For a bit of time about a month ago I felt very, very angry towards two people who are sort of in my life, but only by association with a dear mutual friend. We used to be quite close, you see. And then we weren't. And the swift, unexpected change was their decision, not mine.
My indignation played out through practice confrontations in my head and long winded blog drafts I never actually posted. Except for one, which I promptly took down. Because class. It was a list of ways I felt wounded and manipulated by these women. And damn if it wasn't well written. I believe my fiance (!) described it as "scathing,"thankyouverymuch.
I hate being disliked. It seems as though many can take it with a grain of salt, evidenced in some of the advice I got at the time. "Just move on. Let it go." Please, you wonderful, well-intentioned people with enviable self-esteem superpowers. I'm not like you. Being intensely disliked can give me a heart attack. And that trait, I'm afraid, is sitting stubbornly at my core for the time being. But slowly I'm becoming more graceful about it. I'm putting it into perspective. I understand now that my anger towards these people is exactly the sort of resentment and judgment they harbor (however unfairly, I must maintain) towards me. I can't judge their feelings, expect they change their minds, demand to be given the benefit of the doubt, hope to be treated more respectfully and with more kindness, and so on, if I can't do that for them.
I believe that when we wish someone, however crazy-making, peace and love, a bit of the dark in us lifts away. Our ego gives us a fucking break. Some days I think I ought to write that on the inside of my wrist. Breath. Wish.Breathe. Love. Breathe. Forgive.
I am wishing these women peace and love. Not because I love them, but because I know they deserve goodness. We all do. And if I see them again, I will not be the angry, bitter person they expect to encounter, but rather someone who is actively practicing empathy and grace (even if it takes excusing myself to the bathroom and re-reading this post with shaky hands).
Above I referred to a blog post I shared but then took down.
While trying to fall asleep the other night I realized what I really needed to do was a write a declaration about what kind of friend I want to be. The only thing, after all, that I can control. I will do my damnedest to let this painful experience wash over me and to emerge on the other side the better for it.
I wrote many things, some of which I might share one day. But a quote in Let's Take The Long Way Home by Gail Caldwell expressed it so perfectly. Here she is talking about an exchange with her therapist:
"When I wept and told him I was afraid I was too intense, too much, he interrupted my tears and said, 'If someone came down from above and told me I could keep only one thing about you, it would be your too-muchness.'"
My heart beats with that line. There's nothing wrong with too-muchness.
Whenever I've been burned by a former friend--rare as it is, thankfully--it is because of this, I think. When I've become 'too much' for them. When I'm too busy, or too depressed, or too in love, or too lost, or even too happy. When I have trouble making big life decisions and waiver back and forth, or am stupefied by self-doubt. When I get caught up in pleasing someone I idealize for so long that once I begin to individuate, it seems rebellious to them, a betrayal. I become too much of myself.
It is okay to be "too much."It is okay to be too much. I won't apologize a moment longer for living authentically, and messily, and with fast love and hard loss and a trillion mistakes and everything that lays in between. And don't take that to mean I won't do the work of apologizing when I need to. That I won't face myself and acknowledge I've fucked up, and hurt you or someone else. I will do the reckoning over and over in this life.
But I do know there is a difference between living and genuinely harming someone.
And for some, the former is too much. The reckoning is not enough. And I've come to see that if someone can't find meaning or appreciation in witnessing and supporting my journey, as I do theirs, then that's okay. I think I can respect that. There are others who can and will for me. For them I am so deeply grateful.
So here's what I want my friends to know.
You will never be too much for me.
You are allowed messiness. You are allowed bewilderment. You are allowed fear. You are allowed forgiveness. You are allowed to be much.
My indignation played out through practice confrontations in my head and long winded blog drafts I never actually posted. Except for one, which I promptly took down. Because class. It was a list of ways I felt wounded and manipulated by these women. And damn if it wasn't well written. I believe my fiance (!) described it as "scathing,"thankyouverymuch.
I hate being disliked. It seems as though many can take it with a grain of salt, evidenced in some of the advice I got at the time. "Just move on. Let it go." Please, you wonderful, well-intentioned people with enviable self-esteem superpowers. I'm not like you. Being intensely disliked can give me a heart attack. And that trait, I'm afraid, is sitting stubbornly at my core for the time being. But slowly I'm becoming more graceful about it. I'm putting it into perspective. I understand now that my anger towards these people is exactly the sort of resentment and judgment they harbor (however unfairly, I must maintain) towards me. I can't judge their feelings, expect they change their minds, demand to be given the benefit of the doubt, hope to be treated more respectfully and with more kindness, and so on, if I can't do that for them.
I believe that when we wish someone, however crazy-making, peace and love, a bit of the dark in us lifts away. Our ego gives us a fucking break. Some days I think I ought to write that on the inside of my wrist. Breath. Wish.Breathe. Love. Breathe. Forgive.
I am wishing these women peace and love. Not because I love them, but because I know they deserve goodness. We all do. And if I see them again, I will not be the angry, bitter person they expect to encounter, but rather someone who is actively practicing empathy and grace (even if it takes excusing myself to the bathroom and re-reading this post with shaky hands).
Above I referred to a blog post I shared but then took down.
While trying to fall asleep the other night I realized what I really needed to do was a write a declaration about what kind of friend I want to be. The only thing, after all, that I can control. I will do my damnedest to let this painful experience wash over me and to emerge on the other side the better for it.
I wrote many things, some of which I might share one day. But a quote in Let's Take The Long Way Home by Gail Caldwell expressed it so perfectly. Here she is talking about an exchange with her therapist:
"When I wept and told him I was afraid I was too intense, too much, he interrupted my tears and said, 'If someone came down from above and told me I could keep only one thing about you, it would be your too-muchness.'"
My heart beats with that line. There's nothing wrong with too-muchness.
Whenever I've been burned by a former friend--rare as it is, thankfully--it is because of this, I think. When I've become 'too much' for them. When I'm too busy, or too depressed, or too in love, or too lost, or even too happy. When I have trouble making big life decisions and waiver back and forth, or am stupefied by self-doubt. When I get caught up in pleasing someone I idealize for so long that once I begin to individuate, it seems rebellious to them, a betrayal. I become too much of myself.
It is okay to be "too much."It is okay to be too much. I won't apologize a moment longer for living authentically, and messily, and with fast love and hard loss and a trillion mistakes and everything that lays in between. And don't take that to mean I won't do the work of apologizing when I need to. That I won't face myself and acknowledge I've fucked up, and hurt you or someone else. I will do the reckoning over and over in this life.
But I do know there is a difference between living and genuinely harming someone.
And for some, the former is too much. The reckoning is not enough. And I've come to see that if someone can't find meaning or appreciation in witnessing and supporting my journey, as I do theirs, then that's okay. I think I can respect that. There are others who can and will for me. For them I am so deeply grateful.
So here's what I want my friends to know.
You will never be too much for me.
You are allowed messiness. You are allowed bewilderment. You are allowed fear. You are allowed forgiveness. You are allowed to be much.