Angst

“I can’t remember what I was trying to forget,” four-year-old me choked out between sobs. Face down on my bed, wailing as if the world was ending. I was devastated, emotionally wrought, and as I would come to refer to it over the next many decades, over-reacting.

The obvious paradox of the statement that I was in agony over, that I couldn’t remember what I was trying to forget, the sheer contradiction of it, elicited chuckles from my mom and my sister. And it was funny. I see that now. But I didn’t see that then. And they couldn’t have understood.

That evening as I climbed under my covers, something had been gnawing at my mind, something that I desperately wanted to forget. But I needed to tell my mom what it was. I needed it to have a witness first. I needed to tell her what was bothering me, somehow that would make me feel safer – giving this painful thought to her before letting it slip away into the recesses of my mind.

And yet it was gone. I had succeeded in forgetting it, but somehow it still felt important for somebody to know what it had been.

In the 50 years since I uttered that phrase, I have heard it recounted many times. It is told as a funny memory, an amusing story, even by me, but I still remember the pain, the deep despair that I felt that night. Like the world was ending.

I’m the problem!

I got labeled quite early by my family as the problem, the primary reason for any and all difficulties. I became the scapegoat, the one on whom all the problems were projected. So my early (and later) years were marked with much disapproval of who I was and disappointment in my choices. My natural self-expressions were shut down repeatedly, most typically with a deafening silence that indicated to me I had done something wrong. I was told that I was making up stories, told that I was overreactive, told that I was confrontational. The people around me couldn’t see the good in me, and therefore I became unable to see the good in myself. I truly believed that I needed their approval in order to be ok.

I even began to proactively confess to others that I was a problem. I found myself agreeing with the assessment that I was “the difficult one” for many decades. I took on so much blame, so much fear, so much angst.

In our deepest souls, we all yearn to know that we are lovable and acceptable, so much so that in its absence, we can grow desperate for it. Just like a thirsty woman will reach a point where she will drink even the dirtiest water in an attempt to quench her thirst, so will a woman lacking love and acceptance go to great lengths to find it.

I’ve noticed others having different reactions to this feeling of being unacceptable to and unloved by those around them. Some people actually choose to rebel – it seems they shift into trying to upset those around them; others might try to hide and avoid the situation altogether, sometimes diving deep into coping mechanisms; and others try to be better, to please – they try to improve or become perfect.

Trying to be perfect

Having experienced both overt and covert disapproval from those closest to me (my family, schoolmates, friends and now ex-husband), I chose the “try to please” option. I made it my goal to try and become “perfect,” whatever I thought perfect meant through the years.

Convinced that I needed to change who I naturally was, I began to search for answers on how to become more likable, how to be a better person, a person that those in my life couldn’t help but love and accept. For motivation, I took over insulting myself, not listening to myself, and telling myself I was bad. I told myself I needed to be nicer, calmer, better. I believed that I was the root of most problems.

In reaction to what was now a combination of my own inner thrashings, as well as the continued disapproval of those around me, I pinballed around, trying to do what I thought would help me become better and might land me the most approval and acceptance. Sometimes I would find myself correcting an existing character flaw (for example, defensiveness), only to wildly overcorrect and create an equal but opposite flaw (for example, self-deprecation). I would then need to re-correct and come back towards the middle. This happened on repeat for most of my perceived or real flaws.

I searched for leaders that I thought might help me find the way of truth, and followed many different people, ideologies and schools of thought. I read hundreds of books seeking the answers. I set out trying to “get it right” depending on who I was surrounded by or who I was following at the time. I tried to memorize perfection from these leaders.

