I Want Someone to Miss Me

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I just wanted someone to miss me.

I must’ve blinked when the train issuing a certain chemical to guarantee long, unconditional love came around. The alluring component nestled into the brains of the newly born, the ability to be valued and cherished all the live long day. Because all of my life, through every age, beginning at about eleven years of age, I have just wanted someone to miss me.

Apparently, my test in life is to keep reaching deep to find self-worth and when I think I have come to terms with it, that I have self worth because I have changed enough, or pushed the limits of my values an acceptable amount, another person decides I am too much, too little, too loud, too constraining, too evolving, too hard driving, too exhausting. I may not hear the words, but I feel them in actions of neglect, or overt avoidance, in being forgotten.

I can hear your thoughts as you read this…is this the modern form of vaguebooking? Stop feeling sorry for yourself. No. No. No. No. Let me go to this place, dark, undefined and let me delve to find the issue of living an unmissable life. I don’t want sympathy. I want to understand.

I celebrate freedom. Come and go as I please. Have expectations. Please reach out to me and understand we are both responsible for what we cultivate. Respect is needed and a deal-breaker if not given. Whether you are a relative, a friend, a partner, whomever, I just want someone to miss me. I want to make an indelible impact so someone will stay.

I need to take a trip. Alone. To figure me out again. Because my wish still hasn’t come true. I am the one people can get over, get under, get away from, get tired of and get off. But I am not the one people fight to keep.

What a concept, the missable quality. I hear about the near break of couples, parents divorcing who are tortured at the thought of losing the other, I read the posts from close siblings of friends in my social group, and I ponder, as if dissecting an algebraic equation, how does that happen?

I pay bills. I try not to yell. I attempt to keep the house clean. I call people and ask about their lives. I am regularly irritating and annoying. I am a person who showers and laughs and trips over nothing on the floor. I am a dedicated optimist who is never enough for other people. I make mistakes and I am selfish. I pay attention and give gifts that seriously rock. I have irrational fears. Yep, still missable.

You are right, other people have problems and maybe you are not surrounded by the right people. Your idea has merit. But what if it’s every person with whom you come into contact? What if it’s your use of the word “whom”? Old friends jump off the wagon, relationships implode, and I start over again and again. Recycling myself and pulling the blades of my embattled person from the trash heap that still glimmer just a bit. Each time, the number of these reusable pieces dwindles.

What is the lasting component missing inside me and what do you do when you don’t know what you don’t know? What a secure childhood would’ve given you, what chain-link challenges refusing to cease deliver you? Oh, I imagine it’s all good even as I am tossed away again, even as I wonder about the secret of any kind of relationship longevity and I push the hurt off — now, too many times to count. Even as I pretend, and pretend and pretend, my feelings detached so I can save my soul without total evisceration.

What can I tell you as a survivor of abandonment? It is Trust PTSD, the belief that when you turn your head you will catch someone you love leaving the room or house. The door shutting quietly behind them because they don’t even have enough emotion to expend energy for you. You may never get over Trust PTSD and this can be a big problem you always bring along; a carry-on no one can see. You may never be able to silence the doubt you are ever good enough even at your shiniest and most immaculate. Or maybe you don’t get what I’m saying at all. Lucky you…

Sometimes I miss people in the midst of them being right. In. Front. Of. Me. Because a disconnection exists in the relationship and I am absent that element — what is it? A lack of couple time? Calling a close someone for weeks and giving up on leaving messages because they never return your call? It’s then that terror seizes your insides to mangle you. It’s then you pluck up that pebble of pain and put it in your pocket, after a lifetime of gathering and carrying those stones, my pockets are heavy, my steps are slower.

I wanted to be missed, wanted to be a person others want more from because it was me. Someone to say I am good enough exactly the broken and weird way I am. But it hasn’t happened yet, I don’t have the belief I am healed. Or ever will be. My circle has likened it to hormones and these are the same people who will never read this article. They know I write, they know I pepper my social pages with happiness and mirth, but when they get a peek inside me, peeling back my skin and dipping their head in, they still go screaming into the black cloak of night, not knowing what they sought from me, just realizing it wasn’t there.

