Whenever I would get dumped in the past, my girlfriends would console me by telling me that I am a “very intense person” who can sometimes be “too much for other people.” Although these words always came from a place of love, I would take it to mean that there was something wrong with me, that it was my own damn fault that I was cut loose. Was I too much? Was I not good enough?
Unfortunately, what I inferred was that if I wanted my heart to stop breaking over and over again, I had to stop caring so much, stop being so incredibly invested in everything. I needed to pretend to be more sophisticated and world-weary than I actually was. Because that’s how I was going to get over it, rise above it, become unconcerned and unaffected by it.
I tried this pose for some time, but it was too much work trying to appear detached and apathetic. And what’s the fucking point of it, really? What’s the point of imitating a rock? Of suppressing my most human impulses and desires to turn into a slab of ham? I ached for a wilder, more colourful life. So instead of trying to hide how deeply I cared, I tried to be open about it.
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There are moments I want to rip open my chest and hand him my heart. And then there are moments I am overcome by the urge to crush his skull against a wall. People tell me that this is normal, that it’s the ones dearest to us that show us our demons because they are able to press just the right buttons and bring to surface our unresolved issues. Love is a grand magnifier and the right relationship will encourage us to address our fears and insecurities head on and work on them.
In our earlier days together, whenever it felt as though the world was spinning off its axis, I would freak out and completely shut down. These days, I try to stay vulnerable to what’s happening because what I’m realizing is that whenever I feel like crushing his head against the wall, that’s me protecting myself from feeling how deeply I care about and depend on him. That’s just me realizing I’m way more invested than what I am usually comfortable with. Essentially, that’s me wanting to bash my own head against the wall, for exposing the tenderest parts of my soul and trusting someone enough that I could be destroyed by it.
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We are all works-in-progress. After 24 trips around the sun, I finally recognize the merits of self-compassion but haven’t yet figured out how to be kind to myself on a day-to-day basis. As a start, I have banned myself from asking people, “Am I too much? Am I not good enough?” Over the years I have learnt not to present my anxiety and overactive brain as obvious liabilities. Even I am not allowed to ask myself such questions because I am only hurting myself when I do. As long as I was questioning my value, I was never going to be able to see the gifts that go along with being a very intense, anxious, emotional person.
Instead of asking questions, I decided to make statements. I tell myself that I am good and worthy. Even on my worst days, I am still good and worthy. I say it out loud, which I know sounds dorky. But dorkiness is emancipation.
People will love you, but no one will save you. Because nobody can save you from yourself. You have to save yourself. You have to decide that you are enough. You have to decide that sometimes you have more inside of yourself than you know what to do with. Seeking reassurance and approval is like begging for a fix. Don’t make it a habit. It’s lazy. It treats the symptoms but not the cause. Instead, learn to address and soothe feelings of self-doubt and distress on your own. Stop fighting yourself, day in and day out. It’s time to enjoy the way you are right now.