Over the decades that followed, I would try to do a huge assortment of things, including:

Be happier. Be less defensive. Be less fearful. Be a better diver. Have straighter hair. Have lighter hair. Have clearer skin. Blend in. Cause less conflict. Look older. Drink more alcohol. Like beer. Look less smart. Be less nerdy. Be less driven. Be more driven. Be less angry. Laugh at myself more. Be a better employee. Look better. Care more. Be less sensitive. Be a better daughter. Be a better Christian. Be more outgoing. Spend less money. Suppress my love of math. Love Star Wars. Apologize more. Read less. Care about grades less. Be more accepting. Be less petty. Love my Ph.D. program. Be more open-minded. Be more motivated. Be more talkative. Be less outspoken. Love fossils. Be less ambitious. Be a better Catholic. Have darker hair. Never give my kids or anybody the silent treatment. Become a runner. Care less. Be a better wife. Be a better mother. Own my part in disagreements. Be thinner. Suppress my fear of flying. Love Godzilla. Protect my kids from trauma. Become less goal-oriented. Love chemical engineering. Be a content stay-at-home mom. Be less motivated. Be a better friend. Be a better singer. Love running. Be a scream-free parent. Be a better tennis player. Be less sexy. Be a better sister. Be stronger. Be more pious. Look weaker to be less threatening. Read more of the right things. Be more optimistic. Be a weather girl. Be content with less. Suppress my love of road trips. Love dogs. Become less controlling. Be more demure. Love shoes. Be less compassionate. Care about what my fingernails looked like. Be more easygoing. Be a good decorator. Dress fashionably. Fit in more. Suppress my love of reading advice columns. Be more forgiving. Be selfless. Be less needy. Be more supportive. Be nicer. Be less generous. Save all friendship. Love everybody. Be more patient. Be more prayerful. Be less open-minded. Curse less. Word everything correctly. Be more disciplined with my kids. Suppress my love of hearing people’s stories. Still my mind. Be sexier. Apologize less. Be more ambitious. Be more angry. Have curlier hair. Hide my grays. Look younger. Drink less alcohol. Be less self-deprecating. Be more confident. Like cheese less. Be smarter. Be a meditator. Be more spiritual. Be less talkative. Be a better piano player. Like carbs less. Be more decisive. Be more artistic. Love traveling. Love hockey. Make more money. Care less about issues. Enforce better limits for myself. Be meaner. Be a better housecleaner. Be neater. Be more organized. Be more adventurous.

I spent the bulk of my life trying to improve.

Wait, I like me!

Sometime in the middle of all the trying, I recognized that trying so hard to become a person that wouldn’t cause problems had worked – it had helped me grow. All of the searching and self-education had opened my mind up and changed me for the better. I really liked me now!

I had succeeded in becoming a really great person; I was truly proud of myself. I had smoothed many of my rough edges, becoming somewhere between selfish and selfless, somewhere between a grudge-holder and a doormat, somewhere between stoic and over-apologetic, somewhere between passive and aggressive, somewhere between overreactive and impassive, somewhere between only trusting others and only trusting myself, somewhere between permeable and impermeable. I had become kinder and open-minded. Yes, I was still impassioned and intense and even argumentative, but the truth was that I really liked those parts of me too.
And still the people around me didn’t seem to approve of me.

I started to become angry and resentful that while I was trying so hard to be better, the people around me didn’t seem to be doing much at all to improve themselves, even as they continued to criticize me. I started noticing that while I was memorizing scripts and attempting to be a person that pleased everyone, other people were seemingly allowing themselves to just be, flaws and all.
I no longer wanted to berate myself – instead I now felt compelled to convince those around me that I was, in fact, a good person. I made it my new mission to try to be seen clearly. More trying…

One afternoon, I found myself coming face-to-face with the literal portrait of me as a 4-year-old in my bedroom closet. I saw my sweet little face and I remembered. I remembered my sweetness, my tenderness, my sadness, all of it. I saw very clearly my natural perfection at just being myself. I remembered my angst that night so long ago over not being able to remember what I was trying to forget. Though I will never know what it actually was that I had been trying to forget, I now saw clearly that I was already trying to forget my self.

