Letting Myself Be Lovable
I decided it was time to relieve myself from the burden of letting people tell me who I needed to be.
Isn’t being seen what we all want? To be seen by partners, friends, colleagues, and our family. Even with strangers, there is anxiety that stews when conversing, fearing they’ve tuned out whatever you’re saying. The more pieces of yourself you unveil with each word, the more it’s no longer yours to hold. There’s hollowness that can stem from not being seen, and it can make you feel pretty unlovable. What about the dichotomy between us and members of our family? As we grow into adults, our relationship with our parents may not evolve along with us. During the “Great Pause,” as we’re calling this period, I began to take stock of the relationships in my life and reexamine those where I felt unlovable.
Undoing this pattern of thinking, or as it’s referred to in therapy, my core belief, came to a head while in quarantine. Political and social issues strained my relationship with my parents--they just didn’t get it, but that made me realize they also never really got me. While supportive, it always felt like who I presented myself to be wasn’t enough for them. My hair (too dark, too short) and body were always a topic of conversation. In college, I once walked down the stairs in thigh grazing shorts to meet my friends when I was greeted by an exasperated, “yikes” from my mother. A family member said I could get a boyfriend if I just lost some weight. Telling me what to eat and when to eat was a point of contention in my household. I wanted to be accepted by my family no matter what my hair color or waistline was, but I was always sized up in some way.
To my detriment, issues from childhood seeped their way into my first experience with love. I was 27 the first time I fell hard. I was (insert phrase of your choosing) sprung, head over heels, gaga, floating on a cloud-- you name it, I was it. When we met, it was like we had our own language and it just felt like everything clicked. I was instantly thrust back into my 13-year-old body sans braces and experienced puppy love fashionably late.
But in a lot of ways, it was lonely. There were a lot of obstacles. Physically, we weren't even in the same time zone. Emotionally, we were at times in sync but we wanted different things and that got muddy, so I filled that space with the potential. The potential of what our life could be, who we could be experiencing life together. There were face to face conversations that felt like I was talking to a ghost, as if it was decided to move on without me. I wrestled with my brain and irrational heart who wanted to convince this person that they should love me. I looked inward, instead of at the relationship straight on.
Scattered conversations eventually died down completely like the engine of an old car. Friends said the only way to truly heal a broken heart is time, or dating someone else, but I couldn’t bear to squirm around in pain. So I tried to speed up the process through a slew of distractions. I hopped on the online dating train to no avail, but dating apps didn't really have what I wanted. What I wanted was to mend the fracture in my heart, not fill it with hollow relationships.
During my healing, I started to feel guilty for harping over my broken heart, unable to get their name out of my mouth. Even in heartache, love is still a drug. There I was looking at their Instagram page again, reading old conversations, listening to our songs, looking at old pictures. I was a masochist. I replayed history over and over in my mind and watched the overly romanticized story unfold in my head. It looked a hell of a lot better than the reality I experienced. I think I wanted them to fight for me, but what I really needed was to fight for myself.
I used to check in with my healing and test myself. Any time I would think about this person, would I feel that queasy feeling that was part anxiety and party yearning? If it was still there in the pit of my stomach, I looked at myself as a weakling instead of a person who was doing their best. I started to compare myself to other women in their life. I wasn't fit enough, cool enough, sexy enough, or smart enough. I wallowed in it, hanging in the in-between with this person, not fully wanting them out of my life forever because it didn't feel so black and white.
Instead of turning to unenjoyable sex, I turned to music. Throwing myself into albums about love and heartbreak as I looked for articles on how the hell to get over someone. I listened to a lot of H.E.R., Maggie Rogers, and BANKS who were artists that put into beautiful poetry how I was feeling, and it was cathartic. I actually Googled the phrase “can you die of a broken heart?” When I tell you it felt impossible, I know you've felt that feeling too. It felt like I had joined this new club, where lonely hearts yearn for something that wasn’t good for them. The love still remained, lingering in a place of hope, but I had to take off the rose colored glasses.
It wasn’t that I was unlovable, it was that these people didn’t love me in the way that I needed. Looking back, it’s clear to see because a few of my basic needs were validated, I thought that compensated for all of my needs. What I wanted was to be fully accepted for who I was completely. We are all more than worthy of love, but sometimes we have to go through different relationships and vocalize what we need to feel secure. Openly expressing what you need in any relationship, whether it be expressing love or supporting a new hairstyle, will allow it to take shape in a positive way. If that isn’t well received and constantly violated, then I think you have your answer about where that person should fall in your life.
Both with my family and ‘my person’ I blamed myself for something I couldn’t control- their feelings. I filtered myself to fit their needs instead of expressing what I needed. I realized I could, however, control how I reacted and created boundaries that were healthy for me. I didn’t want my energy to be sucked up by a situation that might not change. You can’t live in the potential, filling up what you want in a relationship instead of living with what is in front of you, so at what point do you prioritize yourself? With both my family and my love, I couldn’t live in this space anymore. I decided it was time to relieve myself from the burden of letting people tell me who I needed to be.
I had been minimizing my feelings so much that when I finally said how I felt I combusted. Maybe I wouldn’t have said such hurtful things if I voiced these feelings sooner. Looking back on my first love, I realized one of the healthiest things you can do for each other sometimes is to just walk away. I’ll always have love and respect for them in my heart, as well as my family, but I had to do what was right by me. Part of me wishes that I had learned this earlier on in life, but it’s never too late to grow into the person you want to be.