I Was Raised to be the “Good Girl”

Unlearning obedience and reclaiming agency

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“I think a lot of us were raised to be good girls. Isn’t that an interesting phrase?” Dr. Becky looks at the camera with a quiet calm—a grounded stillness that gently draws me in.

I nod along… It’s not just an interesting phrase to me—it’s been the framework of my entire existence. I’ve lived the “good girl” role, shaped myself around it for most of my life.

Dr. Becky smiles knowingly, and continues, “The way I think about it is: a “good girl” is someone who knows how to smooth things over. A “good girl” is often someone who anticipates someone else’s needs before that person even expresses the need.”

Always. I whispered aloud, my voice laced with exhaustion and the quiet ache of recognition. “Good girl” wasn’t just a phrase—it was the role I had been conditioned to play. As I watched the screen, a wave of emotion churned in my stomach, and I bit my lip, holding back the weight of all the pain that role had cost me.

But on the other end of the screen, Dr. Becky continued, her soft voice taking on a more hardened quality—her eyes sharpening. It was obvious that this video was more than informational. It was personal.

“And if you think about what that really means in terms of how a lot of us have been raised or “trained”—is look out at the world and notice what everyone else needs from you. Get an A+ in giving it to them.”

Tears rimmed my eyes as I tapped the bookmark icon on my screen. Later, I would come back to that video several times—the meaning hitting a little deeper every time.

Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

What do we mean by “good girl”?

For many girls who grew up in the 90s or early 2000s—especially those raised in traditional Western Christian households—the phrase “good girl” wasn’t just a compliment. It was an expectation. One that benefited everyone but the “good girl”.

Be quiet. Be helpful. Be agreeable. Don’t rock the boat. Listen when you’re spoken to. Don’t challenge authority. Get straight A’s. Cross your legs. Smile politely. Dress nicely. Finish what you’ve started. Don’t make a mess. Above all else: keep your virginity intact, because this does not belong to you. And whatever you do: don’t ever show your emotions.

It wasn’t just about behavior. It was about being acceptable—for being no one but everything for everyone else. And making up for the pain our shameful existence caused others. We were told the burden was ours to hold: everyone else’s pain, needs and wants.

And it was too much for us. Too much for a little girl to carry.

For many of us, being a “good girl” wasn’t simply encouraged—it was required for survival. For staying safe. For staying loved. For staying seen. And slowly, that performance of goodness became something more than a mask.

It became an entire identity. It became how we understood the world and our place in it. We knew nothing else but the quiet erasing of our humanity.

We didn’t just learn how to read the room—we internalized the belief that our worth depended solely on it. That we were only valuable because we could make others comfortable. Love was conditional—and we had to earn it.

Being good never felt like a choice.

Groomed for the fawn response

The “fawn” response is now the term psychotherapists have coined the “good girl” reaction. It often masquerades as goodness but it’s actually one of the lesser-known “fight or flight” responses. In his book “Complex PTSD: From Surviving To Thriving” Peter walker actually digs deeper into this well-known response:

“This model elaborates four basic defensive structures that develop out of our instinctive Fight, Flight, Freeze and Fawn responses to severe abandonment and trauma (heretofore referred to as the 4Fs).”

It’s what happens when a child learns that the best way to stay safe is to anticipate the needs of others and meet them—at the expense of her own.

Fawning teaches us to say “yes” when we want to say “no.” To smile when we’re uncomfortable. Over time, the voice inside that once whispered “no” begins to fade—until we can’t hear her at all. The smile becomes a permanent mask, and we forget there was ever anything beneath it.