A Little Honesty

I have a confession to make: I'm not good at telling when people want me around.

It's not that I think people don't like me. I honestly believe I'm as likable as most people, probably more likable than some. Let's face it, as a general rule, people suck. At the very least, I'm a person who tries not to harm others, though I often do so by accident. That's not true of everyone. There are people who go around spewing hate and bile wherever they go. Compared to them, I look positively rosy.

Sometimes, it's obvious when someone wants you around: there are times when you see people's faces light up as you enter a room, or they say how happy they are to see you, with feeling, or they call from out of the blue to invite you to lunch. But, in general, it's not that obvious. People tend to be busy and distracted, overwhelmed by responsibilities, worries, and heartaches. Maybe they want to see you, but they have too little energy left over after meeting all their obligations. Conversely, they may not feel like seeing you at all, but politeness dictates that they pretend otherwise. Even worse, there are people who will use you to distract themselves from their own loneliness, when they don't particularly care about you at all.

Like most things in life, I'm sure my confusion stems from my natural temperament combined with my upbringing. I was one of those oddly contemplative children who spent a lot of time in my own head. In my earliest years, I lived out in the country, away from other children. My siblings weren't close to my age, so I didn't have a lot of playmates. When I started school, I was shy, and the other children often overwhelmed me. Growing up, my family relocated often, and, while I honestly don't believe anyone treated me badly, I never did feel like I belonged. There were times it bothered me, but in many ways I preferred my own company to that of most people.

As an adult, I have a little more freedom in choosing who I spend my time with, and I've learned to be more outgoing. I've learned to look people in the eye and to smile, to focus on putting others at ease, to ignore my own discomfort. For the most part, I've conquered my awkwardness. And I've discovered people who I genuinely enjoy being with, who share my interests and sensibilities.
But there's still a part of me who feels like a nuisance. Even if I know someone cares for me, my default assumption is that I'm interfering, that I'm a burden. I've felt that way as long I can remember, and I have to work hard to remind myself that it may not be the case.

I'm not always aware of this kind of thinking, and that can cause problems. Recently I've hurt people, people I care about, because they assumed I wasn't thinking about them. I didn't call a friend on her birthday because I was in a negative frame of mind and didn't want to burden her. I was merely waiting until I had something positive to offer, and assumed she had other things on her mind. The idea that she would be offended, or even miss me, didn't occur to me.

I've made other mistakes, too, by appearing sullen or self-centered, or by simply not knowing how to communicate to people that I care for them. I find reaching out to other people difficult, having been emotionally self-reliant for much of my life. And when I do reach out, I can easily become defensive, because I already feel like I'm imposing.

I'm still trying to navigate the waters of relationships, and I'm not sure I'll ever be good at it. I know there are people who are naturally gregarious, who seem to gravitate to people automatically, who know the right things to say, and don't second-guess themselves. To these people, it may be easy. But I'm not one of these people. I'm one of those people who, all too often, doesn't know how to navigate the line between being a nuisance and letting people know I care.