Why I Sold My Truth for Membership
One of the best questions I’ve ever been asked happened recently during a class: “What feels honest to you?”. Although I had heard this question disguised in different words many times before, this particular phrasing really landed for me. I sat thinking about my answers and testing the question on some of the larger parts of my life as of late, and it felt so good to really assess how much of my life was in alignment with the truth of who I have come to understand I am. In doing so, I realized that for the first time in my life, the love I am in feels truly honest to me. The love I share with my partner feels honest and real. I am solidly within my truest self when I am with him which is not an experience I have had before in my life. I am more with ME than ever before. I shared with him a few months ago that unlike other relationships I have engaged in, the more I invest in my partnership with him, the closer to myself that I feel. Being in this partnership is allowing me to sink deeper into my truth and meet new parts of myself every day.
My partner and I had been dating about 4 months by this point after deep conversation and friendship for several months prior to beginning a relationship. He mentioned a few weeks ago that he has an annual cabin trip every summer that he goes on with family and stated he thought it would be fun and special to bring me along to meet his family in-person. At first I was pensive about this idea, and I had to check in with myself to figure out what felt honest to me! After sitting with the idea for a few weeks, I decided that I was committed to the idea of going on this trip with him, as our strengthening relationship had warmed this idea in me and I could feel the resounding “yes” when I sat with it. I discussed my excitement about the prospect of going on our first trip together and to meet and get to know his family during that time together. He lit up, and we both basked in how good it felt to take another step towards choosing one another in this new and exciting way. He said he would be calling his mother that week to discuss this idea with her, and we went on with our day.
The very question “What feels honest to you?” was put to the test later the same day it was posed to me during that class. Over a date day at my new apartment prepping a meal for dinner with my partner, I realized we had not talked about updates on my attending his family’s trip and as such, asked if he’d had the chance to chat with his mom about it yet. He told me they had talked that morning and that he had thought about telling me earlier that day but didn’t want to ruin the day with the news. He said that he knows how his mother operates, and that although she had said she would inquire with her sister if the invite was open to me, that she expressed words indicating that she was closed-off to the idea. He broke the news that it sounded as though she didn’t want a new person outside the family to attend their vacation.
I felt my heart sink and my stomach drop in that moment. My mind went fuzzy, and I could feel the tears stinging behind my eyes. I could feel myself put up a wall to shut down emotionally. I had no idea how strongly I would react to this rejection, and honestly, I didn’t anticipate it going that direction in the first place. In my mind, I was so engulfed in the happiness bubble we had created around us that I felt blindsided that the plans my partner and I drew up in our minds would not be received well by others.
Wanting desperately to stay present and open in this moment, I excused myself to the bathroom to shed a few tears and breathe. As I sat on the toilet drying my eyes and gulping in breaths, I thought about what this fresh injury had re-opened. I thought about how quickly and violently the wave of sadness and fear had rushed over me and how easily the tears had flown. Reminded of the concept, “if it is hysterical, it is historical”, I wanted to understand the historical wound coming up in this fresh pain.
When I reemerged, he spoke to me, telling me that we were in this together and that he wanted to know what was going through my mind. I was still swimming around in my thoughts so we sat quietly for awhile until I was ready to process out loud. I have found in these new relationships both with myself and with a partner, that the space between words in times of conflict and pain are especially anxious for me. However, I have also come to understand the utility in that space. In allowing a space for silence and reflection, I am able to process and digest the feelings coming up before speaking, and as a result, I can usually come up with some very insightful realizations about myself in these times of quiet tension.
When we finally began speaking, gently sorting through all that was coming up, I could feel my mind slowly untangling as I went along. What I realized about this pain is that I grew up feeling like I wasn’t a priority. I often felt the weight of feeling like I was “too much”, and often like my presence and existence were a burden. My parents went through a messy and emotional divorce when I was three, and I can remember feeling like I was in the way of their ability to move on with their individual lives. As a result, I made every attempt to perform my way into feeling chosen and wanted. I over-functioned and contorted myself to receive love. I sold my truth of needing to feel unconditionally wanted and loved for an idea that I had to fall in line and earn my way into love. This is my earliest recognition of pain around not feeling implicitly chosen. These early memories have created a false belief that if I am not actively affirmed and chosen by others, that I am unworthy of love and belonging. The more we sifted and sorted through my history, through tears, I had a memory rush over me. It was a light-bulb moment, and I actually audibly acknowledged the revelation I’d just had. My partner asked for me to share with him what was coming up.
I proceeded to tell him about a particularly scarring experience I’d had with an ex’s family over a holiday weekend at their cabin years prior. The whole family had left to begin the holiday weekend a day before I was able to go, as I had promised to help a friend with a task before leaving town. I’d had hesitation to go late to the weekend in the first place, feeling in my gut that my sensitivity would bring up feelings of exclusion upon arrival. I’d struggled regularly within the family dynamic with feeling that I was not included and that the family did not want to make space for me, but it was among mixed messages of at times feeling seen and wanted while other times feeling like a fifth wheel who wouldn’t be missed if I wasn’t there.
Despite my gut nagging feeling that the weekend would not bode well for my emotions, I wanted to prove it wrong and go “fit in” with the family. During the drive, my ex had called me to inform me that although he told his mother that I would be arriving by midday, that she wanted the family to head out and go golfing a few hours before I was due to arrive. I felt crushed and frustrated that the family did not want to wait to include me in the outing. My ex wasn’t particularly attuned to my sadness and told me he thought it wasn’t a big deal and urged me to just drive straight to the course and meet them as they finished up. Feeling defeated and shut down, I drove to the course. When I arrived, I had to get my own golf cart and drive across the course to sit and watch them golf the last few holes on the teams they had set up. His mother told me to hop in and golf a few swings for my ex, but that felt inauthentic to how I was feeling, so I chose not to join in.
