Need You to Need Me

One of the things I hate most in life is the feeling of being a burden. I’ve written about this before, but the more I come to understand my own psyche, the more I realize just how deep this issue goes. Not only do I strive to avoid being an inconvenience or a trouble for others; it extends to me needing to feel needed. If I’m serving a purpose for others, especially a purpose that nobody else can fill (or fill as well), then I’m not in danger of becoming a burden. I strive to add value to the lives of others rather than detract from it. 

Why is this so important to me? It’s a question I am still trying to find the answer to. 

I think that one reason is my fear of being selfish. I was raised to see Jesus Christ as the ultimate example for how to live, and Jesus is the prime example of being selfless to the point of self-sacrifice for the sake of others. The idea of sacrificing oneself out of love for others is one that I have idealized from a young age. To me, being a selfish and self-centered person is one of the worst things I could be. Virtually all the problems with the world could be fixed or drastically improved if people simply weren’t selfish. It’s the root of all evil, if you think about it!

But beyond the philosophical ramifications of selfishness, I also think that I strive to put others before myself because of a deeply rooted lack of self-love. It sounds sad to put it that way, because it’s not that I think poorly of myself. I believe that I am a good person, and I like who I am—but that’s because I work hard to be a person I can respect. My love for myself has to be earned, just as I feel the need to earn the love of other people in my life. 

It is ironic, in a way, that I feel the need to earn love, even from myself. One of the main tenets of Christianity is that God’s love cannot be earned; instead, we’re supposed to accept God’s love as grace. So, trying to earn it is just silly. But, at the same time, maybe my desperate need to earn love, not only from God but from everyone else, is a reaction that makes perfect sense. Essentially, we’re told that we could never be good enough to deserve God’s love… and to that, I say: challenge accepted. 

Whether trying to be good enough to deserve love is a complex that stems from my upbringing in Christian culture, or from a variety of sources, it seems to be a fundamental part of my personal psychology. 

I focus on my mission to be needed because it is the only way I can feel valued. 

But there is another reason, too. Feeling needed is an excellent distraction from my own pain, anxiety, depression, and even boredom. If I’m focused on others, I can ignore myself. Or at least I can try.

Like a substance abuser who needs more and more of the substance over time to obtain the same effects, I seem to need more and more purpose. Maybe the “self” that I’m trying to ignore is getting louder to try to be heard over the noise of all of the other needs I surround myself with. Instead of listening, I just add more noise. And what is the best way to create a noisy life? Kids and animals, of course. (The ironic thing about this is that I have a high sensitivity to literal noise, and so I often find myself dealing with sensory overstimulation that causes a cascade of other issues). 

Long story short, I bring children and pets into my life because they need me, and I need to be needed. 

But, I’m also human. I get overwhelmed, stressed out, and burned out when I feel like I can’t keep up with all of the needs around me. I react by blowing up, or by trying to reduce my responsibilities—quitting things, basically. It’s too hard and I retreat; that is, until I start to feel restless again and I find new things to keep me busy. It’s a vicious cycle, y’all. 

I had a realization a while back—maybe a year ago, if I had to estimate. I realized that there came a point in my last marriage where I felt like I was no longer needed. I’d always felt that my ex and I made a great team in life. But when we became polyamorous and I started to find things that gave me life outside of our marriage and our family, I sensed resentment building up towards me. Perhaps it was that resentment that produced an attitude that I was no longer needed. My contributions to my family and home were suddenly not enough, or not valued. 

Besides, I was never a perfect parent (and shockingly, I’m still not!). I started to question my purpose in life.  I felt like I could disappear and my ex and kids would ultimately be fine, if not somehow better off. 

Meanwhile, my new partner needed me. He was like a wounded animal who needed to be loved and cared for and nursed back to health. And he loved me and appreciated me and it was gratifying to feel that I was making a positive difference in his life. I once again had a purpose. He needed me, and my ex didn’t, so when my ex essentially made me choose between the two of them, I chose the one who needed me more. 

