Hey there friend,
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I was a lonely kid. I felt like an outsider in my family of origin and at my grade school. And in fifth grade, a girl we can call Meghan, because that’s her name, bullied me every single day, calling out the fact that I didn’t fit in and was not welcome in that school. Every day of fifth grade, I cried on the way home. And even though I went to a different school after sixth grade, where I immediately had a whole gaggle of friends; even though I was very well liked and popular in high school; even though I had a large group of incredible friends all through college; even though I have made friends easily ever since school; I have carried the wound of loneliness, of not belonging with me for the past 35 years.
I bring this up not to throw myself a pity party or as a way of fishing for validation, but because I’ve recently been working with the concept of going towards the pain. “Pulling my wounds close” as I’ve been phrasing it.
I’ve spent 35 years hating and resenting Meghan, but more importantly, I’ve spent 35 years thinking of myself as an outsider who doesn’t belong anywhere, who doesn’t have any friends, and who people don’t like. And that train of thought probably never served me. But it’s really not serving me right now. So I decided to get curious about it.
First, I had to feel the pain of that original ostracizing, because despite all the tears I shed in fifth grade, I had already learned in my family that my feelings were too much and too big, and that I was too sensitive. I learned to hide my tears, stop my tears, clean my tears up before anyone saw them. And if there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to make loneliness worse, it’s knowing you can’t express your feelings about being lonely. But that’s what I did. Compounded my loneliness every day. In short, I had a lot of unexpressed sadness bottled and buried deep inside that wanted to be felt.
So I felt it. I let myself cry. And then I got angry and I let myself feel that. And in my rage, I started having conversations with Meghan. From my adult self to her adult self. Eventually, I sat down and wrote her a letter. By the end of that letter, I was all out of rage. All I had left was pity.
What my adult self could see was that Meghan didn’t have an easy childhood, either. She had parents who were known to be hard-core drunks, in a neighborhood where alcoholism was the norm. She had older siblings who were not known for their kindness or generosity of spirit. She was in the cool-girl clique that ruled my classrooms, but barely, squeaking onto the bottom rung of that ladder because her dad coached the basketball team, not because she was particularly well-liked. If I had to guess, Meghan had been bullied her whole life. And I just happened to be her target for blowing off some steam in fifth grade. She probably found other targets for the years before and after that. I never noticed.
I can see now, with my grown-up perspective, how my loneliness as a child has fostered a super-power in me since then. Where Meghan saw my pain and chose to exploit it to make herself feel powerful, I can see pain in others and use it as a gateway to connection. You are lonely, too? Let’s talk about it. I know loneliness. You were bullied, too? Let’s cry about it together. I know what it’s like to be bullied. You were seen as too sensitive or too emotional and learned to hide your feelings? Let’s feel it all together. My wounds have become connections to others’ wounds. And my life is rich as a result. How many friends did I make in junior high, in high school, in college who I still have in meaningful ways in my life? Dozens. How many clients reach out telling me how I’ve helped them feel better, not only in their bodies, but also in their minds and hearts? Hundreds. How many people have reached out to me years or decades after we met to say how impactful our meeting was for them? More than I can remember.
I don’t know what happened to Meghan. Maybe she’s living a beautiful, fulfilling life somewhere, surrounded by people she loves, who love her in return. What I do know is that I’m living a beautiful, fulfilling life, surrounded by people I love, who love me in return. And that is all I could ever ask for.
For 35 years, I let a wound based in separation and loneliness tell me I was separate and alone, despite all evidence to the contrary. I believed Meghan was bad and I was outcast. But the moment I got curious, things started to shift. The moment I stopped fighting against this wound and pulled it close instead, my perspective shifted entirely. I can see now how that being bullied at 10 years old helped create a life of connection and love and support that I wouldn’t trade for the world. It makes me wonder what else I could learn by pulling things close that I’ve historically shunned. Only one way to find out, I suppose. They say you’re never done healing. I can only hope that’s true.
Until next time, I’m so lucky to be on this journey with all of you.
With love,
Theresa
