You and I are not for everyone— and that’s okay.
Although there’s going to be a voice in your head that is going to try, hard, to insist that it’s NOT okay.
If you’re reading this, chances are you’ve had experiences in your life that not everybody is going to understand.
Those experiences may not be easy to explain. Trying to explain them may cause embarrassment or spike shame in us.
The reactions and responses those experiences have created in us may not be easy to explain. And they’re often VERY difficult for other people to understand.
The truth is, after we’ve ben through certain things, our capacity to relate to other people is often altered.
We often have difficultly relating to people who can’t, or won’t, understand what we’ve been through.
And we can’t just ignore that fact.
It took me a long time to accept that I was never probably going to have a relationship of much depth with people who didn’t share at least some of the experiences I’ve had.
Because there’s no explaining— not really— what I go through when my addiction is pouring poison in my ear.
There’s no explaining— not really— what I go through when my instinctive fear and hatred of abandonment is spiked because of something in the present that’s triggered memories of the past.
I may WANT to explain those things to someone— but the real truth is, not everybody on the planet is going to “get” it. Not really.
So we’re faced with the reality that having experienced certain things DOES kind of limit the pool of human beings with whom we’re probably going to have particularly deep friendships or relationships.
This used to make me really sad.
Like every complex trauma survivor, I was already convinced that there was something “wrong” with me, and I didn’t feel I could particularly AFFORD for the pool of friends and relationship partners out there to be any smaller than it already was.
Now, I feel a little differently.
One of the things experiencing trauma tends to do to many people, myself included, is it decimates any inclination we ever had to engage in small talk or superficial conversations.
It took me a LONG time to realize that my massive social anxiety was at least partially due to the fact that my past has left me almost allergic to talking about the weather.
I know now that the people with whom I’m ever going to be particularly close are probably going to be those people who, like me, like to dive deep— who see no point in playing in the shallow end of the pool.
I know I’m not for everyone. My intensity; my complexity; my struggles and what I’ve had to do to conquer and contain those struggles— they’re all working against me when it comes to establishing and enjoying uncomplicated relationships.
But I know now that’s okay.
I know now that those experiences, as painful as they’ve been, have actually made it so that I’m FORCED to examine the questions of what I want and need in relationships.
They’ve FORCED me to ask questions about who I am that I might not have otherwise gotten around to.
I wouldn’t say I’m grateful for these reflective opportunities. I’m not, particularly.
But I am at the point where I don’t hate the fact that my past has probably limited my prospects for friendships and relationships.
After all, who wants to talk about the weather anyway?