I was talking to a pal of mine about another friend of ours, who has been disappointed in love lately. She's afraid there's something wrong with her, my pal said, and I'm afraid all the worrying is going to make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. How come she just can't realize she's great, and that the bad decision of some jerk-off doesn't mean she's unloveable?
The person who can answer that question gets the prize. I was worrying about how to disguise the identity of my pal in post until I realized that I can name four people with whom I've had really similar conversations lately, all sort of boiling down to that same thing. And all of those conversations make my heart sting with recognition, because for so long I was lonely and longing and afraid I was broken, that although I had found a great tribe of friends and family I was doomed to be single forever. How do you keep the faith that you are lovable when nobody is choosing to love you in the way that matters? And the sense of urgency about keeping up that faith is pressed into you all the time, by all the stupid and well-meaning people who say that you need to love yourself first, or that when you are whole "it will just happen" or that happy, loving, full people attract others to themselves. So the message is, if you're not finding love it's your fault, you need to work on yourself, you need to not look for it so hard, not want it so much, you need to sneak up on it and pretend that you are fabulous or else you will scare it away by the fierceness of your longing.
I hate that crap. I think it stinks. I think it is toxic and mean.
I'm all for self-acceptance, and self-improvement, and independence. And I think there's a big platform of self-knowledge and reasonable security that you need to be standing on before you're going to make a good partner. There's a bit of truth in all those stupid cliches. But only a little bit. I was there, lonely and wishing, working on myself and also trying to be complete and happy, to be the love I wanted to find in the world, to fill my own days and nights, to savor the joy of my own independence, blah blah blah. It made me edgy and desperate and afraid that whatever I was doing or sending out was somehow wrong, that people could see or smell some invisible incompleteness about me, like dogs smelling fear.
It turns out, for me at least, that you don't solve that doubt and then find love. You find love and then, from the daily experience of having someone love you, easily and clearly and without wavering, you stop wondering whether you are lovable. You just know. And having that anxious voice quieted, the part that wonders if you're too strong or you come off wrong somehow, is such a fantastic relief. I don't think I knew how constantly that voice was whispering or showing up in my head until it shut up, and in the silence I had so much more room to think about other things.
I think the edict that you first have to know your own amazingness, and then love will follow, is silly. Being loved is partly about your intrinsic goodness, but it's partly about having someone else who feels really happy to be around that goodness. You can believe in the goodness all you want, but if you are a rational person and you have had a string of disappointments when the "someone else" part looked promising and then fell through, it's hard not to wonder whether something is wrong. Yeah, you should just realize that you're great, and the bad decision of some jerk-off doesn't mean you're unlovable. It's easy when it's other people. For me, looking at myself, it got to be really hard.
And then all of a sudden it wasn't hard, because here came along NBT and his persuasive, easygoing, unwavering love. But I didn't bring that on myself, didn't earn it by fixing all my brokenness or healing my incomplete parts, nor did I trick him into a relationship by pretending I was more whole than I am. Falling in love was more like getting hit by a truck -- I didn't cause it, and I wouldn't be able how to explain it or replicate it. I wasn't more "ready" for it than my terrific friends who are currently dissecting their own personalities, wondering just what it is about them that might explain their failures in love thus far. I'm so, so glad it happened for me, but I have no idea why it did. I'm still have lots of perfectionism and guilt, lots of things I'm working on about myself, but I no longer have that constant analysis of how I come across, whether I'm too needy or too strong, what I'm doing wrong, and if that thing is driving away the very thing I most desire. That's what I want for the friend I was talking about tonight, and for all the other friends I have in the same boat. You'll feel it one day, the calm certainty that comes with being loved, and I hope that day is soon.