The Relationships That Break You
And the ones that shape your identity
My abuser has no place in my life.
Repeat. Then, repeat again.
There’s a bit of practice required in deluding myself to believe that simply phrasing this repeatedly in my head will break me free from the pattern of mental fixation on the person responsible for my emotional and mental traumas. But candid self-awareness (however seemingly rare it surfaces these days) knows otherwise, knocking a whit of rationale to what’s become a daily habit; because no amount of repetition — no matter how ardent or earnest in the belief of a statement — can immediately (or, even, gradually) alter the congenital conviction that they somehow still deserve a spot in my reality.
When Hesiod described love as the singular force that overcomes the minds of both gods and mortals, I felt that. Because two months of mental repetition later, and I find myself in a worse state than from when I started. And I can’t separate my deep love from the cruelties that should have expunged it.
It’s the middle of the week and I’ve found myself canceling date number 3 of the four dates I’ve scheduled this week. I just don’t have it in me to care. There’s something deeply broken inside me, and I know that dating is merely serving as another distraction (however unfair to the other party). But self-candor (and the knowledge imbued in this seventh bottle of Yuengling, courtesy of a dive bar six blocks away from my office) can admit that this in itself is a lie.
Literally all I want in this life is to be loved and appreciated and considered.
But I know I’m broken and fucked up; I stopped responding to this very kind, 6-foot-5 baddie with a Princeton degree and a managing director title because he revealed on our fourth consecutive date that he “really likes me.” It’s not a fear of commitment, but rather a deep fear in this belief that he was lying. There’s a part of my brain, now, that finds it hard to believe that anyone can find me worthy enough to love, and there’s a deep distrust of their intent: Are they using me?
And I know that there’s a level of value that can be found in me, as a human being — both from a romantic level and the broader holistic level. I’ve never not been asked out on a second date; I don’t mean for that to be a boast, but rather as a self-affirming fact on how interesting I am to a fair number of people. And I wouldn’t ever claim myself to be a “good person,” but I think on the grand spectrum of human morality, I’d consider myself an above-average performer.
I’m not seeking pity for the adjudication of my self-worth; no matter how high my levels of self-delusion and self-doubt, I do know that there are valid reasons for people to like me. But there’s a difference between knowing that I’m worth it and developing good-faith belief in someone claiming that I’m worth it.
And it’s here in these thoughts around self-worth and brokenness of my spirit, drowned in the watery beer and in my tears (the 33rd day in what has been a blur of back-to-back daily grievings), that I come to evaluate one of the core principles of mortality:
We are, each, the product of our relationships.
Whether romantic or platonic, the people who enter our lives shape us (and break us) into the people we are and the people we become. The connections that we make and the ones we decide to develop are instrumental in shaping our personal beliefs, values, traits, and aspirations. If you want to be a better runner, then you seek out new friends who are better runners than you. If you want to personally challenge your conservative beliefs, then you reach out to more and more folks on the other side of the political aisle. Gradually, over time, we absorb the bits and pieces from the people around us and reflect that into our growing identities.
I have an obsession with Calvin & Hobbes comic strips because I let someone into my life who introduced me to them — and taught me to appreciate the comic for its deeply philosophical lessons. If that relationship had never been formed, I would’ve always associated them with the pissing Calvin bumper sticker.
I’m a more compassionate and empathetic person today because I developed friendships with a couple of people who showed me that there’s no shame in displaying vulnerability. That emotions — when felt for what they are and expressed wholly — are good things actually, and they are powerful connectors to the other human beings around us.
I don’t really have an interest in professional basketball, but if I had the choice of watching an NBA game I’d choose to watch the OKC Thunder. Not because I’m a fan, but simply because I loved someone who was a fan — and that interest rubbed off on me.
We internalize these experiences that we have with the people we keep close to us. We observe the ways in which they behave and think, and we mimic the parts of them that we want to emulate. We keep X and Y person in our life because we are growing from them in some capacity — helping us to develop some malnourished trait or belief or motivation — and they, in turn, also give us the space and the consideration to nurture that growth.
Every day, we are actively choosing for ourselves: Who gets to be a part of my life? Who gets to contribute to my identity? Who will I grow alongside with?
My friend Adam Griffin is a high-performance coach. In a recent FWD post, he writes about the importance of attaching the right meanings to the events that happen in our lives. Ultimately, it’s also about attaching the right meanings to the relationships in our lives.
It made me think of this crushing relationship that has absolutely torn a hole through my soul. Where instead of sleep, I find my mind blanking out for entire days at a time. Where every laugher transitions into full-on crying and I have to exit whatever room I’m in so that people can’t tell that I’m in tears.
And I wish I could attach some positive “Yes, and” meaning to that relationship, but I’m just an above-average performer on the morality scale and I don’t have that goodness in me yet.
The relationships around us define us — and we decide who we get to keep and who we release. Sometimes we decide too late and we end up losing our identity completely. I apologize to myself for that.
But we continue to grow and we continue to expand the relationships that we have to newer, better people. To the people who are focused on growth, and to the ones who aren’t afraid to expand beyond their current limitations of understanding or of experience. Or that’s the hope, at least. Adam himself is a fairly new friend. We’ve been connected for years, but it wasn’t until meeting up with him in person and learning more about each other that I’ve grown to appreciate him for his values.
Anyway, I don’t know how to end this (because, honestly, what did you hope to glean from some treatise that was written while I was somewhat drunk?), so have a happy Valentine’s Day or whatever.