trans—I don’t really care. What I care about is depth, reciprocity, and connection.

I still want to experience that.

That doesn’t mean I’ll ever go back to over-giving, to shrinking, to proving my worth through suffering. I’d rather be single… But it does mean that underneath all of it, I’m still human. And at the end of the day, It’s an experience I often fantasize about.