Nowadays, I feel adequately needed by the people (and animals) in my life—most of the time. There are times when my kiddos say that they want to be at their dad’s house instead of mine, and times when my preschooler says she misses daddy when she’s with me but not the other way around. This is the reality of co-parenting. No matter what I do to make our home appealing for them, the kids will still complain, and they will still have times when they prefer the other parent’s home. The grass is always greener on the other side, right? 

Kids complaining is another big factor in my feeling unneeded. It’s quite a leap from “I wish you did this one thing differently” to “I wish you weren’t in my life.” Yet, my mind has no problem making that jump. When I do my best as a mom, and the kids still complain, it makes me feel like a failure. It makes me feel like my very best is not enough; it makes me feel like I’m not enough. 

A critical component in any machine is useless if it doesn’t work right—it can even be worse than useless if it causes a cascade of malfunctions. So, when it seems like I just can’t do anything right, I start to feel not only that I’m useless, but that I’m—you can probably guess it—a burden. I’m a problem, a nuisance, an obstacle to the happiness of others. I’m a crumpled-up piece of paper lying here, unusable and in the way. I ruin things, because I’m a ruiner. 

Which of course, circles back to the whole self-love deficit I’ve discovered within myself. Unfortunately, it’s not something that I know how to fix. Instead, until I find a better solution, I will continue to try to patch it with distractions and trying to find value in my existence (and most likely failing). 

Sorry… that got a bit depressing. But that’s life, am I right? There’s not always a lesson or a silver lining or a happy ending. Sometimes, you just struggle until you die. But hey—it could be much worse for me. My life is objectively pretty great, and my problems are miniscule compared to so many other people. I really shouldn’t complain. 

Maybe my mental shenanigans are my mind’s way of creating interest in an otherwise-too-easy life. Maybe I’m choosing to feel this way and let anxiety and depression mess me up. Maybe I should try just being happy. 

Unfortunately, I have so far been unable to do so. It’s not that I’m never happy; I’m actually happy fairly often. But it’s never long before I fall from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. Long story short it’s a bad time. And so the cycle continues. 

Karma

Have you ever had to take the high road in life?

I think most people have at least once or twice. There have certainly been plenty of times in my life I can think of where I’ve had to be the bigger person in a situation or relationship. Usually, I can let go of whatever insult or slight I’ve chosen to overlook, and ultimately feel good about doing so. 

Sometimes, though, you have to keep your mouth shut about something that just screams injustice. Perhaps you are taking into consideration the feelings of a third party who would be affected by your calling out the offense. Or perhaps you know that speaking up would only cause more turmoil. Whatever the case may be, it can be very frustrating and uncomfortable to have to grin and bear it when you see someone getting away with something messed up. It’s even worse when that person starts telling other people that they’re the victim in the situation, and never ever takes responsibility for the terrible things they did. 

Enter, karma. 

Karma is a relaxing thought. It promises that even when you can’t get “revenge” on someone directly, they will still get what they deserve in the end. What comes around, goes around. 

I have a situation like this in my life that often chafes at me. For the sake of anonymity and being discreet (hopefully), I’ll explain it as a situation between five friends. 

We start with Friend A and Friend B. They are very close for many years. They do almost everything together, and they have a dynamic that feels basically content. After a few years of being great friends, they even make a new friend together– Friend C. The three of them are a happy little trio, and they go through the ups and downs of life together. 

But one day, Friend A makes a new friend— Friend D. When A meets D, things start to change. Friend A realizes that while their friendship with B is comfortable, their friendship with D is exciting. Friend A starts to want to spend more time with Friend D than with Friend B. But A also doesn’t want B to go find other friends, because then B wouldn’t be around when A needed them. You see, the plain and simple truth is that Friend A is selfish. 

Friend C is mostly oblivious to everything going on, and really only cares about their friend group staying together. 

