Titles are interesting things. It’s as if they are living beings that exist beyond the behaviors of those to whom they belong. Mother, Father, Husband, Wife, Sister, Brother, Pastor, Officer, Instructor, can be some of the most painful, confusing, and disappointing words when the expectation attached is far greater than the Titleholder can fill. Movies, tv shows, greeting cards, and obnoxious calendar days that we’re guilted to celebrate pick at wounds of neglect and abandonment for many. Making it almost impossible not to wallow in, and if you aren’t careful, internalize these failed suppositions.  

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I woke with a start! No thunder, no lightning, not even the memory of a nightmare, and yet, in the middle of the night, I was terrified beyond logic. I had exhausted every tool in my adolescent psychological arsenal but couldn’t control the terror that held me bound. I laid in the darkness for as long as I could – dreading the alternative.

Needing others was rarely productive for me, and at a very young age, I learned to navigate through life with as little assistance as possible. This wasn’t an issue of pride but self-preservation. Catching my unimportance and obvious inconvenience reflected in the eyes of someone I love was far more painful than the actual disappointment of being let down. Tonight, however, I had little choice. I laid engulfed in inexplicable terror for almost an hour without any relief.

The fear of knocking on her door was almost as suffocating as the fear I was trying to escape. I don’t remember the actual response that my knock invoked, but I can’t forget the agitation in which it was laced.
“Can I come in?”
“What is it?!”
“Can I please lay in here with you?”
She smacked her lips and sighed with great annoyance, “What? Why?”
“I just feel really scared, and I want to lay in here.”
“Nooo,” she whined.
“Please! I’ll sleep on the very edge, and I promise I won’t move!”
“No. I’ll be uncomfortable.”
“It’s a big bed. You won’t even know I’m there!”
“NO.”

With tears in my eyes, I slowly closed the door, leaving her to sleep in the king-sized bed, alone. That night, I grappled with two truths: 1. My presence would make her uncomfortable, and 2. I wasn’t worth the discomfort. Truths that decades later, I still find myself lying on the scale of every relationship in my life. Truths that, even when using the tools in my adult psychological arsenal, I still couldn’t defeat.

I never charged her with her actions by reacting adversely. Never even addressed the moment again. After all, I knew better. I knew I shouldn’t have knocked, shouldn’t have bothered her, or asked anything that would’ve taken any level of sacrifice. This was my failure. A mistake I promised myself I wouldn’t make again. I wasn’t supposed to need, I was made to supply the needs of others. She didn’t fail me – I did… at least that’s how it sits in my chest.

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About 20 years later…

My life had imploded, and I was starting from scratch. Goal number one was the greatest; a home of my own. My entire life had been spent in someone else’s space, and I was rarely allowed to forget that fact. This was the first time I could create a surrounding of warmth and welcoming, without fear of someone snatching it away from me. I was packed, had saved for months, and narrowed down my ideal neighborhoods. I was ready! I was also terrified. I’ve never been a person who’s short on hope; I can see the silver lining in just about anything. However, the previous eleven years had been a hailstorm of hurts, loss, failures, and major disappointments. I was afraid to step out onto something that could possibly be good, that could possibly be for ME.

I got a call about an apartment in one of my most desired – and expensive – neighborhoods; I was beyond nervous. I could smell my desperation and knew that I was in danger of making a hasty decision that I could regret later – and I hate regret. I scheduled the viewing for Sunday, after church; this way, I’d have all morning to pray and focus. I still had an upset stomach when church let out. I didn’t want to go alone, which was odd because I generally do everything alone. And for some reason, I decided to knock on that same door from 20 years ago.