It was then and there, facing my own self in the closet, that I realized that I didn’t have to convince people of my goodness. I just had to be. I stopped trying so hard. I stopped trying so hard to be loved and accepted by everybody. I stopped trying to be what those closest to me in my life seemed to need me to be. I started just being me – well, the new and improved me. Importantly I carried with me all of my great learnings, only now I accepted myself with my real, if imperfect, reactions, emotions and needs.

It turned out that the people I had spent a lifetime trying to please or prove my worth to weren’t actually interested in the real me. Perhaps they didn’t like me or perhaps they simply couldn’t see me clearly. Perhaps when they looked at me, they only saw a distorted reflection of themselves, of their fears and insecurities. Perhaps they were never going to see me clearly – no matter how hard I tried.

It was then that I recognized the truth: With the wrong people, I would be unable to get it right, and with the right people, I would be unable to get it wrong.

Just being me

I am absolutely not perfect by the world’s standards. Sometimes I am sad. My graying hair is neither curly nor straight. My face still breaks out, only now amidst the wrinkles. I still don’t relax easily – in fact, I love goals and am driven to achieve them. I get angrier than I’d like to sometimes. I am typically more comfortable leading than following, so struggle to be an obedient follower. I am not a perfect wife, mother or daughter. I say stupid things sometimes. I am really smart, and love math an inordinate amount. I can be shy in groups. I’m realistic to a fault, even finding myself despising optimism at times. I am compelled to stand up for what I think is right even when it’s uncomfortable to do so. I love playing the piano. I love to sing. I love musicals. I tend to spend too much, but choose not to go back into debt if possible. I care about crazy things, like stuffed animals’ feelings and color combinations. I’m not a dog person, and I might not even be a cat person – I am more of a people person. I am learning my limits and how to express them. I read many books simultaneously. My thighs are heavier and my head is physically bigger than I would like. I love cheese more than is reasonable – perhaps that is why the big thighs. I’m a questioner. I love getting to know people. I’m naturally curious about people. I don’t fit well in any particular religious group. I’m analytical and logical. I can’t and won’t lie most of the time. I love to curse. I’m not a great housecleaner. I am open-minded and can see both sides of most arguments. My drawers are cluttered. I don’t like relaxing vacations, preferring to stay active. I very rarely give up on anything I love or believe in. I love to be home, but also love a little road trip here and there. I don’t like Star Wars, closed-toe shoes or caring for my fingernails.

That’s just who I am, and the people around me can choose to accept me or not. Yes, I have intense emotions. Yes, I have an active imagination. Yes, I feel deeply and I stand up for what I believe in.

I just am who I am. And I am ok.

All that time, I thought I needed to be something different than my natural self to be loved. It turns out that I did need to be something different than my natural self to be loved by the specific people I was trying to please (aka the wrong people), but I didn’t need to be different than my natural self to be loved by me and by others (aka the right people).

After all, with the wrong people I will be unable to get it right, and with the right people I will be unable to get it wrong.

I now focus my energy on the right people. I focus my energy on just being, which is harder than it sounds. Old habits die hard and I still find myself occasionally trying to please somebody that doesn’t seem to like me or trying to love something I don’t naturally love. But I continue to remember to come back to myself, refocusing on the right people and myself.

“I can’t remember what I was trying to forget.” The statement still rings true for me today. I tried so hard to forget the real me, to cover her up with something I thought would be better, that sometimes it’s hard to remember the me that I was trying to forget. I had succeeded in forgetting her, but somehow it now feels important for somebody to witness her, to know her, to see her.

I still often see that portrait of 4-year-old me in my closet, and sometimes my heart lurches in sadness for her – she had so much heartache, blame and self-hatred ahead of her. But then I remember that she is still with me today, still looking for love, and I am completely capable of giving that to her today and every day.

I am deeply appreciative of how much I grew through all of those years of trying. And I am deeply grateful to be in a position to pass on what I learned to those who might also find themselves trying to forget who they were. Learn, land in the middle and then just be.