Well, eventually Friend B gets really lonely and starts to look for other friends. B doesn’t want to replace A; they just want a new friend to keep them company when A is busy with D. (Friend C is still there, of course, and they’re great! But, truth be told, C isn’t really best friend material).

That’s when Friend B meets a new friend–the final character in this story: Friend E.  

When B meets E and gets to know them, B realizes that A has been treating them very badly indeed. A is controlling, manipulative, demanding, and unkind. B finally understands what true friendship should look like because E shows them. And once B finally sees what has been happening for all of those years, they really can’t stay friends with A any longer. They need to break free to find their own happiness!

Of course, Friend A does not like this at all. Friend B is very important to them, not because of an emotional attachment, but because Friend B does a lot of things for A. Without B, Friend A would have to do things for themselves, and that sounds just awful. Friend A doesn’t care that B is unhappy, because if we’re being honest, A is a bit of a narcissist. Being abusive to B has become a habit for A, and the idea of losing their punching bag is very unappealing. 

Nevertheless, Friend B does break free. B becomes best friends with E, and even brings Friend C along to join their new friend group. Even though C is sad that their two OG friends aren’t friends with each other anymore, they adjust to the new dynamic and they’re able to travel between the two friend groups. And Friend A has their new best friend, D, so the reasonable conclusion would be that everyone wins, right?

That would make sense, except that as I mentioned before, Friend A is narcissistic; that means that they see themselves as a victim, and believe that they are never to blame for anything that goes wrong in their own life. The fact that Friend B had the nerve to end their friendship is infuriating. 

What happens after that is that while Friends B and E are moving on and happy together, Friend A is pissed. They did not get what they wanted out of the situation, and even though Friends C and D are still with them and they are closer than ever, it just isn’t enough. Friend A does the only thing that they can think of to do to change the optics; they become the victim and make sure that everyone who will listen knows how very wronged they were by Friend B. 

Friend A talks to Friend C about how sad they are that Friend B has left them. (While the truth is that the only thing A is actually sad about is that B isn’t there to provide for their every need). But A is so convincing, and C trusts A, so Friend C buys into it completely. They even cry about it together. Friend B destroyed their trio, and they both remember it all too well.

This is all fine and dandy, because Friend B has moved on with their life, and Friend E doesn’t really care what Friend A thinks. Even though Friend A tried to hurt Friend E out of spite on multiple occasions, Friend E basically just turned the other cheek because in the end, they knew that they had won. They had Friend B, and Friend A did not. 

But the problem is that E does care about what Friend C thinks. And it gets really frustrating to hear Friend C talking about how traumatic the whole friendship breakup situation was for Friend A. It’s really hard for Friend E to hear the bullshit about how Friend A was the victim in that story. Because E saw everything; the abuse that A put B through, and the total lack of love reciprocated. A was merely tolerating B’s friendship for so many of those years. A was not heartbroken. A had damaged B so profoundly that E knew they would be picking up the pieces for years to come. And while E might have been able to overlook the terrible way that A had treated them, E could not forgive the way that A had treated their best friend, B. 

That’s where our little alphabet story ends, because keeping the peace is more important at this point than making sure that the truth is known. The past is past, and digging it up again isn’t going to help anyone. 

But if there’s one thing that makes me feel just the slightest bit better, it’s this: karma is my husband, and karma is sweet like justice. 😉 

Sad Panda

Being an empath is hard. 

Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. I know that not everyone believes in empaths. So if that’s you, then replace the word “empath” with “extremely sensitive individuals.” That is essentially what being an empath is, anyway.

If you do believe in empaths, you might know that some people are naturally more attuned to the feelings of others. Empaths experience this sensitivity in different ways. Some “absorb” the feelings of people around them. Some can sense almost instantly what others around them are feeling, even without obvious signals. There are even empaths who physically feel the pain of others (AKA sympathy pain). 