When we arrived back at the cabin, I was told that I would be staying on the futon in the living room, as everyone else was already set up in the available beds in bedrooms downstairs. I was struck again with the pain of feeling out of place and an afterthought. I now felt trapped inside a weekend in which my sensitivity and emotion around these events felt unacknowledged and very much not understood. I tried speaking with my ex about the feelings I was having, and I was met with defensive resistance. I felt like my words were falling on deaf ears, as he and I operated on different levels of emotional sensitivity. I questioned whether I was being “too sensitive” in being as hurt as I was. The conversation went nowhere, and I went into survival mode, shutting myself off emotionally from my ex and the family, unable to process and move through my pain.
The following day was spent on the lake swimming and boating. The family returned to the cabin late afternoon, and I decided to take a quick shower before dinner was ready. I was relaxing trying to wash away the pain and resentment I had been feeling the days prior in an attempt to finish the weekend with a clean slate. When I stepped out of the shower to get dressed, I could hear the whole family sit down to the table saying grace and beginning the meal without me. Another part of me died in that moment. Another helping of hurt slammed into me and something in me broke. I sat on the toilet and cried, unsure how I would leave the bathroom and not cause a scene with my swollen red eyes as I was the only one not seated with the rest for the meal. I waited a long while in the bathroom while the rest of the family ate, trying to compose myself and deciding what I needed to do. When I finally worked up the courage to leave the bathroom, I excused myself to go outside. A little while later my ex joined me in the yard, and I informed him that I had decided I would leave and spend the remaining time in the weekend at my best friend’s cabin an hour away. I did not offer a fully authentic explanation to my ex-partner’s family about why I was suddenly departing, leaving him to explain for me.
I realized in the retelling of this story to my current partner that in suppressing and hiding my feelings in those moments, I was living incongruently to my truth. I had been in a lifelong pattern of denying my feelings and abandoning my truth in order to try to be more lovable. My truth was that I needed to be surrounded by loved ones that reaffirmed that I was wanted and included, and when I felt other than that, I needed to be willing to authentically share my hurt and establish healthy communication around what I needed. I was unable to access that insight at the time, but upon reflection of it now, I am able to see that I sold my truth to avoid conflict and be accepted. I spent the weekend pretending I was “fine” in order to “fit in”. Looking back on that time with that partner, I am able to see that I spent the entire relationship attempting to squelch my emotional nature and fit in with the family dynamic. I sold my truth for a membership to the family.
After hearing my story, my current partner took my hand, looked me square in the eye, and without faltering or looking away, said “I see you. I see your pain, and you are allowed to feel all of how you are feeling right now. Although I may not have all the answers about how to move forward in this situation, I promise you that I won’t ever stand by and passively witness your hurt. I will always protect you and acknowledge your feelings. I will never let you stand alone on that island. I will always act in a way that lets you know you are wanted and included. I will never give up on you.” In that moment, I healed a little.
The beautiful thing about our closest relationships is that they are mirrors. Our loved ones mirror back to us the parts of ourselves we desperately need to see to heal, and vice versa. My partner holding me in that space reminded me of several things:
- I will never be alone on an island again because I will never abandon ME again. Me, myself, and I; till death do WE part, as Glennon Doyle so beautifully preaches these vows to live by. So as much as I want a partner who is able to stand beside me and hold me in my truth, I can never again be alone because I refuse to ever sell my truth for membership and abandon myself again. We are solely responsible for living within our truth and holding ourselves closest.
- The universe has shown me that when I refuse to leave myself, when I embrace myself in all my truth, I will be met with mirrors in relationship to show me that I am capable of choosing love that feels supportive, expansive, and present. If I sell myself out and abandon myself, I will only be capable of attracting people who cannot show up for me in the ways I need.
We cannot expect others to show up for us in ways we are unwilling to show up for ourselves first. However, if we stick bravely within our truth and our values, we will call forward people into our lives that can mirror that back to us and hold space for all of ourselves because they are people that, likewise, will know how to hold space for all of themselves. We are all mirrors for each other, always showing up in perfect time to show each other what we most need to see.
The beauty in this lesson is that I realized that for me, a love that is honest to me is one where, when the hardest most painful things come up, I can heal old wounds rather than create new ones. There is so much truth in the notion that we become both wounded and healed in relationship. When we become wounded in past relationships, a space opens up and an invitation to align more fully with our truth presents itself. If we can answer that call and align more solidly with our innermost selves, we are able to invite new future relationships that are capable of demonstrating this new truth for us. There is much work to be done to heal in spaces of solitude with ourselves of course, but the wounds caused inside relationship are often also healed within relationship. Historically for me, conflict in relationship equated to a permanent increased isolation and distance. Every argument jammed another small wedge between my partner and I, and that left more scars. This new love has shown me that honest love is where you can show up fully and vulnerably when it is most difficult and be met with open arms, grace, and a soft place to land. You start to build a bridge where you once built a wall, and those moments of trust built in vulnerability begin to heal those scars that have been sitting below the surface for so many years.
I am learning that my priority to myself is to find an existence that is honest to me on all fronts. One in which what is going on inwardly is congruently mapped outwardly. When we live in our truest solid selves, we can attract relationships with others, romantically or otherwise, that mirror the honest expression of ourselves. When we are willing to stay with ourselves through difficult moments instead of trading our truth for membership, we can attract people who will stick emotionally with us through tension, asking us to be nothing other than exactly who and where we are in that moment.
