vulnerability hangover
I don’t drink anymore, but someday I’ll need to sober up from the devastating crash of sharing parts of myself only to recoil promptly afterwards. Surely that day is today, because the struggle is killing me emotionally.
It’s a terribly-flavored, paradoxical tonic, the one that consists of me fearing vulnerability while desperately seeking it. I keep mixing two essential parts of myself that were never supposed to work in conjunction, because I’m human. I want to connect with others, because that’s innately what most of us want, but I also can’t trust people. My decision-making skills thus leave a lot to be desired.
I’m still traumatized by the past five love bombers that I entertained, not just because they weren’t all romantic but also because I’m the common denominator. I’m the one susceptible to the same manipulative tactic of trusting people who excessively praise me only to hate me later when I fall out of line. Whether it was in a professional, platonic, or dating context, I found myself gravitating towards those dynamics the most, since they scratch the people-pleasing itch.
I assumed I buried it, my desire to please even at my own expense, but it never really left. ‘Cause how could it have? I keep settling. I keep believing that an emotionally dysregulating ending won’t reach me, even though I’m highly aware of behavioral patterns and the aftermath that ensues.
Admiration terrifies me yet I still surrender to it and disassociate accordingly. My therapist claims that this behavior is rooted in the idea that trauma is comforting. I’ve apparently reached a point where it’s easier to engage in social dynamics that harm me, because that’s all I know.
Sometimes I want to blame systemic violence and structures — white supremacy, patriarchy—but at a certain point I need to look in the mirror. At a certain point, it’s less about my self-esteem, which is pretty high, and more about my self-worth, which is evidently low.
Because deep down didn’t I believe that I deserved more than this? Friends who were only my friends, because they wanted me to exist as their insipid yes-woman. Bosses who sought my talent solely to crush it. Lovers who behaved more like my opposition, because I couldn’t fathom that they were threatened by me.
The resentment that comes with moving willy-nilly, taking people seriously who never earned your trust, is something that needs to be studied. I’m not sure how people extract themselves from it, especially when the bitterness morphs itself into a protective shield. Sometimes I’m grateful for it, because it makes the wounds less deep, as time passes.
But there never needed to be more wounds in the first place.
Lately I’m appalled by my inability to discern who is actually for me and who isn’t; I’m ready for the other shoe to drop, because my self-fulfilling prophecies say that it always does. But then, I’m somehow surprised by the fact that mentally healthy people flee the scene. Who wants to be around someone who constantly assumes the worst, who is always on defense, no matter what? I wouldn’t if I were a securely attached person, hence why those people rarely cross my path.
I’m a magnet for extremely anxious and emotionally avoidant people, because I oscillate between those two opposing ends of the spectrum. My foundation for loving others was colored by beliefs that were never mine to carry (don’t be too sensitive, don’t care what people think, I can do bad all by myself). It’s bizarre to suffer the consequences of things that you were programmed to believe about yourself and others, even though you know that they’re harmful and you don’t actually believe them. I don’t actually believe that emotional distance is the answer. So I suppose that’s where the question of selfishness in relation to child-rearing comes into play. Is there any nobility in bringing children into this world, force-feeding them beliefs that you’ve yet to unpack, or is it a purely selfish act? As a person who isn’t opposed to having children one day, under the right circumstances, I’m leaning towards the latter.
We can birth children and burden them with ideas rooted in self-hatred and inauthenticity. But we can also birth self-hating beliefs, somewhat separate and sinister from what we were actually indoctrinated into, and that’s even more tragic. For example, if you’re taught that respectability in public is the be-all end-all, then you might grow to internalize that your less put-together self isn’t worthy of being perceived by anyone. Mind you, as some of my loved ones kindly remind me, it’s okay to not be perfect.
But perfection is where I’ve felt the most valued and cherished my whole life, and manipulators catch on quickly. So where do we go from here? They praise me into oblivion, I attach to the praise and begin to overshare parts of myself that they never should’ve known, and then they exploit this vulnerability. It sucks for a myriad of reasons but one seems to stay with me the most.
I hate wallowing in self-pity. It’s gross and loser-like behavior. I don’t actually believe I’m a loser, even though I’ve felt as if that’s been my energy lately. I’m realizing that I’m just tired of sharing who I am with the wrong people, punishing the “right” people, and acting frantic and paranoid towards new people who I’m getting to know.
It’s a major turn-off when someone can’t be present with you, because they’re projecting onto you what others have done to them. Sadly I’m watching myself become the thing that I despise, and it’s exhausting.
The conclusion I’ve reached is that this version of me has to die. I’ve been avoiding it like the plague, but it’s enough now. I jumped out of a legit plane; and yet, I still find the idea of loving bravely, boldly, and vulnerably as the thing to fear the most. I don’t want to be like this anymore, because the self-victimization and passivity will only lead to me inadvertently harming others to protect myself. I’ve seen it, because I’ve been on the receiving end of people’s paranoia and erratic behaviors.
I don’t want to scare anyone away, but I worry that I already did, which is something I’ll have to contend with. However, at least I can say that I’m actively uncomfortable with the games, the hiding, and the faux intimacy.
Maybe that’s the first step in the process, owning my shortcomings so I can finally ground myself in something real.
Riveting. Question: do you ever give yourself the admiration you fall for when it comes from others? Maybe you need that love from yourself to know the real thing.
For children, unfortunately, most parents don’t unpack their own baggage enough to not traumatize their children in turn. And impatience often leads to violence, which is concerning when you realize we live in a world addicted to acceleration. But your self-doubt paired with patience might give you a headstart.
Are there still things or people making you feel you don’t deserve more? Are you still actively shielding yourself from people you still have around you? From experience, i know how hard it can be to break out of your shell when you know they are still around.
The greek root of Alexis means protector, but being a dove gives you wings. You can use both judiciously. Wisdom is all about knowing when. Be patient with yourself, listen to yourself, feel it out. You have people rooting for you near and far. Perfection is for the dead, the living are universes of possibilities.
Go you!