When You Believe You Don’t Belong
I’m 28, and I’m a therapist. I teach others how to build connection, yet I’ve experienced deep loneliness for half my life. My earliest memory of experiencing loneliness is at age 14. Ironically, this is the year social media entered my life. I remember scrolling through Facebook and feeling envious of the friends who spent the weekend sticking their heads out of the truck sunroof. I envied my best friend who got to make weekend trips while my lonely self stayed at home on the computer. I would wonder why everyone else’s lives were so full. I wondered why they were so happy, and I questioned why I didn’t seem to have as many friends as everyone else did. My loneliness has, at times, felt all-consuming.
We are designed for connection with other human beings. We were created to bond, to share our stories, to support one another, and to love. Yet I consistently hear stories of deep loneliness that quickly spirals into shame and despair. Thoughts of “Am I kind enough?”, “Funny enough?”, or “Good enough?” can quickly enter the mind upon seeing the Instagram post of the girls together when you didn’t even receive an invite. God forbid I put my foot in my mouth when I do get invited only to later question my entire existence.
I’ve often had the thought that, with so many lonely people in the world, we should somehow be able to find one another and build the deep, lasting relationships we seem to long for. But somehow the connections are not sustained. I’ve felt the disappointment of believing I formed a connection only to realize over time the other person does not reach out to get together or talk. I’ve felt rejected, alone, and unworthy. I’ve questioned if I will ever belong to people again.
And for years I’ve thought something is wrong with me. Thoughts of “Do I make them uncomfortable?” or “Have I gone too deep too soon?” frequently run through my mind. I know I’m loved, but I so often feel out of place. I’ve been concerned that those who show their love and affection may leave. This fear has kept me in a cycle of shame as I assume responsibility for the natural fading that many relationships are subject to. I’ve occasionally wondered why we bother with relationships when there’s so much risk involved. The cost feels too high.
I’ve stayed in unhealthy relationships for far too long in hopes of forming a deeper connection if we “just try harder”. I have tried to convince people to choose me and to love me, but I discovered my relentless pursuit simply reinforces my feelings of shame. Yet walking away from the chaos of a forced relationship has sent me into a panic. So I remain in unhealthy relationships and my shame.
And this leads me to my conclusion: Maybe I am part of the problem. Not because there’s something wrong with me, but because I continue to pursue relationships with people I am not meant to pursue. That is too great a risk. Whether the people we pursue take more than they give, discourage more than they uplift, or simply don’t mesh with our personalities, maybe we’re responsible for choosing the people that will also choose us. I’ve been angry that this is the conclusion I’ve arrived at. Because it still feels hopeless some days. How do I know if this person will choose me? That’s why the cost is high: We don’t know before the pursuit begins.
Deep, healthy connection requires effort. And effort feels impossible when the voice inside your head is screaming, “You’re not enough!” I’ve been there, and it has always resulted in binge-watching Gossip Girl on Netflix while on the verge of a breakdown. It frequently has led to my isolation, and my isolation has led to losing my sense of purpose. But maybe we start fighting back every time shame creeps in. Maybe we choose to move forward even if it’s one hour at a time. Maybe we start to re-write the narrative we’ve created. Maybe we start to explore the experiences that led us to believe we are unworthy of love and connection. Can you imagine the possibilities if we follow through on all the maybes?
When we believe we are worthy, we run after those that accept us as we are while simultaneously cheering on our evolution. When we believe we are worthy, we acknowledge when a relationship has served its purpose. Recognizing our worth does not have to be equivalent to arrogance. Our sense of worthiness comes from recognizing our strengths while also holding ourselves accountable for the ways our behaviors prevent us from pursuing our desires.
Therefore, the questions I present to you today are: Will you deem yourself as worthy of belonging? Will you stop fighting to be included in the circle and instead foster an environment where others know they belong? When you believe you don’t belong, will you fight to become the person you’ve been waiting for?
