I Have An Idea of Myself, God Laughs

Examining the connection between hypersensitivity, neediness, and self-acceptance.

“I encounter resistance — in love, in having fun, in experiencing the present moment — because I am attached to an idea of myself, and when I don’t live up to her, I get very defeated. I’m so attached to this idea of “me” that I don’t even know what I want or need until I’m halfway to Texas and realize that I just needed a bath and a digital detox instead of an adventure. I can’t afford to keep ignoring myself if my serenity — and my relationship — matter to me. I might have to ignore everybody else, though.” -me, December 30, 2022

I thought I would finish this essay from the road, that I would do a little editing painstakingly from my iPad and post before the new year, but then two things happened:

1. I realized this was yet another unrealistic standard I set for myself, and I learned that I require solitude and the comfort of my bedroom to write freely. I cannot dive into my writing during stolen windows of “alone time” that I have to ask my partner for while we car-camp in winter temperatures.

2. While on the trip, which only happened in the first place because of self-betrayal and therefore didn’t go very well, I realized something significant. Most of what I had previously written needed to be reworked.

The trip was a literal dumpster fire. You can thank me for falling on my own sword in order to continue picking apart the horrible beauty that is the self, and the self in partnership. As for me specifically, the trip brought to light how little I know myself because of how much energy I spend ignoring or flat out rejecting her — in general, but especially when I’m in a relationship.

For weeks I’ve been exploring the idea of needs. I’ve been examining unmet needs as a possible cause of my escalating depression, despondency, and mania because I haven’t known what else to blame.

There are plenty of days that go by where I could tell you that everything is all right. T. asks me if I need anything, and with a smile on my heart I tell him that I have it all. I skip on the beach, I hoot and holler from the water, and when the night comes, all I want to do is roast ten pounds of root vegetables, build a fire, and feed my landmates.

There are just as many days, if not more, where it simply feels too late. I know about the inevitable ups and downs of life — I’m not trying to avoid them — but I also know that I at least deserve a balanced ratio of good to bad days. Right now there are too many where I feel as though I’m utterly demented, as if there are some things I’ll never outgrow, no matter which door of my psyche I try to sneak through. My anger boils and spills over into distress, my shame and fear tempt me to shut everybody out. It feels like I am not enough of many things. It feels like I needed something — yesterday.

Though I’ve been careful not to conflate the two, my sense of feeling unwell to the extent that I am now talking about it publicly has increased since being in a relationship. I know that correlation does not equal causation, and I also know that causation wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing here either. Just because a relationship confronts me with my least favorite feelings does not mean the relationship is wrong or toxic. It might just be illuminating.

Regardless, before the trip I thought the war in my mind was the result of being an exceptionally needy person, having poor interpersonal skills, or being in the wrong partnership. All of these possibilities required my immediate attention and so I gave it to them. First I blamed my partner. When that didn’t feel right, I practiced asking for what I need and left space for my partner to meet it.

A few days into our trip, I still could not muster the ability to maintain a loving inner or outer dialogue. I resolved that even if my needs were being met, I was simply too sensitive (see: deranged) for partnership right now. Why do I hate this? Why does everything feel hard and raw? Why is my gratitude elusive? Why can’t I take a joke? Why am I experiencing deep shame at the skate rink? Why is everyone having fun without me? Why am I angry? Why does everything feel personal?

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I make plans, God laughs. After driving nine days through the southwest with T. wherein every plan we had went awry, I realized that the consistent stream of anguish running through me is not because of T. It is not because I have too many needs or because I am not fit for partnership. It is because I am attached to an idea of myself, as an individual but especially as a partner, and all of my energy goes towards pressuring myself to be more like her.

It turns out that life feels like shit when I berate, bully, coerce, or shame myself into being “someone better” every day. It also turns out that the unforeseen variables characteristic of travel are exactly what summon the unrealistic version of myself into view before blasting her to bits. And when I realize my ideal version doesn’t stand a chance in a certain scenario, things get ugly. I have an idea of myself, God laughs.

Today I am thinking about the connection between what has felt like a lifelong and hypersensitive state of emotional neediness and my lifelong unwillingness to accept myself as I am. If I don’t accept myself, I can’t take care of myself. If I can’t take care of myself, I am a walking unmet need. If I don’t meet myself, I can neither know nor give myself what I need, and neither can anyone else.

It seems that all of this hullaballoo is not really about unmet needs or even partnership necessarily, but about an unmet me. And just maybe I wouldn’t feel so needy if I didn’t spend so much time making me wrong.

“Acceptance is something that you might not be good at if you’re someone who is always at war with how people are, including yourself.” -Jessica Dore, from Offering: December 18, 2022

I encounter frustration and resistance — in love, in new settings, in experiencing the present moment — because I don’t allow my true self to meet these things. I contort myself into ways of being or situations that fit with the ideal version of me (see: winter road trip after two months of non-stop work). Usually my goal is to be a more desirable, fun-loving, adventurous, and emotionally stable person because those are the qualities I’ve convinced myself are the best and will get me the most.

