The people you carry with you (and those you wish you could drop)

Back view of people hugging on a beach
“Once in a while I return to the fold of people I call my own.”
If ever you should find yourself adrift in a moment you can’t put words to, I guarantee there is a Finn lyric that will do the job.
The beautifully simple piece of lyrical mastery above, which has always stayed with me (as good songwriting should), is from a 2006 Finn Brothers song called Won’t Give In. To me, this is about the way our most treasured humans anchor us in time and space, shaping our sense of identity and shoring up our sense of purpose. Last week I returned to my homeland and spent a delicious week with family and friends, and I observed, not for the first time, the effect that being in their presence had on the rhythm of my heart. I felt lighter, I felt held. I remembered how much the humans around me make me want to be a better human.

And then I remembered that some of the people who make me a better human are not among my inner sanctum. Actually, some of the people who’ve taught me the most are people I wish I’d never met.
Instagram, that dubious temple of modern spirituality, is rife with quotes about the importance of spending time with the ‘right’ people. Your vibe attracts your tribe! Surround yourself with people who lift you up! Unfollow people in real life! These snappy catchphrases are all helpful... but also unhelpful, I think, because they implore you to judge people’s inherent worth (which rather undermines that whole spirituality ethos, no?) What’s more, they don’t account for the fact that it’s not always possible to ditch the people who don’t behave in ways you want or expect (particularly if you live with said people), and that many of those folks have probably been brought into your life for a reason. 
Woman's face, looking annoyedLook, people are dicks sometimes. And that’s not a bad thing. Because dickery (prob not a real word, but let’s go with it) can teach us plenty. The bloke who pulled out from a side street in front of you teaches you why being considerate on the roads is important, and why you need to pay more attention while driving. The workmate who took credit for your efforts teaches you why it’s important to acknowledge people’s achievements, and that you need to make your boss more aware of your contribution. The date who never called you back teaches you why it’s important to treat people fairly, and what you’re *not* looking for in a partner. Yes, it would be ideal if these people weren’t in your orbit – but that’s not how the Universe works. Mostly it gives you the people you need, not the people you want (although, I am sure, you have plenty of those in your life too). 
Law of attraction pioneer Louise Hay believes that the reason certain people annoy us is because they remind us of aspects of ourselves we find uncomfortable. I have found this to be true in many cases. About five years ago while reading You Can Heal Your Life, I had a friend who constantly interrupted people, made bitchy comments behind people’s backs and engaged in one-upmanship. You may wonder why I was friends with this person. (I wonder that too, actually.) She was part of a group of girls I’d been close with since university days and I felt a sense of loyalty to her. Even so, I often found her behaviour infuriating, until (after reading Louise’s insight) I realised how many times I did the same shitty things. Ouch. I, too, interrupted others. I definitely gossiped about my friends. And a tendency towards competitiveness, driven by a fear of lack, is one of my least attractive qualities.  Even though this girl is no longer my friend, I consider her one of my teachers because she spotlighted areas I needed to address in order to become a better person – and ultimately showed me how I didn’t want to live. I’m not saying I don’t occasionally do these things still, but I’m getting pretty good at calling myself out when I do.
Think about the person who is really grinding your gears at the moment, and ask yourself honestly whether you are replicating their behaviour or attitude in some way, even at a low level. This won’t always prove to be the case – and it certainly doesn’t excuse their bad behaviour – but if you realise that they are mirroring you in some way, that may help diffuse your anger slightly and help you look at the situation (and yourself) differently.
Silhouettes of people having fun and posingYou don’t have to put up with irritating, inconsiderate or just plain rude behaviour but if it’s not possible for you to cut someone out of your life, reflecting on what you can learn from the situation might make it more tolerable.

Above all else, what can be most helpful is remembering that we are all dicks sometimes. I know I am. Happily, when human contact becomes too exhausting, you can always return to the fold of people you call your own. And you should, as often as you can.