I have been told I never worry about you. What a lovely crock of a compliment. Am I person who lives like I don’t need others? Even as I try and soften and bend, is that who I am…a person who indelibly lives autonomously. While in the company of others? Am I making myself unmissable?

Understanding why you are not missed and why you can be let go is paramount to understanding what you are or aren’t offering to any relationship in your life.

Are you missable? Are you a person people can easily walk away from with barely concealed relief? If this is you, have you taken the time to do the self-work to figure you out? Are  you sanctimonious, unreasonable, a hypocrite? Who are you really if you are not missable. What have you done and how are you so unforgivable as to never be missed.

I admit it, I pretend and I think we all have to because that is survival against hurt piled up, hurt leaning into your body, so much of it, it’s ready to collapse on top of you and take you down.

This is my chance to find out why it’s not working in the world in which I currently reside, and I know to my marrow, this is the reason I am on earth. The unmissable weakness. So my soul will grind away on the question of what it means to be lovable, to share yourself with others, what it means to be accepting even as you watch a person you care about soul self-destruct. Where do responsibility to care for another and the need to walk away meet, and when do you take the action to do either?

I want someone to miss me. I am not dramatic. Anymore. That person existed many revolutions ago. I am private. I confide in few even as a write in an ambiguous tone. I am pushing myself to be healthier, I am trying to identify what my job is in this life. When it comes to the people who won’t miss me, I can’t force them to care, and I have no control.

When you are not missed it’s time to take stock of you and figure it out. Are you an abuser? A rager? An addict? An egomaniac? A religious zealot? Are you unmovable in your opinions so when people walk away they hiss out a sigh of relief? Do you take people through obstacles? Do you fight against your own job in this life, whatever that might be, a guardian, enforcer, peace maker, or teacher? Do you take the hard road even as your gut objects, do you listen merely to reply, cut people off because what you have to share wins in the war of one-upmanship? Are you close-minded, easily offended about issues which have nothing to do with you? Why are people not missing you?

People may never miss me, and that’s okay, because this is the definition of self-loving, when your love for yourself is not just protective but celebratory. And when that is bigger than the need of others to care for you. What else can it be, but good as you strike the balance between pondering your dismissive value and accepting yourself as you are? Yes, I need to change, but I also need to love me, missable, or not. I need to love me and all the thinks I think which further my benevolent humanhood, the actions I take to care for others and share, the compassionate vein which throbs for those who are homeless, loveless, nearly lifeless, whether I am ever missed enough for someone to refuse to leave..I can still miss them.

What I Learned When My Lover Let Me Down

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Little things can seem big, but sometimes they’re just big lessons in disguise.

My love betrayed me this week, something I never thought I would have to endure. As I paced in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, I attempted to make sense of it. We have been together five years, through so much, war, chronic illness, multiple moves, a long-distance relationship while he finished up his tour in the Army, him learning to parent three teenagers, and me relearning to parent with a partner instead of on my own. How could he not know the contents of my very essence? Several times over the course of a week he had left the coffee pot bone dry. It was a little and big error, if you can believe it. For those of you who rely on this sign of morning loving you get it. – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/what-i-learned-when-my-lover-let-me-down-dg/#sthash.vKeUKBbb.dpuf

The Only 2 Questions You Need to Ask Before Making Any Decision

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Faced with a small choice or monumental decisions, being honest with yourself about these two things will set you off in the right direction.

Ah, life, getting in the way of everything. So complex, coloring our judgment of any decision that’s got us sitting on the fence. Relationships, obligations, passion, our lives are a daily combustion chamber of choices – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/the-only-2-questions-you-need-to-ask-before-making-any-decision-dg/#sthash.aKV9NjB7.dpuf

Does This Little Girl Have the Right to Survive?

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Born with a rare disease, her parents’ struggle to get help is a stark contrast to what Hilary Lauren believes should be the basic right to survive.