Being an empath goes beyond just being emotionally intelligent, observant, or an empathetic person. It’s empathy on a stronger level, and it’s beyond the control of the person who experiences it. An empath can’t simply “turn it off” or choose to not feel it. 

That is the hard part. I’m an empath in the way that I sense the feelings of others very quickly. I suspect that I subconsciously notice tiny changes in a person’s demeanor—which is why my empathic-ness is much stronger with people I know well. With strangers, my subconscious mind has to go off of common behaviors, micro expressions, or mannerisms. I’m not as attuned to those I don’t know. Yet, I do still feel the emotions of strangers around me often. 

I don’t absorb those feelings, personally. They don’t become my own. But I can sense them, and I have a very strong urge to help those who I know are feeling negatively.  

And so, being an empath is hard because I have to constantly fight my instinct to take responsibility for everyone else’s feelings. If the person I’m sensing negative feelings from is a loved one, it’s even worse. I have a hard time being happy at all when someone I love is upset. 

On top of being an empath, I’m also sensitive– meaning, my feelings can be hurt by others very easily. It really doesn’t take much. So when I sense negative feelings from others, I instinctively worry that they are directed towards me. If it turns out that they are, then I can easily spiral into an emotional pit of doom.

My husband is also an empath, and perhaps that has something to do with his emotionally turbulent nature. Our kids and I all joke often about his grumpiness. It’s basically a part of his personality, and we’ve all come to accept and expect it. We all try not to take it personally—but for me, that seems to be nearly impossible because of my sensitivity and empathy. 

The challenge I face is not letting his bad mood ruin my day. I have yet to succeed at this challenge. When he wakes up grumpy, my morning starts off on a bad note too. My focus shifts toward helping him feel better. I go out of my way to make things go smoothly for him in any way I can. I’m extra sensitive with my words and actions toward him. I shut down any negative feelings I may be having, because I don’t have time for those when I’m taking care of somebody else. And taking care of somebody else is one of the things I’m best at. It distracts me from my own pain.

Unfortunately, having a partner who is grumpy often is exhausting for me as an empath. My mind screams at me that this pattern of grumpiness is a sign that he’s not happy on a larger scale. Something is wrong with our lives and I need to fix it! My anxiety and depression flare up because of the stress of frequently feeling like something is wrong. 

Finding support in my partner for my own struggles is difficult as well. I hate the idea of being a burden or even an inconvenience for somebody else. If my partner is already unhappy, then how could I add more to that by sharing my own pain? I try to keep it to myself, but I struggle under the weight of it. When I feel those negative emotions from him, I can easily fall into despair because I know that I cannot possibly do any more for him than I already do. I cannot fix it. I have failed. I am not enough.

I’m lucky that my husband is so caring towards me, and that he knows I am often carrying a burden that I’m not talking about. I honestly need a partner who can pry it out of me sometimes! The problem is that even knowing that he wants to support me, I’m still terrified of being a burden or even asking for what I need. Often, he just can’t help me in the way I need to be helped, because I’m unable to communicate it to him. I end up feeling incredibly alone and unseen. It’s not his fault. I’m the problem, it’s me. 

Parenting is also emotionally draining, especially for an empath. As a parent, I can pretty much guarantee that someone is unhappy with something at any given point. There is always something to complain about when you’re a kid. (I kid you not– the other day, one of my daughters complained about the idea of getting cupcakes as a treat instead of donuts, because she doesn’t like cupcakes now.) 

When you have more than one kid, you also have to contend with sibling rivalry; in those situations, it’s often impossible to sort things out without one or both siblings being upset. When you’re a parent, you have to accept the fact that no matter what you do, you will not be able to please everyone–and when someone is upset, as an empath you feel it. Which basically means that you are bombarded with upset feelings every day.

It once again feels like something is wrong, because there is this constant feeling of negativity. That can feed into worries that you are not enough, that you aren’t doing enough, and that you are failing at being a good parent. Because if you were a good parent, then there wouldn’t be this feeling that something is wrong all of the time, right? Needless to say, this is pretty damn draining. 

