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serafaeryThis section of the book resonates with me so much, as she and I both grew up in an environment where as a child, love always came with strings attached, and had to be earned and repaid or we would be punished. So we couldn't accept gifts or affection without contriving a self-imposed debt and repaying it in full plus excessive interest.
"I was so eager to earn respect and love, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was honoring her gift and that I was making myself appear more likable. I just wanted to even the score. I didn't want to be punished. I didn't want to lose her. I just wanted to repay the debt so she'd continue liking me. I thought I was being unselfish, I thought I was being kind. It would be decades before I understood what happened in that exchange.
In hindsight, I can see Barbara's face, along with the faces of so many other people throughout my life, people who simply wanted to help me or to offer me something. People who simply wanted to be kind. People who wanted good for me.
But I couldn't allow it. I couldn't handle it. I couldn't even believe in it. All that kindness had to be returned quickly. I couldn't let it land on me. The minute I saw sweetness and generosity coming my way, I'd duck and cover and bounce it right back. This is how I continued to feel safe. I would control the flow to me and make sure there were never strings attached. I would not only under-earn and over-give, I would make sure to never allow more than I deserved, and that anything extra would always be repaid, with interest.
You can imagine how fun it was to be in a relationship with me. Oh, you brought me a flower? Here are ten flowers for you. Oh, you want to take me out to dinner? Here are five casseroles in return. Just put one in the oven at 350 and freeze the rest for a rainy day.
This is how I survived my childhood, and this tactic works well when you're living with mental illness, alcoholism, abuse, or any other terrible dysfunction. This strategy kept me alive and it helped me feel a tiny bit of empowerment in an atmosphere of chaos and violence.
But out there in the real world, this strategy just pushes good and loving people further away, while leaving a wide open door for the ones who want to exploit you. It makes you incredibly difficult to love, and very easy to use. It's an impassable barrier to intimacy, and a perfect recipe for worthlessness. Over years and decades, this strategy isolates you, preventing you from experiencing the benefits and risks of what it means to be human. For me it made love an impossible dream, and one that I'd long ago deemed the stuff of fiction. Instead, I settled on a cheap substitute: admiration. If I couldn't be loved, I'd be admired. I'd make myself an asset, I'd erase my own needs, I'd ignore my feelings, my desires, myself, and instead I'd keep selling The Ideal Version Of Myself, the one who needed nothing, the one who handled everything. That Ideal Self? She was the Star Who Needed Nothing. And the true me? She was the Nothing that needed Everything.
Meadow Devor
"I was so eager to earn respect and love, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was honoring her gift and that I was making myself appear more likable. I just wanted to even the score. I didn't want to be punished. I didn't want to lose her. I just wanted to repay the debt so she'd continue liking me. I thought I was being unselfish, I thought I was being kind. It would be decades before I understood what happened in that exchange.
In hindsight, I can see Barbara's face, along with the faces of so many other people throughout my life, people who simply wanted to help me or to offer me something. People who simply wanted to be kind. People who wanted good for me.
But I couldn't allow it. I couldn't handle it. I couldn't even believe in it. All that kindness had to be returned quickly. I couldn't let it land on me. The minute I saw sweetness and generosity coming my way, I'd duck and cover and bounce it right back. This is how I continued to feel safe. I would control the flow to me and make sure there were never strings attached. I would not only under-earn and over-give, I would make sure to never allow more than I deserved, and that anything extra would always be repaid, with interest.
You can imagine how fun it was to be in a relationship with me. Oh, you brought me a flower? Here are ten flowers for you. Oh, you want to take me out to dinner? Here are five casseroles in return. Just put one in the oven at 350 and freeze the rest for a rainy day.
This is how I survived my childhood, and this tactic works well when you're living with mental illness, alcoholism, abuse, or any other terrible dysfunction. This strategy kept me alive and it helped me feel a tiny bit of empowerment in an atmosphere of chaos and violence.
But out there in the real world, this strategy just pushes good and loving people further away, while leaving a wide open door for the ones who want to exploit you. It makes you incredibly difficult to love, and very easy to use. It's an impassable barrier to intimacy, and a perfect recipe for worthlessness. Over years and decades, this strategy isolates you, preventing you from experiencing the benefits and risks of what it means to be human. For me it made love an impossible dream, and one that I'd long ago deemed the stuff of fiction. Instead, I settled on a cheap substitute: admiration. If I couldn't be loved, I'd be admired. I'd make myself an asset, I'd erase my own needs, I'd ignore my feelings, my desires, myself, and instead I'd keep selling The Ideal Version Of Myself, the one who needed nothing, the one who handled everything. That Ideal Self? She was the Star Who Needed Nothing. And the true me? She was the Nothing that needed Everything.
Meadow Devor
