Freak and I have been discussing respect all evening. Its interesting how differently we grew up. Freak had to earn respect, from his grandparents, from his brothers, from his superiors in the military. My family didn’t really operate like that, and neither have any of my relationships. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that respect has played a very limited, if any, role in my life up until recently.
Over the past year, I have watched Freak respect himself. I have seen him demand respect from his friends, demand that they respect themselves, demand respect from his parents, his bosses, and from strangers. I have seen him lay out who he is to the world, and I have seen him willing to risk rejection. He sees respect in actions, not words. And yet, he loves more freely than anyone I have ever known. He loves himself completely, he loves me, imperfections and all, and he tries very hard to not have requirements for his affection.
For me, I have always seen a lack of respect synonymous with a lack of love. Any hint of disapproval, legitimate or not, sent me into a tizzy trying desperately to regain approval so as to not loose love. I see now that people’s love for me is, for the majority, not conditional on my making certain grades, earning a certain salary, acting a certain way, etc.
This ties in with my other observations about living life for others. I saw following other’s directives as the highest form of love. In my need for approval, my need to have others not only accept, but also like my actions and decisions, I have occasionally disrespected myself, prostrated myself, groveling to the beloved for crumbs of approval.
Stepping back from my life, and looking at Freak, who as I noted above, is usually very self-confident and assured, I realized that my love for him swells when he is being that Freak, being who he has worked so hard to become. He has two friends, and I found myself frustrated with Freak over them—and I realize why now: I don’t like to see Freak seem desperate, see Freak bend over backwards to accommodate others who don’t meet him halfway, see him make all the moves to keep contact going, keep the friendship going, when they really don’t seem to give Freak adequate respect.
Why then has it taken me so long to see how pervasive this is in my own life? Seeing this one isolated incident in Freak’s life makes me see how even though it frustrates the dickens out of me, this is what I love about Freak. I love that he is not an attention whore, that he is confident enough to not blame himself when things don’t work out, that he is willing to loose to a friend rather than keep them at all costs and let them walk all over him.
My family and my relationships have always been guilt-based, not respect based. I do things out of guilt, and I use guilt, rather than respect to demand things. It is only recently that I respect myself enough to be willing to say that I do certain things for me. Not because I care what people think, not because I want to win approval points, but because it makes me feel better. It is from these baby steps of the last weeks that I can finally see, and begin to comprehend respect.
I see it surfacing in my last several journal entries. I’m tired of doing all the work. I still find myself doing this way too often. I’m a smart, intelligent, funny, loving, warm person, and yet I act like some social pariah, grateful for any attention, not worthy of people making the effort. And so they don’t. And I’m to blame. Because I alternately give off my “woe is me vibes” and my “untouchable legal warrior whose life is so together vibes” both of which work really well as friendship repellants.
But I think realizing the issue is a huge step forward me. To be willing to say that I shouldn’t have to settle for crumbs, that other people should really be willing to meet me half way is a big part of finally loving myself, inch by precious inch. I love myself when I stop caring what others think so much. When I love my Freak in the way I always do, not censoring myself for others, when I delight in knocking down *a* pin bowling with colleagues like tonight, when I show my unique style, I love myself, I love my life, and I’m not afraid to show it.
I’ve let many people in my life coast by—I make the small talk so they don’t have to deal with awkward silences. I provide the entertainment so that they don’t have to. I send emails and regular contact, I give advice, show concern, and am always one step ahead of them, so they don’t have to chase me down. I have been scared to be elusive, scared to be unavailable, scared to be too busy, scared to be pissed at their insensitivity. I gripe and moan about how I always make the first move, but I never really give others much of a chance.
A funny story: When I met Freak, I wanted to kiss him really badly when he hugged goodbye the first time, but I didn’t. So, the next day, we’re flirting via email, and I announce my desire to kiss him. So of course, we kiss as soon as we see each other. Fast forward about six months or so, and I start pinning that it didn’t happen “naturally,” that I wasn’t patient.
Aha! Eureka! I’ve got it. And hell if we’re not straight back at the patience issue again. My impatience is born in fear. I’m not patient enough to wait for respect. I’m not patient enough to go through the process of searching for others who truly respect the wonderful person I am. I start sucking up the crumbs, and showering others with the whole freakin’ bakery starting the whole vicious cycle over and over again.
Its funny, because I see now how desperately I have wanted respect—in my positions at law school, in my jobs, in my love life, from my family. And yet, I have believed deep down that I wasn’t worthy of their respect. And I have acted like it. And worse yet, I have allowed my belief to color my perception of others. In hindsight, I think a lot of people at law school and in college probably respected me a great deal, and plenty of others probably tried to, but because I didn’t respect myself, I couldn’t see the respect.
And instead of giving respect, I gave hero worship, and my neediness repelled others with balanced lives, who showed up with their true selves. Not everyone wonderful was repelled, and their respect has propelled me to this place, but I seemed to attract, and be attracted to the neediest of the needy, the fellow social misfits, the fellow self-haters, the low self-esteem club. Looking back, my most successful, mutually affirming friendships have had the respect that many others have lacked.
In their neediness I found purpose, in their problems I felt worthy, and distracted from the emptiness inside. But now my “empty pockets” are gradually becoming full, and I’m able to take more social risks now. But old habits die long, slow painful deaths, and old fears linger on like chronic illnesses. I have a hard time trusting that if I don’t make the effort, others will come to me, that if I place myself first, others will respect that. I don’t trust others to like me, I guess. I don’t trust them to be my friend, so I treat them like my prisoner instead—showering them with attention, binding them to me, rushing forward to fulfill my expectations before they disappear in a poof.
But this is not the person I want to be. I want to be the person with her cell phone turned off, occasionally too busy to check email. I want to be the person who shows up. I want to be the person there for herself. I want to be the person so comfortable in her skin that others enjoy her presence. I want to dance to the drums and not need a partner or an audience. I want to be the person who respects herself, who speaks her needs clearly and not in a passive aggressive, or indirect fashion. I want to be honest about those needs, and not ashamed or guilty. I want to expect more from others, and yet also expect less.
I want to fill my own emptiness, I want to not need them, to know that I can live without them, to act that way. But, I want to expect their respect, I want to expect them to do some work, expect them to like me enough to try, I want to expect them to be honest, I want to expect them to be reasonable. I want to expect them to live up to their obligations, to their promises.
I want to love people like my cat, Dora loves me and I love her. I want to trust them to seek me out, to love them completely while they are with me, and let them go without regret when they chase after something else. I want to tell them when they hurt me and when I’ve had enough. I want them to know that I need them without my having to use bribes to get them in the room. I want to trust them to be waiting for me, to remember me, to expect me to have a life, and to have their own spiders to chase.
I want to be patient. I want to risk. I want to continue this path I am on, because it feels so good, so incredible. I want to love myself more and more, and respect myself. I want to reward and foster respect. If you are who you are being, I want who I am being to be closer and closer to who I know I am, to who I fantasize about being. And I know I can, and I know I'm already well on my way.
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