Even when I am aware of this cycle, and I logically know that I am a good partner and mother, the feeling that this is not true is hard to ignore. 

Sometimes, all of it just gets too heavy, and I start to feel like a sad panda–slow, bumbling, unmotivated, and colorless. Everything feels exhausting and I just don’t want to do it anymore. (Is it just me, or do pandas always look kind of sad?) 

A lot of people in my life don’t know that I suffer from depression, or if they do then they don’t realize the extent of it. That is because I’m extremely good at masking. Hiding my pain from others is one of my superpowers! I can act totally fine on the outside even when I’m a sad panda inside. 

Masking is tiring, though. When I’m at home, I let more of my emotions show. Sometimes, they explode out all on their own. Anger is a symptom of negativity-overload and depression for me, and I can’t always keep it under control. This is hard because I feel like I need to be in control for my family. They need me to be the one who has it all together. So that is exactly what I try to be, even when I’m crumbling to pieces on the inside. 

I know that my struggles as an empath are not the fault of anybody around me. Other people, including my husband and children, are allowed to feel whatever they feel whenever they feel it. If there are negative emotions around me all of the time, then that sucks, but it’s not because they are doing anything wrong. I’m a pathological people pleaser. I’m an empath and a fixer. It is… tiring. 

I’m still working on figuring out how I can take better care of myself emotionally, and not let my empathic nature wreck me all the time. I honestly don’t know if that’s even possible, but I suspect that if it is, then I have to start by believing some things that are hard for me to embrace. I have to believe that I deserve to be cared for; that I am enough; that I am safe; that I am loved unconditionally. 

I have to learn how to empathize without letting it consume me. 

iMom

When I was a teenager, I had a lot of stress in my life. Even though a lot of my time was spent with my friends– as it should be when one is a teenager—I also had a very big workload between school, my part-time job, and chores at home.

There were many days when I would go to school, go to work, go home, do homework and chores, and go to bed. That was my life, Monday through Friday. I had zero free time on those days. What’s worse is that even with multiple hours each night dedicated to homework and studying, it was still a challenge to keep up with my coursework because I was in very difficult classes. I have incredibly high standards for myself, and as a teenager I was also extremely motivated to make my dad proud of me. I worked very hard to achieve that. 

When life was very monotonous and demanding at the same time, I went into what I like to call “robot mode.” As a robot, I am efficient. I am productive. I am good at my job. I have a purpose, and that is my focus. I don’t have needs of my own, other than the basic requirements to continue to function. 

This is one of my shades of depression, I have come to understand. I haven’t experienced robot mode in a very long time, until now. When I recognized what I was doing, I welcomed my robot-self back as an old friend. 

The truth is that robot mode is very helpful to me, especially as a busy mom. Robot mom can handle all of my responsibilities. She has a schedule and a routine, and is very good at becoming whatever she needs to be whenever she needs to be it. When it’s time to take care of the kids, robot mom is patient and caring and even playful. When it’s time to go out in public, robot mom is doing just fine—she even greets others with a smile on her face. When it’s time to do chores, robot mom is on it. 

The thing about robot mom is that, well, she’s a robot. She doesn’t have feelings. She isn’t alive. She can feign emotions, of course. Her programming is well done. But the feelings that she lets other people see aren’t really genuine. She is excellent at masking, and the more she does it the better she gets. 

Robot mom is me, of course. Even when I’m in robot mode, I am still there on the inside, with all of my emotions and aliveness. I just choose to push those things aside because there is no room for them in my life at the time. 

What it comes down to is that I can’t be “on” 24/7/365 without becoming something else. 

