Am I that unlikable?

I was so excited about this topic that I almost dove in right in the middle. That’s right. I almost started at a place where it would make next to no sense for the reader. That happens to me sometimes, but I think I’ve shared that with you. I get so excited about some thing that my brain is suddenly filled and I’m unsure as to how to translate my seven trillion thoughts into cohesive thoughts. On occasion, this renders me mute. Meaning, I don’t know where to start so I choose not to begin at all. Then, there are times when I calm myself down and try and find my way to the beginning.

And so, here we are, at what I believe to be the beginning of this overflowing cesspool of emotions and perspectives and thoughts.

Most of our societal constructs seem to be premised on the thought of likeability. Hear me out. Everything that we “do” is an attempt to make ourselves more generically likeable. We morph our personalities and appearances, we make life decisions, and we even take on certain feelings of self, all to get others to like us. Maybe we even wrangle some love while we are at it and then, good on us.

Of course, there are nuances to this process. There are the likes the loves that we are programmed to expect based on the nature of the relationship and there are those that we work our asses off to achieve. Depending on who you are as a person, you might weigh one of these categories more heavily than the other. At least, this has been my experience. It is in this way that we are most decidedly not ‘one size fits all’ in any fashion. It is truly to each their own when it comes to how much we celebrate the achievement of affection.

Right about now, you might be thinking, swell, thanks for sharing something incredibly obvious. What’s your point? My point, dear friends, is that I realized just TONIGHT, that most of my struggles in life have revolved around this desire to be inherently likeable, and it is only in the letting go of this desire that I find myself meandering closer to happiness.

I’m not talking about some half ass stroll towards indifference, whilst secretly dying inside. Oh no. I’m talking about the real thing. I’m talking about a full understanding of the consequences of such a decision and a contentment with such. I’m not going to sit here and pretend like this is easy. It’s quite literally the hardest challenge I’ve ever undertaken. However, I know with every cell in my body that it’s the most critical. I know that without this particular journey, the rest of these lessons become a little less meaningful.

I want to take a step back. Yes, I’m aware that I said I was at the starting line here, but still, I think it behooves us to step back just one little smidgen further. I think I may have touched on this in other posts, but to hell with it, there’s a purpose and so, here we go again.

Many of us struggled with the notion of likeability in a really conscious way from the time we were in grade school. Whether unpopular, popular, or something in between, we were only aware of our social status based on the metrics attributed to likeability. Do we have friends? How many? Are we invited to social gatherings? Are we one of just a few invited to such gatherings or are we talking about a massive ‘no one left behind’ kind of situation?

You know what I never really asked myself? What is the nature of these friendships? Am I completely myself with these people I call friends? What if I changed, would they still stick around? What is it that they like about me? What is it that I like about them? Oh, and here’s a big one: am I happy?

I can’t speak for you or anyone else, but I didn’t ask myself these questions because it just wasn’t a thing to do and also, if it had occurred to me, I have no doubt that it would have scared the shit out of me. Who asks questions like that? And then, what if the answers were painful? Would I be willing to make tough decisions to shift the paradigm in a more positive direction for me? Likely not, and so, I stayed put, and ignorant. I stayed unhappily, blissfully, unaware.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have a miserable childhood. Not by a long shot. Sure, I had family struggles and some social issues, but for the most part, I have great memories. I went to hang outs and had slumber parties, and traveled and hung out, a lot. I had boyfriends and best friends and people I grew apart from due to circumstance and for no other reason.

You know when I really started to question what all of this meant to me? When I was in my 30s. I swear. I was going through a hard time and endlessly perusing social media and found myself getting stuck on posts from high school acquaintances…WHO STILL HANG OUT. Yup. I mean, they aren’t just light pals. Oh no. They have lifelong friendships stamped to their foreheads. Their kids play and they have winery outings and they celebrate each other’s accomplishments and mourn their collective losses and never fail to wish someone a happy birthday.

If they have moved away from each other, they take annual pilgrimages to get together and take copious pictures to share online with #togetheagain and #overtwentyyears taglines.

I want to be completely real so this perhaps resonates. Let’s cut the shit, shall we? I stopped on those photos. I enlarged them. I poured over them. Every detail. The matching toothy grins, the arms looped around thin, shapely shoulders, and the ‘remember when’ sentiments. I wasn’t mocking. I wasn’t self-righteous or judgmental. I felt, deficient. Defunct. Broken.

What the fuck is wrong with me that I don’t have this? Where did I go wrong? Why won’t I have a #lifelongfriendsarethebestoffriends posts? You know what question comes next, right?