Why (and how) rejection hurts. And learning not to fear that pain

Girl hiding behind net curtainHands up everyone who isn't afraid of rejection! 

Oh, nobody? I thought so.

The first thing that pops into my mind when I think of rejection is a memory of being the last one picked for sports teams at school, Freaks and Geeks style. Bring out the violins.

But rejection happens in adulthood too, and it's not only destructive on an emotional level, it has an impact on your physical health.


In his book Emotional First Aidpsychologist Guy Winch writes that rejection is such a strong emotion that the body experiences it like physical pain. Remember, for example, what it feels like to be dumped: "You might have felt pressure suffocating you, had trouble breathing or had jabbing pain like a sharp knife," Guy writes. (BTW, Guy's TED talk on emotional first aid is moving and insightful, if you're interested.)

This shows how intensely rejection can affect us. But it isn't a connection with physical pain that makes me as afraid of being rejected now as I was in my childhood. The reason fear of rejection stalks me today is all about self-protection.

My worst experience of rejection in adulthood was in 2013 when my then-best friend squeezed me out of the close-knit circle of friends I'd had since my university days. I had no choice but to walk away, but the cost was high. No more sun-loving barbecue invitations. No more giggly brunches. No more daily email banter. Suddenly lonely evenings and weekends stretched out before me like a vast wasteland. My phone never rang. I'm sure my friends had their reasons - there are always two sides to the story - and it would be remiss of me not to admit that I was not a great friend to them either. Knowing that we were moving in different directions, and would have drifted apart anyway, didn't ease my despair - it was the slap of being rejected that hurt. Essentially, my worthiness as a friend and as a human being had been assessed by people who knew me incredibly well, and judged to be inadequate. The message: I am not good enough. The effects on my already-low self-esteem were catastrophic.

I wrapped my wings around my fractured heart and retreated into isolation. I stopped talking to people. I was cold to people who tried to connect with me. I stopped attending the few social events from other connections that came up. These were not conscious actions; they were the response to an unconscious belief playing in the background. This belief told me not to get close to anyone because I could not face the chances - which I believed to be high - of being rejected again. 

I'd love to tell you that this fear disappeared but it is more accurate to say it has only lessened slightly. After moving to a new city I have found myself in a great social circle of warm and wonderful people - yay! - but it has been difficult to learn to let people in. I have several confidantes, but I am careful not to lean on anyone too much. I don't have a best friend and I don't want one - that's way too risky.

Illustration of girl walking away from city, looking lonely
Obviously there are a bunch of other self-esteem issues going on here too, which I've had for decades and have chronicled in other posts (like this one), as well as my natural (and entirely healthy) tendency towards introversion. But fear of rejection is almost certainly a factor in my reluctance to build deep relationships, both platonic and otherwise. 

Is this really a problem, though? I mean, it's keeping me safe, so that's useful. Is a fear of rejection even a thing that needs fixing? I've thought about this a lot, and my answer is yes and no. The thing is, fear never goes away. You can mute it but it will still be there, shapeshifting into another form (such as fear of failure). 

So I can't fix it. But I can change the way I respond to it. I can find new ways to arrest these thoughts when they appear before me, masquerading as my reality. I can go badass detective on the messages I send myself, and subject them to interrogation to determine their validity, instead of simply following their well-intended but ultimately self-limiting directives. I can push back on the thoughts that tell me the risk of letting down some of my barriers and simply being myself in my interactions with others is too great, and would lead to rejection. 

Of course, I don't *have* to do any of these things. 

But. 

If I don't, I'm essentially telling myself that I'm not good enough - which is the very message this fear is trying to protect me from receiving from others. By allowing myself to risk being rejected, I'm backing myself and saying I am worthy of being accepted, and that I'm resilient enough to deal with the consequences of possible rejection. In doing so, I'm accepting myself, which may not diminish my fear of rejection any but it seems like a pretty good start.