Mark: The single most damaging piece of advice you probably got as a kid? "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Michelle: Oh, I can hear my grandmother's voice in my head right now. That was gospel. Mark: It was, for almost all of us. But today, we're exploring why being 'nice' might be the very thing holding you back from a powerful, authentic life. Michelle: A pretty bold claim. I feel like my entire upbringing is about to be put on trial. Mark: Get ready. That's the central, explosive idea behind the book we're diving into today: Not Nice by Dr. Aziz Gazipura. Michelle: And what's so compelling is that Dr. Gazipura isn't just an academic. He's a clinical psychologist who wrote this after his own decade-long, painful struggle with extreme shyness and social anxiety. This book is his personal and professional roadmap out. Mark: Exactly. And his journey started with a radical realization: that what we call 'nice' is often just fear in a polite costume.

Michelle: Okay, fear in a polite costume. That’s a strong image. Unpack that for me. How can being nice, which feels like a virtue, actually be a bad thing? Mark: Gazipura starts with a brilliant thought experiment. Imagine I’m driving you to a dinner party where you don't know anyone. Just before we walk in, I turn to you and say, "Hey, do me a favor and just... be nice tonight." What do you do? Michelle: Oh, I know that feeling. My whole posture changes. I put on a fixed smile. I make sure to laugh at all the jokes, even the bad ones. I ask safe questions. I become a professional nodder. Mark: And what are you doing internally? Michelle: I’m constantly scanning. Am I talking too much? Too little? Did they like that comment? Was that a weird look? It's like I'm a spy, and my mission is to make sure everyone in that room approves of me. It's exhausting. Mark: That, right there, is what Gazipura defines as "nice." It’s not genuine kindness. It’s a performance. He says it’s monitoring yourself to make sure you come across in a pleasing manner and don’t offend anyone. Michelle: But isn't that just being polite? Where's the line between social grace and this toxic 'niceness'? Mark: The line is the motivation. Politeness can be a tool for smooth interactions. But this kind of 'niceness' is driven by a deep-seated fear of disapproval. Gazipura has this killer quote: "Being nice does not come out of goodness or high morals. It comes out of a fear of displeasing others and receiving their disapproval. It’s driven by fear, not virtue." Michelle: Wow. Fear, not virtue. That reframes everything. Mark: It does. He talks about his own childhood, how he was praised for being a "good boy"—quiet, agreeable, never causing a fuss. He learned to sculpt his personality to avoid any form of criticism, and that planted the seeds for years of social anxiety. The opposite of this 'niceness,' he argues, isn't being a jerk. It's being real. Michelle: This is a pretty radical idea, and I know from looking into the book that its reception has been a bit polarizing. Some readers find it incredibly liberating, while others feel it's a bit extreme. Does he really suggest we throw all politeness out the window and just say whatever pops into our heads? Mark: Not at all. That’s the key distinction. Being real means being direct, honest, and truthful. It’s about expressing what you actually think and feel, but you can still do it with compassion. It’s about ending the performance. The goal is authenticity, not aggression. It’s about letting people see the real you, so you can actually feel a genuine connection, instead of just getting approval for a character you’re playing.

Michelle: Okay, so if this 'niceness' is a fear-based performance, what's the actual damage? What's the "high cost" he talks about in the book? Mark: This is where it gets really serious. He calls them the "specters of niceness," and they are anxiety, resentment, and even chronic physical pain. Michelle: Wait, actual physical pain from being too nice? That sounds almost unbelievable. How does that even work? Mark: He shares his own harrowing story. For years, starting when he was a teenager, he suffered from debilitating chronic pain. Shooting pains in his leg, stomach problems, TMJ, back pain. He saw countless doctors, got multiple diagnoses, but nothing worked. He was terrified of his own body. Michelle: That’s awful. What was the connection? Mark: Years later, after deep personal work, he discovered that the pain was psychogenic. His subconscious mind was creating physical pain as a defense mechanism to distract him from the emotional pain he was constantly repressing—the anger, the frustration, the resentment from a lifetime of being the 'nice guy' and never standing up for himself. Once he started addressing the repressed emotions, the physical pain vanished. Michelle: That is incredible. So the body literally keeps the score of all the times you didn't speak up. It's like this niceness creates a 'Guilt Bubble' around you, distorting reality so you feel bad for just... having needs? Mark: That's the perfect analogy. He calls it the Guilt Bubble, and it’s fueled by a set of invisible, unrealistic rules we have for ourselves. For example, he tells the story of a client, Chelsea, who works in an office. Her coworker constantly interrupts her to chat, and she hates it because it breaks her focus. But the mere thought of telling him, "Hey, I'm busy right now, can we talk later?" fills her with crushing guilt. Michelle: Why? What's the rule there? Mark: Her internal rule is: "I must always be available to listen to my coworkers. If I send him away, he’ll feel hurt and lonely, and it’s not okay to make someone feel that way." It’s a rule that makes her responsible for his feelings. Michelle: And that's destructive guilt. It’s not like she stole his stapler. She just wants to do her job. Mark: Exactly. Gazipura distinguishes between healthy guilt and destructive guilt. Healthy guilt is when you violate one of your own core values—like if you snap at your kid, you feel bad because you value being a loving parent. That guilt guides you back on track. Destructive guilt is what Chelsea feels. It's a chronic feeling of failing others based on rules that are impossible to follow, and it keeps you trapped inside that bubble, constantly putting yourself last.