                “What are you about to do?” I asked as she walked to her car.
                “We’re about to have lunch at the Cracker Barrel.” Anyone else might have wondered why their family hadn’t even thought to ask if she’d wanted to go to lunch also since we’d just worshipped as a family, but I was accustom by now.
                “Can you please come to see an apartment with me first?”
                “Ugh… I don’t want to go see an apartment.”
                “Please, it’s the first one, and I don’t want to go by myself.”
                “I don’t feel like going either. I wanna go eat.” A lesser Title chimed in.
                “Please! The apartment is really close to the restaurant. I just want you to see it with me, and then you can hop right on the freeway!”
                “Nooo… I really don’t feel like it.”
                “It’s seriously right by the highway. It’s kinda on the way! I promise it won’t take long. Please!”
                “No, babe. I just don’t feel like it.” She gave her final decision, got in her car with the other Title, and went to lunch.

I knew that I shouldn’t have been shocked. I knew. But I’d heard so much crap about how I never ask for help and that’s why no one was ever there for me. So, I break out of my comfort zone and ask for her to come with me to see the FIRST place I’d live ALL ALONE, and it was too inconvenient – once again, I’m not worth the inconvenience. She would have had to wait an entire 45 minutes before she could get to her catfish, pancakes, or whatever meal had been so much more important than me. And I even begged!!! I had promised myself I wouldn’t let this happen again… I felt foolish – hurt – and without worth. I stood outside my car for a while, not knowing how to handle my feelings, upset that I allowed this, again. Deflated and alone, I slid into the comfort of my Jetta and slowly closed the door as warmth rose to my eyelids. “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! Don’t cry!” I spoke out loud. I let this happen; there’s no point in crying! As I fought to hold back tears, my phone rang.

                “Hey! Where are you?” Koya asked joyously.
                “I’m leaving church, about to go see an apartment.”
                “Oh my gosh, that’s so exciting! Can I come?!”

With that question, the same tears that lingered on my lids fell, but for an entirely different reason.

                “Of course, you can!” I laughed, “I can’t thank you enough. I have to tell you about the last 10 minutes of my life.”
                “Okay, great. My service isn’t over, but send the address and I’ll meet you there.”

That day, I had a fabulous lunch with Koya, who was more than happy to drive across town for no other reason than to support me. I saw the apartment, and although I loved the neighborhood, the space wasn’t for me. A month later, I moved into the absolute perfect house within an equally perfect community. My new home was filled with lovely furniture, handmade art, pots, pans, and dishes by several amazing non-titled people who found me worthy of sacrifice and inconvenience. My cup ran over! Yet somehow the mucky residue of neglect continually rose to the surface. How could I be so leveled by the actions of one, when soooo many others showed such abundant love and consideration towards me? Why was this ONE person able to shatter me every time?

Well, it took waaay too long (late into my 30’s), but I realized that my self-worth wasn’t shaken by a person nearly as much as it was shaken by their Title. This particular person’s Title carries a heavy burden and distinct connotation. However, she had no idea how to live up to the expectations. Titles don’t preclude brokenness. She didn’t magically morph into a fairytale character with the addition of a label. She has her own broken bits, shards of hurt, fear, and inferiority that sometimes cut those closest to her – just as most – just as I.

I’m still working on undoing the damage; I naturally view my needs, myself, as an inconvenience to others. I love intently, but don’t always allow myself to be loved in return, inadvertently alienating my most favorite humans. I rarely ask for help, and when I do, it’s only after I’ve exhausted every possible avenue on my own, putting undue stress on myself and robbing my loved ones of opportunities to be there for me. But most importantly, I’m working on releasing her from the prison of her Title, so we can both be free. My trampled expectations of her are the source of SO much pain and anger within, and I’m losing my ability to stuff it down and ignore it – or maybe I’m out of emotional real estate. Either way, it’s time to heal, time to let go, time to accept THE WOMAN for who she is, outside of her Title. And time to accept that although I love her, I can no longer weigh my value by her inability to show love for me. So, no more knocking… at least not for a while.

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“Some people make you feel worthless. And then there are those who make you feel like a million dollars. Ultimately, it’s up to you to decide who you choose to believe.”

― Hrishikesh Agnihotri