Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone’s hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours.
– Vera Nazarian
I thought that this week would be easy. I figured that reaching out to my loved ones would be a pleasant diversion from the emotional unpacking of previous weeks. I should probably start every page with the words “this will get deeper than you wanted” to warn myself that a large part of learning how to be happy is making a study out of your own unhappiness. This is not a post-mortem of past trauma, this is a vivisection. This is emotional, this is raw, this is irrational, this is painful. This is also hopeful.
It’s Been a While
I have never been good at keeping in touch with people. It isn’t because I don’t want to connect (I do) but something always stops me from reaching out, from popping up unannounced into someone’s phone or consciousness. Maybe I’m afraid that reminding a loved one of my existence is somehow an imposition. Why would someone want to hear from me when they have other, much more important people in their lives? Or maybe I’ve let too much time go by and they’ve moved on or given up.
I live with someone who does not seem to share my irrational fears and sometimes I forget that I am not the only one who feels anxious, guilty, or self-conscious when I type the words Hey, how are you doing? It’s been a while…
Why am I shining this awkward light on myself? I have wallowed in my failures of communication for a very long time without doing anything but feel sorry for myself. My infinitely practical husband has spent the better part of eight years kindly reminding me to talk regularly with my friends and family, but somehow the fear always wins. It is almost beyond logic. When I reach out, hear back, talk, and re-connect, I feel good. The flood of dopamine alone should be enough to keep me going, but somehow I convince myself that the lovely conversation I just had was a one-off and that whoever is on the other line has done their duty, spent their allotted time, and has no more they’re willing to give.
After years of dancing around the problem, I believe I’ve finally found the gnarled root of my fear of reaching out. The more I think about it, the more I internalize it. The more I share it, however, the more irrational it feels, so perhaps its grip over me will eventually be loosened. If you sense that I am beating around the bush, you are correct, because I am deeply ashamed of what I am about to admit. Here goes nothing.
Second String
I grew up with one mother, one father, and one sister. The four of us only overlapped for about eight years and after our mother died, it was just the three of us for a long time. I hesitate to speak for someone else but I think it’s fair to say that my sister and I have grown up with very little idea of what it’s like to have a mother, despite being surrounded by those belonging to other people. Yes, I have always had Aunts and close family friends, and recently (and within six months of each other), I acquired both a stepmother and a mother-in-law. I am surrounded by women, by mothers. But they’re not mine, they belong to someone else. All three of my Aunts, including my mother’s sister, have daughters of their own. My stepmother has a daughter, and my mother-in-law has a daughter. Every single one of these women has opened their arms and heart to me in different ways, and I believe I am a daughter, or at least “daughter-adjacent” to most of them. But the self-destructive part of my mind still dwells on one thing above all else: I will never be their first call. If given a choice, they would reach out to their own daughters before reaching out to me. I am a puzzle with a piece missing and they are not. They are mothers with daughters, and all I can hope for, at best, is to be an added bonus – a backup – for when their own daughters are not around.
It goes without saying that these are dangerous, destructive, and deeply irrational thoughts. I am also distilling complicated things like love and motherhood into simple binaries and clunky metaphors. I am also giving the women in my narrative very little credit or room for nuance. I know this, but sometimes it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I feel angry, I feel bitterly jealous, and I feel cheated. Both my sister and I have been robbed of the opportunity of growing older with the support, love, and companionship of our own mother. The most irrational part of it all is that I know that every single woman I mentioned would be there for me, immediately, if I needed. They would gladly offer advice, assurance, and time. I haven’t doubted that for a second. They don’t owe me anything but they’ve given me a lot. But the craziest thing is, every time I think I should reach out to them, a small voice in my head snears: They don’t want to hear from you. They want to talk to their own daughters. You make them feel bad and uncomfortable. Who do you think you are, calling them, asking them for anything?
I won’t dwell much more on this because I am, in fact, paying someone to untangle this particular knot, but I wanted to acknowledge that this flawed and broken thought process is part of why I am sometimes afraid of putting myself out there. I am afraid of being rejected by someone I need in my life. I am afraid of annoying people. I’m afraid of finding out that what they really think is that I am an irritating, self-righteous, neurotic mess. I am probably not the first call for many people – maybe only my husband. I know this and I am okay with this, but an irrational fear is just that: irrational.
What Now?
Over the past few months, I have uncovered fundamental truths about myself that I have been hiding for a long time. I didn’t want to acknowledge that a lot of the sadness in my life has come, directly or indirectly, from the death of my mother and the gaping hole that it left me with. It seemed too simple to me that my complicated emotions can all be attributed to one key moment in my life. It’s here that I say something clever about Occam’s Razor.
Moving forward, I think it’s important to acknowledge these truths when considering my own Happiness as a practice, a goal, or a mindset. I think of it like meditation. In a poorly-worded nutshell: you sit in stillness and try to clear your mind of all negative thoughts. When such a thought inevitably wanders through, don’t berate yourself for thinking it and don’t give up. Acknowledge that thought and let it float by, grateful for its role in your journey. (Excuse me while I get my essential oils and light my serenity candle).
I did it, and it was great
My task this week was to “reach out”. Is it easy in concept? Yes. Did I make it unbearably complicated after the fact? Of course I did. This week I managed to connect with several people that I care about. I had a long video call with three friends and four members of my family. We spoke about everything and nothing. We checked in with each other, we laughed, we marvelled at our global predicament, and we planned for a future where we could be in the same room together. This is a time when connection matters the most and we can no longer take it for granted. I can’t use fear and vulnerability as an excuse for not reaching out, because these connections are the most important things we have. Every one of the people I spoke with this week holds a big piece of my heart. They have given me things I cannot possibly articulate. I think there is a strange beauty in knowing that you can never really express how you feel, but the Happiness comes from spending your whole life trying.
Sources
15 Simple Things to Do to Be Happier Today
Quincy Seale, Keepinspiring.me
9 Things You Can Do to Be Happy in the Next 30 Minutes
Gretchen Rubin | @gretchenrubin | ( https://quiz.gretchenrubin.com/ ) on Real Simple
How to Be Happy 