A parent never thinks their child’s purpose in life is to teach others through disease, to bring awareness to a rare condition, spreading an outlier of heartbreak throughout the world. But that is Eliza O’Neill’s notoriety. Her sweetheart face, framed by wispy blond hair, made more beautiful when wind-tossed, her faltering, high voice stringing together tentative sounds amid jumbled words – you can’t help it, your purpose grows.  – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/does-this-little-girl-have-the-right-to-survive-dg/#sthash.vMMtUHAe.dpuf

Why I Parent Each of Our Kids Differently

siblingsKids aren’t cut from the same cloth even when they share DNA. Helping them fulfill their promise means adapting to match their needs.

The eldest of my children, my son, had a temper when he was born. If you took more than 15 seconds to plug a bottle into his month at the tender age of three months, his face turned into a round, beefsteak tomato and tears formed in his eyes. His whole body would shake in anticipation of his meal, yet he was frustrated that nothing he could do would speed the process. When he wanted a toy, to crawl, to run, he remained fixated that goal. There was only one way to carry on with life, his way. A child this passionate loves hard and with a lot of loyalty. – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/why-i-parent-each-of-our-kids-differently-dg/#sthash.SeHaLqhz.dpuf

Why I’m Not Raising My Kids to be Sheeple

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When she discovered that her daughter was cutting she had to choose between allowing her to remain a victim, or showing her how to overcome the Sheeple Mentality.

Sheeple: noun. A group of people who identify as victims and are most at home among others suffering similar misery, oblivious to their toxicity, or negative influence. A crowd of people who believe blanketed indoctrination into a group soothes the sufferer.

– See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/why-im-not-raising-my-kids-to-be-sheeple-dg/#sthash.RSXwC4Xd.dpuf

Learning Love is a Choice Kept Me From Ruining My Relationship

lovers-on-the-wallOne idea she’d never entertained showed Hilary Lauren how “real love” works — and kept her from sabotaging another relationship.

I would liken my views on love prior to this year to a beaten dog racing to stay ahead of the pack of disappointment, fed-up-ness, disgust, and the last surprisingly-fast weiner dog who came nipping at my  heels, disinterest. – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/learning-love-is-a-choice-kept-me-from-ruining-my-relationship-dg/#sthash.NteTUuyc.dpuf

My Journey Into the Spectrum; a Mother’s Visit to a Gay-Straight Alliance Meeting

rainbow-mosiacFrom supporting her just-out-of-the-closet son, to a group hug with a roomful of self-doubting teens, one mother’s quest to ease the pain of being different.

My son, a wispy 17-year old, walked out to the car when I pulled into the High School’s parking lot and waited with the patience of an older person for me to lock the car, fish around in the back seat for my cane, and fumble my way out of the driver’s door. – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/my-journey-into-the-spectrum-a-mothers-visit-to-a-gay-straight-alliance-meeting-dg/#sthash.xVhxH76V.dpuf

Are the Workplace Battles of the Old Guard and the Young Turks Really Necessary?

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The young guys are frustrated, and the old guys aren’t “allowed to get mad.” Here’s what one behind-the-scenes observer would like to tell them both.

As a smack-in-the-middle player, kind of in management and kind of not, I’ve observed the behaviors of older and younger men I’ve worked with over the years. With the stealth of a lioness tucked under the brush I’ve noted the posturing, ego jockeying, the precise positioning at the conference table. – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/are-the-workplace-battles-of-the-old-guard-and-the-young-turks-really-necessary-dg/#sthash.vh3Bzwkb.dpuf

How My Dis-Ease Made Me a Better Mother, Friend and Lover

 

Hilary Lauren’s journey of living with transverse myelitis has helped her see how truly limited her relationships were before illness opened her eyes.

In “7 Unexpected Gifts I Received from My Dis-ease,” I wrote about how my diagnosis and gradual loss of “normal” function has, in many ways, enriched my life. With continued reflection, I realize that I have, by letting this illness open me up to the wonders around me, also allowed it to enrich the lives of others. – See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/how-my-dis-ease-made-me-a-better-mother-friend-and-lover-dg/#sthash.nHT7yoSr.dpuf