Love is Balancing Self and Other
On loss, perfection, and love.
A few days prior to writing this, I listened to an episode of Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations podcast in which Elizabeth Lesser talks about her book, Marrow: a love story between her and her sister, Maggie, to whom she decided to donate her bone marrow. Lesser and her sister were not very close before Maggie got sick from lymphoma, and having two other sisters, they believed one of them would most certainly be a match. But it was Elizabeth who was Maggie’s perfect marrow match and through some intensive therapy exercises, they healed their relationship, developed a healthy bond down to a cellular level, and eventually shared the very same blood for a short while before Maggie ultimately lost her battle.
Though the result wasn’t as they hoped, both Maggie and Elizabeth describe that last year of Maggie’s life as the best and most special time in their lives. Elizabeth believes no one has ever loved each other as much as she and Maggie did in her last moments. They gave each other a true gift during that last year: they became vulnerable, apologized, forgave, connected, and grew more as individuals than ever before.
In the podcast, Elizabeth described a “braiding” as:
“Love of self, love of other; two strands in the love braid. I’ve braided these strands together in all sorts of relationships, in varying degrees of grace and ineptitude. I’ve messed up in both directions. Being self-centered. Being a martyr. Not knowing my own worth. Not valuing the essential worth of other. To love well is to get the balance right. It’s the work of a lifetime. It is art.”
—Elizabeth Lesser, Marrow
This struck me, particularly because it’s easy to both identify people who love themselves so much, it becomes narcissistic— and those who give all of themselves to others, saving nothing for themselves. I myself have experienced this as a somewhat fluid spectrum throughout my life; at times even edging over the acceptable boundary in both directions.
As a teenager, the defining keyword of my life experience would have to be “disappointment.” To be clear, I wasn’t experiencing disappointment (aside from that related to good old teen angst), I was the disappointment. At least that’s how it felt. My B+/A- average in school wasn’t good enough. Even though I was captain of my high school volleyball team and played on a traveling Junior Olympics team year-round, I wasn’t tall enough to be the best hitter, to block, and my serves could’ve been more consistent. Though I rarely drank and was a total prude by my peers’ standards, it was “un-Christian” of me to stay out late, or go to parties where there was drinking. Once, I was even scolded (and not allowed out) after being honest that there would be drinking at a party, even though I didn’t plan to partake in it myself.
Although I truly believe my parents are good people and were doing the best they could, this dynamic shaped the way I behaved in friendships and romantic relationships. I so desperately wanted to be viewed as a success that I avoided disappointing my friends and partners by all means. And what’s more, when I did disappoint them, I ran away from that, too, thinking there was a zero-tolerance policy for mistakes.
After years of playing the role of people-pleaser and never truly being myself, I had a traumatic breakup with someone I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. After coming to terms with how toxic that relationship was, I became angry. I went full 180, deciding to put myself first and never let someone take too much from me again.
Of course, that didn’t work either. I became so guarded that I resorted to making others feel bad to make myself feel better. I didn’t disagree well, I fought. I didn’t trust that trouble wasn’t around the corner- so I caused it. I staked too much in words and not enough in actions. I didn’t give second chances.
So here I am, having realized that I lack—and long for—this balance; wondering just how to achieve it. Real talk, I’m still guilty of giving too much and not giving enough. How I behave is dependent upon the relationship and how I’m feeling on any given day.
Again, I find myself drawn to Lesser’s words: “Err in the direction of connection, with everyone. To connect with people, even if it feels scary. Even if you’d rather not. We long to know each other, soul to soul. But we’re afraid.”
She says there’s something about being broken wide open by loss that creates a state of the heart that’s truly open and vulnerable. It’s in that place that we should strive to remain, since that’s where we’re the most connected to others; both living and deceased.
I believe that’s true. I also believe that we need to love ourselves enough to love others. Like Maya Angelou famously said,
“I don’t trust people who don’t love themselves and tell me, ‘I love you.’ … There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.”
We can’t love ourselves if we don’t know ourselves and our selves are constantly evolving and growing. They need consistent checking in with. They’re the very unchanging marrow that make us us.
The bottom line is that maybe there is no concrete solution to the balance we seek. Perhaps the solution is striving to create it, deliberately, every day; by staying open, purposefully connecting with others, forgiving, letting go, and ultimately loving ourselves through all the ups and downs. As Lesser said, it’s a lifelong journey. But it is well worth the trip.
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