Not being myself

When is not being myself being myself?

I am feeling more and more lately that when I am put in positions when I cannot be myself as I feel comfortable being myself, I have to change things up. That sometimes means removing myself from situations and sometimes doing things that I have long considered out of character for me. Scary as that is--changing--it's the only way I have to protect myself from what feels like a barrage of very painful dreck lobbed at me or sent carelessly meandering in my direction by others. I have too long been comfortable bearing the weight of others' scorn, derision, disinterest, lack of engagement. Whatever shape their abuse took, from mispronouncing my name, to calling me fat and ugly, to telling me I am nothing special. It is terribly disheartening, and then I realize, as Joy says to me, that I have had expectations of people that they just aren't meeting. Problem is, I am not expecting them to win Nobel Prizes; or be present for me all the time; or do much beyond their human existence other than what they've SAID they would or could do.

I have been noting much lately that people's (friends/acquaintances/colleagues/people in blogland) actions don't match their words. Ah, that old adage about judging by what people do and not what the say is trite but so very constructive. Truth is, humans are a flawed lot, myself included. I am far from perfect, but I will try hard to be there for my friends and let them know how important they are to me.

That's where me not being myself comes back into play. I am taking a new position, one in which I give less and also expect less. It's not necessarily a happier place, but it might be a more secure place, and it's certainly much more under MY control. As Katharine Hepburn once said, "If you always do what interests you, at least one person is pleased." I used to find that quotation truly self-centered and insufferable, but she sure as hell had a point! No one will love you like you love yourself, and I am not very worried that my shift signifies a wild tip in the opposite direction towards unstoppable narcissism.

Today I read a first father's account of being passive and ambivalent about his teenage son's existence, and it was like a knife to the gut. True his feelings may be, but I pity his son if he reads those words. No child wants to read about a parent's lukewarm, conditional love. It sucks. The confessional was just one of hundreds like it I've choked over recently. Such messages hurt so much I want to close down even more to protect myself and the remaining shreds of my very sore soul.

I feel like I keep the remains of the me who used to be able to love generously in a tiny box, and the box gets smaller all the time as I encounter more people who proclaim proudly their lack of ability to love their children (or even specifically me) "enough," or say that they love them while obviously hurting them, or who take pleasure in being naysayers of the most silly, cussed sort.

Before the best part of me dies, I need to protect her by letting out that too long dormant inner bitch, who doesn't feel like me. Maybe it's time she did. I am too tattered to settle for crumbs. Enough.