Accepted
To fully, unequivocally accept someone — with the hope of being fully, unequivocally accepted in return — was one of the most painful things I’ve ever done.
I accept people; it’s who I am. I accept their differences, I acknowledge their shortcomings, I realize that sometimes only empathy can help me understand their circumstances.
But to try to accept every piece of a person, without judgment, even when you don’t understand or think that maybe you can “help” them see things through a different lens — that is no easy feat. To convince yourself that every part of their unique being is enough for the present moment, regardless of what happened in the past or where your paths lead in the future. Whether they’ll still be there in ten minutes, ten days, ten years. To genuinely want to learn about what makes them different and understand who they are, or who they’re becoming. To accept that every flaw and failure and painful experience led to the moment where that person is standing in front of you. That’s a hard thing to do.
Especially when you’re trying to accept the pieces they don’t want you to see; the pieces that live only in the dark, only when they can’t sleep at night or when they’re alone with their thoughts in a quiet, empty car.
I feel like I spent the past several months answering the same questions as they poured in from different people.
“You can’t change someone, you know that, right?”
I know.
“You’re two pretty different people, aren’t you?”
I know.
“Don’t you know that someone has to love his authentic self before he can give any part of that to someone else?”
I know.
“Shouldn’t you focus more energy on yourself?”
I should. But I don’t, I never have, and I didn’t.
When I close my eyes, I ask myself why I put so much effort into accepting the pieces that didn’t fit with my own. I wonder why I never spoke up or tried to focus on my own chaotic puzzle. I ask myself questions that I don’t have the answers to — they’re not directed at me, anyway. I try to comprehend the thousand thoughts that flood my mind and keep me awake at night.
Nobody did anything wrong, so to speak. There’s an intricate puzzle composed of candor, curiosity, and growth. And there’s another puzzle composed of vagueness, comfort, and complacency. Sometimes the pieces just belong to two different puzzles. Two separate puzzles that would only fit together neatly if you softened some of the rough edges and worked towards a mutual goal. A goal that would take a lot of work, and sometimes the pieces just aren’t cut out for that type of arduous emotional labor. And nobody’s at fault.
I can’t say that I don’t miss it, as perplexing as it is. It’s funny and cruel how the universe allows us to miss the things that hurt us.
I believe that I so fervently accepted someone for the sole purpose of being known and accepted in return. It’s that simple. I craved the mutual acceptance that occurs only when people can break down their barriers, let the light shine on the parts that hurt deeply and maybe never really healed, and just be… exposed.
I tried so hard to accept things, and not change them — even when they were hurting me at my very core — because I was desperate to be accepted myself. And I thought time would grant me acceptance. It didn’t, and it doesn’t feel good to admit that.
I wanted the opportunity to be completely and unapologetically myself. I never got that.
I have incredible people in my life who accept me, fully and exactly as I am. But as I assume is true of many of us, I’m not typically one hundred percent raw — one hundred percent me — around even those who are closest to me. I can only think of one person in the world who I can reach one hundred percent around; even my closest friends get me at about ninety percent.
I was infatuated with the idea of being accepted. I’m not sure that I ever would have been.
As I was about to get into the shower the other day, I looked in the mirror — and I didn’t hate what I saw. I’ve stared at a reflection lately (or tried to look around it, past it, anything to avoid looking myself directly in the eye) that seems so tired, so spent. On this day, my reflection still looked tired, but it also looked like enough. I really examined myself for a while — hair in all directions, no makeup, a t-shirt that lives at my parents’ house — and I couldn’t help but think that I looked like enough. Enough to be appreciated, admired — shit, maybe even adored. Enough for someone to make sacrifices or compromises for. Enough for someone to be happy to wake up next to. Enough to be accepted.
Fully, unequivocally accepted.
Originally published on September 24, 2019.
Hayley Walker is a nonprofit development professional working in San Francisco, California. With a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Studies and a Masters of Nonprofit Administration, her passions include human communication, art, service to others, the great outdoors, and dogs. Lots of dogs.
