“If all you wanted was love
Why would you use me up
Cut me down, build a boat, and sail away
When all I wanted to be was your giving tree.”
-The Plain White Ts
When I was young, I first read, or was read, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. My initial reaction to the book was incredibly mixed. It was a gorgeous, vibrant snapshot of a relationship, but it was also far darker and more depressing then I was used to. At that time, I believed the world was balanced. That we got back what we give.
If any of you are unfamiliar with this kidlit classic, it basically follows a tree which gives away pieces of itself to support a child who essentially takes everything from it.
I grew up extremely privileged and extremely lucky to be surrounded by sisters, parents, and friends who cared very much about me as a person. As time has gone on and I’ve entered the adult world, it has been extremely difficult to adjust to the lack of care and specificity from the world around me, and the harsh reality that I cannot make anyone care for me the way I care for them.
Obviously being a triplet, there was a degree of support in my early years that has been absent from subsequent seasons. As a very young child, I was perhaps overly supported and secure, not having to even speak to teachers or pull out my own things because my sisters were so convinced they could do it better and I needed them. Over time, I learned to stand on my own— to run things my own way, to see my own value and have my own opinions— but I still had the safety net of knowing there were people in direct proximity to me who truly cared about me as much as they cared about themselves.
Unfortunately, I have recently come to the realization that I have spent my adult life trying to replicate that relationship with others who, quite frankly, do not want that. The result is either abandonment or a strange sort of misshapen relationship where I am the needy charity case and the other, a white knight, swooping in to save me despite their ultimate disinterest in being there for me.
I look at my recent friendships, and there’s this degree of almost lovebombing from me, in the sense that I smother the other with affection. It may be excessive but the affection is real. Very, very real. I see the best in people, to an unhealthy degree. I idolize and shape them into gods, wonder why I can’t be like them, think that I’m so lucky to have them in my life. Inevitably, I am let down when I come to realize that while they may be special to me, I am just another human to people whose first priority is always going to be themself.
As pathetic as it is, it’s only made me more desperate to prove that I can connect with people the way I want to. I’ve poured money I don’t have into gifts for people who never once get me anything, I’ve invested in their passions, their hobbies, their pets, and I think part of me is hoping that if I see someone else, they’ll be willing to see me.
But in the end, the only thing most people see is themselves.
Its an unfortunate situation because it leaves me in a place of wondering how I am to interact with the world. How do I build healthy, reciprocal relationships? How do I keep my generous spirit and desire to make people happy without feeling shattered when I end up alone? How do I not internalize the radio silence from a person I need who I made time for at their lowest?
Am I selfish to want some kind of return? Am I a good person, or am I trying to buy friendship?
I don’t have immediate answers. But its obvious I have a lot of self reflection to do, and it is extremely important that I prioritize my own happiness as much I prioritize the happiness of those around me.
It is also imperative that I consider the relationships I take for granted, such as the one between me and my parents, which causes me to take and take and not return because I am focusing my energy on others that do not care for me.
I just wanted to be seen, but somewhere in the process, I lost myself. As I move forward, I will work hard to become somebody that I can be proud of, somebody who knows what he’s worth. Maybe then I can give without feeling bereft of myself.
Love,
Craig