Posts Tagged ‘expectation’

The Point

Yeah, I'm definitly one of the spokes on the dented wheel

Broken Bicycle by Cecelia/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

OK, confession time.

I was a bad girlfriend.

I don’t mean that I was unsupportive or abusive, or even that I didn’t listen to him (I really hope none of those are true!). I had unrealistic expectations. Ridiculous expectations, in fact. It all comes back to this, doesn’t it?

I know that I am not a hub of any social network. I’m barely a spoke, these days. Dashing is a hub. He is one of those people who naturally draws people in, and manages to keep them around. People call him, book him for gigs, want to spend time with him, want his opinion, his perspective, his presence. I know I do.

For me, this is magic. I know it actually takes a good amount of work on both parts, but from the outside, it is magic. For someone unskilled at maintaining a community, it is awe-inspiring magic.

So I think some part of me thought that I could learn this skill from him. Or that it would rub off on me somehow. And when that didn’t work, and we’d been together for awhile, I think I began to think that if we just got married, if we just lived together, if he declared me family – then I would be part of the hub, too! I actually think this may be the source of a lot of our issues – my feelings of loneliness, inadequacy, and desperation to move foward (because it’s better over there, it has to be, right?), and his feeling pressured and like he couldn’t give me what I wanted.

Well, of course he couldn’t. No one can, except me, and I don’t know how!

This is not a new thought.

The realisation that I was unconsciously doing this to him, to us, is new, but the knowledge that I suck at maintaining friedships, and that no one can fix it but me, totally not new.

It’s actually part of why I started this blog. To figure it all out. To put my thoughts out there (semi) cohesively.
See, I’m kind of a hermit. Or I go through periods of hermit-like behaviour.

Part of this is that I newly suffer from anxiety, of the kind that avoids crowds and loud environments. And part of it is that I carry a good amount of shame around with me. I very recently figured that part out.

See, I try to stay in touch, but then people don’t call back. Or I organize a party and people don’t show up (true story!). So then I stop calling and reaching out, because if people really wanted to be my friend, they’d call, right? They’d show up, right? They’d do some organizing and invite me places, right?

So then I think, I’m not worth it, they don’t want to talk to me because I stopped acting and sold out to a corporate overlord for drugs and money. They don’t want to talk to me because our communal event which forced them to endure my presence is now over and so they can go back to their real lives, which don’t include me. They don’t want to talk to me because I’m not cool enough, I speak too loudly, I’m too opinionated, I’m offensive, I get too excited at the prospect of hanging out – maybe I smell…

I don’t think I’m alone in thinking this. In fact, I think one of the keys to it all is that maybe, just maybe, love is all about giving.

Maybe nine times out of ten you feel like you’re the only one¬† participating, for the payoff of that one time when you get contacted. Maybe it’s always a struggle. Maybe they’re not calling you because they’re so wrapped up in wondering why you’re not calling them.

To Dashing, I’m sorry. Clearly, I have a lot to learn yet.

I thought we could learn together, but maybe these are lessons best learned apart. Maybe.

To the rest of the world – what do you think? Do you ever feel this way? How do you combat it? Do you never feel this way? Are you a ‘hub’? How do you do it??

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Expectation versus Reality

I keep coming back to this phrase. Because, really, it sums up the issue in a lot of different instances.

For instance, my mother comes to lunch today. And brings up my father’s behaviour towards my aunt and uncle at the induction ceremony. And it’s no surprise, right? I mean anybody paying attention knew it was coming. It’s (not a big) part of why I ran away and had my weekend of solitude on Thanksgiving. Because while it would be rude of them to speak about my father when he’s not there to defend himself, it would be so much more of a hazard to speak my mind to them while they’re hosting the family supper.

And let’s be honest; they can’t help themselves.

So my mother’s all worked up and wants to know why they all can’t just get along.

Seriously?

It all comes back to expectation versus reality, like I said here.

So, in this case, for whatever reason, my mother is expecting something very Norman Rockwell to come out of it… uh, Norman Rockwell, while under-rated, didn’t paint split families that communicate in proxy and through sarcasm, Ma.

So, I look her in the eye, and I tell her, like the grown up that I am becoming, that it is not my problem. That she (or my aunt and uncle, for Pete’s sake!) can talk to my father about his behaviour anytime they feel moved enough to pick up the phone. But it has nothing to do with me.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings to try to make it my problem.

Ah well, one day at a time, right?

Hooded Man With Spray Bottle by hin255/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This young gent might be more our speed to capture our family portrait… Whadda ya think?

Student living and me.

Just life. But through the eyes of a Blue-eyed History student.

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