In the last few weeks, it seems a few friends and I have found ourselves being tested - our patience, our love, and our capability to forgive. It's become like some sort of surprise exam you didn't know you needed to study for. The only question printed on the top is "why do you, [insert person of choice], have to make this about you?"
Why do they, indeed?
It seems to me that so many of our friends, our families, our coworkers, our churchgoers, our neighbors, our book club partners --- they have agendas. Sometimes it's innocuous. Sometimes I'm not sure they even know it. And sometimes, it's at the forefront of all things they do or say.
We all have our shit. We all have these experiences and memories, bad juju or karma, things that paint and cloud our judgment. There are things we feel self conscious about, things that never go away, no matter how much work we do to make it so. In one moment, that little bit of confidence we hold so dearly onto can be washed out by these people who are supposed to love us unconditionally.
A friend, who likely means well, can shatter even the smallest glimmer of hope that somebody out there can understand your reaction to something.
A father can latch onto the things you feel the most insecure about, and turn it back on you. As if, you know, you needed his reminder. As if, in fact, you didn't already know it on your own.
A boyfriend, a man who is meant to support you, understand you, and value you, asks you a question so deeply unfair that there is no alternate choice but throw up your walls, a decision you will no doubt, hear about again and again.
So why is it that these people you are supposed to love and trust, the people who are filling all of the archetypal relationship roles in your life, can so systemically break you? And why do the other people around us offer up sayings like:
You can't change people.
You're offense collecting.
Don't take everything so personally.
Your reaction is wrong.
You are overreacting.
I think we ought to be allowed to be scared of our demons, even if everyone else doesn't understand. I think we ought to feel safe being ourselves, expressing our opinions, our grievances, and our insecurities to those who proclaim they love us. And we ought to find validation when we are so utterly disappointed by these reactions that break us down.
As there always is, I find myself rolling a lyric around and around inside my brain lately. A sweet indie Lilith Fair artist sang her heart out about what it feels like to find your own way, only to find that those around you are disappointed in who you have become. Even my fourteen year old heart was pulled when I heard it, though I didn't know how much of a reality it would become in my thirties. Her sad and sweet words, grasping for answers read:
So how do you get a handle on it? Where is the reconciliation of asking to be loved in your way, and accepting the best love someone is capable of providing? Where is the line between forgiveness and protection drawn? When do we get to decide that these people who love us are unable, incapable, or unwilling to give us what we need? And when we do decide, why does it take us so long to feel good about it?
This is a world full of exams we didn't know to study for. I challenge you, as the people you love, as the people who love you come to you, don't try to rationalize why you should talk them out of something.
It's hard to be vulnerable and ask for help; so when your loved ones push you, pull them back. Open your arms and hug them. Open your heart. Nothing replaces the need for safety like finding it.
Why do they, indeed?
It seems to me that so many of our friends, our families, our coworkers, our churchgoers, our neighbors, our book club partners --- they have agendas. Sometimes it's innocuous. Sometimes I'm not sure they even know it. And sometimes, it's at the forefront of all things they do or say.
We all have our shit. We all have these experiences and memories, bad juju or karma, things that paint and cloud our judgment. There are things we feel self conscious about, things that never go away, no matter how much work we do to make it so. In one moment, that little bit of confidence we hold so dearly onto can be washed out by these people who are supposed to love us unconditionally.
A friend, who likely means well, can shatter even the smallest glimmer of hope that somebody out there can understand your reaction to something.
A father can latch onto the things you feel the most insecure about, and turn it back on you. As if, you know, you needed his reminder. As if, in fact, you didn't already know it on your own.
A boyfriend, a man who is meant to support you, understand you, and value you, asks you a question so deeply unfair that there is no alternate choice but throw up your walls, a decision you will no doubt, hear about again and again.
So why is it that these people you are supposed to love and trust, the people who are filling all of the archetypal relationship roles in your life, can so systemically break you? And why do the other people around us offer up sayings like:
You can't change people.
You're offense collecting.
Don't take everything so personally.
Your reaction is wrong.
You are overreacting.
I think we ought to be allowed to be scared of our demons, even if everyone else doesn't understand. I think we ought to feel safe being ourselves, expressing our opinions, our grievances, and our insecurities to those who proclaim they love us. And we ought to find validation when we are so utterly disappointed by these reactions that break us down.
As there always is, I find myself rolling a lyric around and around inside my brain lately. A sweet indie Lilith Fair artist sang her heart out about what it feels like to find your own way, only to find that those around you are disappointed in who you have become. Even my fourteen year old heart was pulled when I heard it, though I didn't know how much of a reality it would become in my thirties. Her sad and sweet words, grasping for answers read:
There's just one thing I need to get a handle on;
People can love you, and still do you wrong.
So how do you get a handle on it? Where is the reconciliation of asking to be loved in your way, and accepting the best love someone is capable of providing? Where is the line between forgiveness and protection drawn? When do we get to decide that these people who love us are unable, incapable, or unwilling to give us what we need? And when we do decide, why does it take us so long to feel good about it?
This is a world full of exams we didn't know to study for. I challenge you, as the people you love, as the people who love you come to you, don't try to rationalize why you should talk them out of something.
It's hard to be vulnerable and ask for help; so when your loved ones push you, pull them back. Open your arms and hug them. Open your heart. Nothing replaces the need for safety like finding it.
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