Are You Lost And Alone And Easily Rejected?

Not long ago I clicked through one of those Facebook quizzes, the kind that promises to pinpoint whatever is holding you back in life. This one came from Mind Movies. The results caught me off guard and somehow didn't: rejection, and the fear of ending up alone.

What scares me most is the idea of every source of support vanishing at once. Picture a disagreement between me and my family or friends over something that matters. My worry is that I'll be, to put it bluntly, tossed out onto the street. When the choice comes down to backing me versus backing themselves or someone else, I assume I'm the one who loses. The dread of being cut loose, with nobody there for me in any way, physical or emotional, runs deep.

Where did all of that come from? I grew up in a house where love was withdrawn as the go-to method of discipline, handed down by a mother determined to keep a tight grip on everyone. Her way or the highway, pretty much. And she had company in this. My father got fed up with me too; during one argument he announced he'd pack up and leave. Back then the father brought home the money, and things like child support or welfare either didn't exist or had never reached my ears.

In that controlling house, the things I was actually good at, and there were a few, rarely seemed to earn praise. Half the time I felt they went unseen. When report cards arrived in grade school, one thing my parents fixated on was whether I kept a tidy desk. Kids soak up whatever they're told and whatever surrounds them, and that absorption goes even deeper when the household rule is: my word is final, and no other way of seeing the world is on offer.

It didn't take long for me to start hiding things from them. The notes were the worst, the ones from teachers asking my parents to come in and discuss my behavior, which most of my teachers struggled to handle. My second-grade teacher was the exception, the only woman who taught me in those years.

So is it any wonder I can be so private, that I don't feel valued for the work I love doing, that in the family pecking order I seldom come out ahead, and that asking for help is treated as something I'm not supposed to do even when I clearly need it? And if someone has to go, I've long assumed it would be me.

Add to that the trouble I sometimes have making friends and holding onto them. Rejected, left out, taken for granted: that's the feeling. Now and then, when others sense a bit of rivalry with me, it curdles into jealousy and cruelty aimed my way. I'm intelligent, I'm educated, I can get things done on my own and keep at something even when it's hard.

Still, making myself more likable, more accepted, feels like an uphill climb. I can stand in a full room and feel completely by myself, and no, I don't enjoy it that way. The one place the feeling has eased is in my spiritual exploration, where for once I didn't feel shut out. A footnote: my mother was shy, and she'd bring me along to baby and wedding showers and other women's gatherings just to have company, even when I was quite small.

I also suspect that if my family ever read this, they'd get it completely backwards and twist it into something to wound me with. I love them. I count having a family as the finest thing in my life, even though early on I doubted I'd ever have one. What they want from me is to be the dependable wife, mother, and provider they picture. My hope is that falling short of that won't bring the old love withdrawal back around.

And in the end, they'd probably wave off everything here as some concoction from the many kinds of therapy I've been through. The genuine me lives in my writing, which I doubt they've read much of. If they did read any, I'd expect editorial notes rather than any sign of understanding or acceptance of the ideas and experiences inside. Put me somewhere that welcomes new thoughts and experiences, and I turn loose and fully myself. What about you?

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