If we're being honest
When the definition of self has nothing to do with who you are, it's a problem.
If we’re being honest, my sense of self-worth comes from the reactions of others. The way people respond to a joke I make, something I write, or a dish I make can determine my mental and emotional states for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s the worst kind of codependent relationship, one that pits me vs. me.
I have a constant need to make, but also a pathological need to be sincerely appreciated for what I make. I need you to love me, but authentically and without prompting. If I think a gesture is hollow, it could lead me down a dark path.
I imagine that makes me impossible to please. That’s a reason I can be a bit reclusive. It’s a self-defense mechanism, but also a way to protect you from me.
At a wedding once, someone told me they heard I was a funny dancer. I haven’t danced at one ever since. In fact, I avoid weddings at all costs (for many reasons).
After a GI surgery, a nurse told me I was really big. So, I got smaller.
A sports editor told me I wasn’t connecting with my writers. I haven’t been able to put out a good sports article ever since. Actually, for a long time, my writing was very defensive and self-deprecating. I gave and took the punch before someone else could, just to cover all the bases. I’m really embarrassed about that.
The kids — and teachers — who made fun of me growing up, the random sales associate who mocked my size, and the under-the-breath comment a relative made when I was almost out of earshot all haunt me. How someone phrased a birthday wish or the tone they used with me in conversation is clear as day and keeps me up all night.
When I find out things about my family and friends through my wife because they prefer to talk to her rather than me, I feel like a loser. The same is true when our kids open up to her, but not me. Clearly, I’m not worth the time or effort.
Someone once told me I wasn’t the asshole people said I was. I don’t remember his name, but I could tell you what direction I was facing when he said it: west, midday, Kentucky. An otherwise nice, sunny day.
That was 25 years ago, and I still wonder who thought I was an asshole. I wonder what I did to make them feel that way. Maybe it was my defensive writing or my social awkwardness. In an episode of 30 Rock, the main character goes back to her high school reunion to find out she wasn’t bullied; she was the bully. I’ve wondered if that was the case with me. I have to think it wasn’t, though, considering how often I got beat up. That doesn’t mean the thoughts have dissipated.
The same is true for positive sentiments. The person who sent me a message years ago, saying they were just thinking about me and wondering how I was, still makes me feel warm inside. The night my wife curled up next to me in her sleep, smiled, and let out a little sigh still makes me happy. The times my kids unexpectedly held my hands or gave me a hug. I cherish those memories. Those are the nights I get the best sleep.
The relationship isn’t just codependent; it’s symbiotic. My emotions are an entirely different organism, uncontrolled by me, that can lift me up or drag me down. Why it favors the parasitic side is beyond me.
This controls my mental state, which then reinforces my emotional state. In the end, it all takes a physical toll as well.
Sometimes, I give up on projects I start, not because I have ADHD and OCD, but because I don’t get validation. There are times when I post something on Facebook that I think is good, and constantly refresh to see the responses. When there are none, I feel like an idiot and delete the post. Other times, I may quietly wait for someone to follow up with plans, even if I’m anxious about them, just because of a ridiculous need to feel remembered or worthy of someone’s time.
It’s sad and petty, I know, but it’s the truth.
I’d like to think that I keep a lot of this mess to myself, or at least take extra precautions to create distance. I don’t need to drag anyone else down into my bullshit. Then again, I didn’t think anyone considered me to be an asshole either.