Mark: And popping that Guilt Bubble is where the real work begins. This isn't a passive process. Gazipura calls it 'Boldness Training Boot Camp.' Michelle: A boot camp! I like that. It sounds intense. It’s not just about reading a book and having an epiphany, is it? What does this training actually involve? Mark: It’s a simple, but not easy, three-step process. First, you have to consciously decide to be 'not nice'—to be real. Second, you have to do the not-nice stuff that scares you. Speak up, say no, ask for what you want. And third, and this is the most important part, you have to work through the internal backlash—the guilt, the anxiety, the "Post Speak-Up Freak-out" that comes afterwards. Michelle: Ah, the freak-out. The mental replay where you analyze every word and facial expression for hours. I know it well. Mark: We all do. He gives a great, low-stakes example. He had a blood draw scheduled for 6 a.m. He'd fasted, worked out, everything. The phlebotomist calls to cancel. The old, 'nice' Aziz would have said, "Oh, no problem at all!" while seething inside. The new, 'not nice' Aziz calmly but firmly said, "Well, that doesn't work for me. I've already prepared." He didn't yell, he was just direct. And guess what? The guy found a way to come an hour later. Problem solved. Michelle: That 'internal backlash' part is the real barrier, though. The guilt is what stops most people. So how do you set a boundary like that without feeling like a terrible, selfish person? What's the very first step in this boot camp? Mark: The foundational pillar is to Have Boundaries. And for many people-pleasers, the problem is they don't even know what their boundaries are. They've spent so long focusing on everyone else's needs, they've lost touch with their own. Michelle: So you can't defend a territory you don't know you own. Mark: Precisely. He tells this amazing story from a men's group he was in. He was anxiously detailing his elaborate plans for a family visit—all the things he was going to do to make sure his parents and brother were happy. An older man in the group just listened patiently and then asked him a simple, devastating question. Michelle: What was it? Mark: He just said, "Where's Aziz in all this?" Michelle: Oof. Chills. Mark: Right? Aziz realized he wasn't even a character in his own plans. He was just the stage manager for everyone else's happiness. And that's the starting point of the boot camp. Before you can say no or speak up, you have to simply, and maybe for the first time in years, ask yourself that question: "What do I want?"

Michelle: So it all comes back to that. We start by thinking 'nice' is a virtue, realize it's a cage of fear that's making us anxious, resentful, and even physically sick. And the only way out is this uncomfortable, bold training to reclaim our own reality by just asking, "What do I want?" Mark: Precisely. And Gazipura's ultimate point, which I think is so beautiful, is that this isn't selfish in a negative way. In fact, he argues that the most genuinely kind, generous, and loving thing you can do for others is to first be real with yourself. When you stop performing, you can start truly connecting. The resentment dissolves, and you can give from a place of authentic desire, not fearful obligation. Michelle: I love that. It feels like the first step for anyone listening isn't some grand, terrifying confrontation. It's just to notice. Notice that one moment today where you say 'yes' when you really mean 'no,' or you stay silent when you want to speak up. Just notice it, without judgment. Mark: A perfect starting point. And a powerful one. It's the beginning of finding yourself in your own plans again. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.