I hold myself up against these qualities 24/7 regardless of what I’m going through, what season it is, or if I’m even feeling good while attempting to be this person. Simply put, I don’t give myself the time of day. Instead, I give myself the thankless job of continually trying to embody my ideals, or at least always be working towards them. I treat the current version of me, both the mental and physical, like a temporary “host” while I achieve becoming the me I think I should be. All work, no play. All work, no exquisite rest in me, as I am, right now.

Some examples of the ideal version of me…

• maintains the same pant size that I had at twenty-six

• has no sadness about things I can’t control

• smiles and laughs a lot, even at jokes made at my expense

• travels even when I am tired and loves it because I am lucky and because experiencing different cultures is what smart people do

• loves nature at all times because it’s good for me

• defies my aging body

• goes with the flow about basically everything

• doesn’t fight with boyfriend

• radiates gratitude enough so that no one thinks I am ungrateful

• is the most patient, sexy person in the world

• is masculine enough to be financially thriving, but feminine enough to nurture everything and/or be a sensual slut

• is good at or willing to try most sports or physical activities

• doesn’t spend money but looks really good

Under this kind of pressure, it is easy to see why I’m out of touch with who I am and what I need, why I’m rarely having fun, and why I have meltdowns more often than I am comfortable admitting. When I don’t accept myself as I am, it is easy to see why everything feels like a personal attack because I am under constant attack. I am afraid of who I am and of who I would have to be okay not being if I were to give myself permission to be me. I am afraid of who I would lose.

When I don’t live up to my ideals, I get very defeated. When things (like travel, or reality) get in the way of my ideals, I spiral. When I am a girlfriend, I am especially brutal. I experience the slow and violent death that is trying to be picked based on self-rejecting behaviors, and my lack of self-love makes normal disagreements especially threatening. It’s no wonder that I don’t really like being in partnership even though I do want it. I am a needy and starved partner because until things don’t go as planned or I hit bottom, I don’t actually let myself be the one who shows up in the relationship.

Unfortunately, after I crack and reveal the truth about myself, the shame that keeps me from accepting and expressing myself exactly as I am in the first place, gets compounded. When confronting my demons impacts the person I love, rarely does my meltdown lead to softness or acceptance. Instead, I feel more at risk for the thing I am always trying to avoid: being abandoned by the person who witnessed the melodrama.

Not only do I feel I’ve failed to live up to my ideal self, but often when I reveal my pain, it feels impossible to deny that I am a tormented, self-loathing crybaby. Also, I feel I’ve inconvenienced the relationship or let it down in some way. Anything redeeming I can remember about myself slips away like sand between my fingers. Why would anyone stick around for this? The cycle continues, the spiral deepens.

In what world do I think I can avoid rejection when I reject myself regularly? In what world do I think prioritizing someone else picking me is more important than the baseline standard of me picking me? Is it tragedy or comedy to be conceptually terrified of rejection, even when this is the very abuse I subject myself to all day long?

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good book, did not help

(Almost) everything that came up for me this week was the result of being dangerously, and sometimes willfully, out of touch with myself. I’ve been trying to live up to the ideal version of me for a long time, and as a result I don’t know myself as well as I think I do. Understanding who I really am or what I want can be an indecipherable game. Often it is only after I’ve put myself in a situation do I realize I don’t actually like it.

Other times I do know, intuitively, that I am diving headfirst into something that doesn’t fit. I know that I can’t be someone or that I don’t need to experience something, but I force myself towards whatever it is because I think it’s better that way. I think it’s what the adventurous side of me would do or I think it’s good for my work. I think it’s good for my relationship or I think it will increase my opportunity to be loved.

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Maybe I don’t know myself because I’m hyper-fixated on being somebody else, and maybe sometimes I know myself and still outright deny her. I also think I might be out of touch simply because I change, and rarely do I make the time to reflect on this ever-constant metamorphosis.

I know I’ve grown, but I see now that I think of my growth as something linear — I more or less expect to stay the same, I just improve at it, I get better. Change, on the other hand, follows no structure or path. Change doesn’t care about better or worse — it can be both, or neither. Change can be radical. Change can surprise me and can render me into someone who is nothing like the idea I have about myself. Change can also fling me in the opposite direction of who I’ve actually been, without any notice. Accepting change requires honoring it enough to make time to calibrate with the personal adjustments it brings.

Sometimes I do something simply as a result of outside pressure — because it’s what everybody else is doing. It is especially hard to live by my own standards if they seem totally different from what other people need or are doing — and yet that attitude goes against my favorite advice to give, which is to ignore everybody.

If I had ignored what everyone else was doing for the holidays, if I had ignored the holidays altogether, if I had just done what I felt like doing, I would have stayed home to sleep, read, and cook, even if it meant I’d be home alone. I would not have had the opportunity to remember what I faced while we were on the road, but in truth I already knew that shitstorms brew when I betray myself.

Why did I confront the lesson again? Because I continue to “forget” it. I’m almost positive that as long as I sustain a practice of self-rejection, I will be confronted again and again with the consequences, and with the opportunity to remember what happens to my spirit when I try to hide it from view.

Thanks for reading and for being here.

Anna