For a long time, our author felt like her friends’ grief box. She didn’t cry on anyone’s shoulder herself. But that wasn’t because of the evil others.
Taking care of others is a really nice thing. People – primarily those who read female – learn this very early on. And take care of dolls, animals, prehistoric crabs. So it’s hardly surprising that I, too, considered the suggestion box function to be part of my DNA for a long time. I’m just the one who is there for others.
I think it’s like that for a lot of people. I often hear from friends who are going through difficult times together, crying in each other’s arms when they have lost something or someone and making a firm promise to each other: you can always call me, no matter what time it is. I have said this sentence many times. And heard. But I never did it.
Because this “being there for each other” was a one-way street for me for a long time. I realized this when I wasn’t feeling well myself. And I realized that I no longer had the energy to care for others. Because neither I nor anyone else cared about me.
Anyone who finds that he/she is stuck in such a one-way street dynamic will find it difficult to get out of it. Simply put it in reverse – forbidden. Turning – even more noticeable. So just keep driving and complain like a real driver?
That would probably be the simplest reaction and the most obvious answer to why you are always there for others but they are not there for you. The others are to blame. Bad friends. Egocentric.
May be. But I don’t think so. After all, you are behind the wheel and are at least involved in the routing of all relationship paths. Or has it perhaps even been usurped entirely? Because then you know the route and it seems predictable and safe? And because it’s sometimes easier to deal with other people’s problems than your own?
If others are never there for you, can’t it be that you don’t allow it? It would be presumptuous to try to discuss the reasons for this in such a text. But I can think of many understandable causes, be it fear of losing control, your own mentality of being a sponge, or simply because you have always learned to function. To be the strong one. Each of us chooses our role; it’s good to question it from time to time.
Do you even let others be there for you?
It sounds macabre, but crying friends sometimes had an almost magical attraction to me. I don’t have a masochistic streak, nor do I like to ride the white horse as a rescuer. But they were so open. So real. So uncontrolled, fascinatingly vulnerable that I loved her twice as much. I felt a deep longing – not just to be there for her, but to be her. To dare to open up. To give up control. To be vulnerable. And show it to others.
When we show ourselves vulnerable to one another, it creates a closeness that is unlike any other. But with this longing I realized: I had withdrawn from this closeness for years. While others walked part of the way towards me, showed me an alternative route, even kicked down the street sign, I stubbornly continued to drive straight ahead.
Once I felt this longing, it never left me. Some time ago I had a key event. I had an appointment. As the day went on I didn’t feel well, didn’t know why, didn’t have a solution to the problem, was cranky and tired. My autopilot immediately told me to go home! Which in my case would mean – cancel. I did not do it. I drove to my girlfriend’s house, without a navigation system, all alone. I sat on her sofa, got a blanket and a warm meal. I found myself in unknown territory, I drove off the road, completely following my friend’s plan, who in turn turned out to be a wonderful route guide. This wasn’t new to me, after all, I had already watched her accompany others through valleys. But it was new to me how good it felt when I sat in the valley!
I would give this experience a five star review and recommend it to everyone. I feel like I’ve discovered a new, brave hobby, hey, you guys, I’m off-roading now, ask me how I’m doing, it might be a little jerky, but just get in, we’ll get there.
Since then, it has become much easier for me to notice junctions on the side of the road. That have always been there. I just never took them. What I’m trying to say with all of my traffic metaphors: if you feel like you’re only ever there for others, it’s not necessarily their fault. Because your friends may be just as wonderful route guides as mine – you just never let them take the wheel.