Reading people and knowing what they expected was always hard for me. I was frequently anxious, but also incredibly lonely. This combination would lead to an intensity that might scare away any potential friends. I also had a fear of people who would expect too much from me, afraid that they might need things I wasn't emotionally ready to give. I needed a friend who could handle my neediness, while not really needing me too much. Someone who wouldn't get tired of me, but who would allow me to tire of them when I needed time to myself.
It turns out, such a person did not exist in elementary school. Or in junior high. Or really in high school. I had acquaintances. I had people I could joke with and eat lunch with, but I always saw myself as other, a hanger-on, an acceptable member of the crew. I'd still be left without a partner when people in my circle of acquaintances would pair off with better or best friends. I'd still be invited to parties, but as an afterthought or "Oh yeah, you should come too."
These experiences made me intensely self-conscious in social situations. I would say nothing instead of speaking. I would hang back because I was not sure if I was welcome. I would secretly crave a call or a text or a message from someone, anyone, who might think of me after the last bell rang at the end of the day. Someone who might have a story to tell me or a joke to share or even a friend to give them advice. Someone who might invite me over to play.
Those calls did not come and I would always have to message first.
When college came around, I carried lack of confidence like a shield before my face. I was secure only in my intelligence. I could answer questions in class and talk with my professors during office hours, but I could not speak to the person sitting in the seat next to me. I was surprised when people would laugh at something I said. I was amazed that a boy could notice me enough to ask me on a date and be interested in what I had to say. I was devastated when that same boy, in my opinion, got tired of me and found someone more interesting to date, but there was a voice in my mind that said I should have expected it all the time.
Gradually, I gained a little more self-esteem. But the feeling that I might be forgettable stayed, and honestly, has developed into my greatest fear.
Some of my most prized memories are instances in my life when I've been remembered without me having to ask to be remembered.
That day at the end of freshman year where a neighbor who had noticed I was low on money brought me groceries, including Wheaties, as fuel for my exams. That time a person from my gym brought me a Mother's Day card. The person who brought me flowers when they remembered my husband was gone for the National Guard. The coworker who took me to see the Nutcracker ballet just because he knew I'd always wished to go. These moments are treasures to me.
A way to respond to fear is to overact. To force connections. Hopefully, that's not me, because besides being forgotten, a close second fear is that people might have to pretend. And I don't want that.
But the other way is to treat people like I hope to be treated in my life. Because I know how it feels to be without a friend, without a partner, without a real group, without a person you can depend on. I know how it is to be overlooked. I know what it is to be accepted, but never truly embraced.
To bring cookies for the person who likes them. To remember a birthday. To find the perfect gift because you were listening to something someone said. To clean up for someone who's feeling overwhelmed. To make dinner for a sick friend. To text a person for help just because they might need to feel remembered and valued. To always try to encourage, to smile.
Weakness can become a strength. Loneliness and the fear that comes with it may color every experience I have, but hopefully, the final painting is a happy one, because that loneliness might be what drives me to help others see that they are not alone.
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