I am a human being, and I have a limited capacity. I like to imagine my capacity as a backpack that I’m carrying on a hike that represents life. I carry all of the necessities in my backpack—being a good wife, being a good mom, being a good pet caregiver, being a good homemaker, being a good person. And all of those things are heavy. My backpack is full to the point that I don’t know how far I can go with it on my back. How can one person carry all of that?

Now, here’s the twist. I don’t get to take things out of my backpack, because there’s nobody else to carry them, and I can’t simply drop them. So I keep trudging on with my heavy-ass backpack, just trying to make it to my destination. (Don’t ask me where it is, because I don’t know what’s down this road. I’m just walking.)

Oh, and here’s the second twist. I have others on my hike with me; I have my husband, kids, pets, and other loved ones. They have backpacks too, and wouldn’t you know it? They’re also heavy. Too heavy for them to carry, it would seem, because I keep finding myself taking more of their things into my own backpack. When they need help, I’m who they look to. I am leading this hike. And so, I carry the things. 

Eventually, a person carrying too much will collapse. 

This is where robot mom comes in! Robot mom takes some of the things in my backpack and makes them magically disappear. Namely, my own needs and feelings. Without those things weighing me down, I find that I can maybe go a little bit further with all the stuff I’m carrying. 

When I’m in robot mode, I’m just trying to survive– but I’m not enjoying life. 

Above all, robot mode is lonely. It is both comforting and saddening to know that other people can’t see through me. Only my husband (and, I suppose now you, reader) knows I’m depressed and overwhelmed. That’s the way I want it, after all. I’m the one who takes care of everyone else, and to be honest, I feel quite uncomfortable when I become the one who needs help from others. I strive to carry not only my own weight, but the weight of others’ needs as well. When I need other people to help me, it means that I’m taking away from their capacity, and I am certainly not carrying my own weight. I become a burden. 

Pushing down my pain only works for so long. It has to come out at some point, and I do my best to ensure that it only happens when nobody else is around. That is why when I’m in robot-mode, I’m socially withdrawn and I try to isolate myself as much as possible. Masking takes a lot of energy, and when I’m alone I can take a break. 

I am in a stage of life right now that is incredibly challenging. I have three kids in school who need to be dropped off and picked up at different times each day, and who all need more attention than I can possibly give them. I have a baby who isn’t yet mobile but wants to explore everything while also being held at all times. I have a three year old. (Enough said.) Every day is exhausting. By bedtime, I’m a crumbled up piece of paper lying here.

I am fortunate, in some ways, that both my husband and I are 50/50 co-parents with our ex-spouses. It means that on half of my evenings, I have a break from the chaos of feeding dinner to five children, four of which are unbelievably picky (the baby is not picky yet), and getting them all to bed. From five PM until 9 PM on the nights when we have all of the kids, I am swamped. It’s a non-stop, well-choreographed dance to get everyone what they need and not have multiple meltdowns from multiple people. 

Co-parenting comes with its drawbacks for us, as well. It’s emotionally challenging to be away from my kids half of the time. It gives me anxiety and makes me feel like a bad mom; I often feel useless and depressed. Even though I know I need the break, I beat myself up for the mere fact that I’m struggling. 

But back to robot mom. Going into robot mode is a coping mechanism for me when I get overwhelmed with stress. Unfortunately, it causes me to feel disconnected from myself and my family, and especially my husband. That makes me feel even more alone, and from that point I can easily spiral into dark places. 

What it comes down to is this mindset: I am on my own here, and I will survive even if I have to be a robot to do it. It’s easier that way because then I don’t need to depend on anyone else or ask for anything. I live to serve and I’m not a burden. 

Of course, it isn’t sustainable. Eventually, my husband will get past the walls that I put up, either by his own effort or by my breaking down and letting him in because the truth is, I don’t want to be in this alone. When he tells me that I don’t have to, I cling on to that shred of hope. I start to think that maybe it’s okay for me to need things. I start to think it’s okay for me to be human. 

The jury’s still out on whether that proves to be true or not (that it’s okay for me to be human). Only time and experience will tell.