How do you learn to trust people?

Maybe that’s a ridiculous question and maybe there’s no answer to it, but I really wish someone could give me a list to follow or some kind of magic elixir that would help me trust people.  I’m struggling with this right now and I don’t know how to fix it.

The simple answer seems to be to just decide to trust people knowing that some people will be untrustworthy.  I wish it were that easy, but it doesn’t seem to be that way, at least not for me.  I expect people to leave me so I leave them first.  I’m afraid people will hurt me, so to protect myself, I hurt them first.  It’s an unintentional hurt, but I know I’ve hurt people all the same. 

What I’ve come to understand is that my reluctance to trust doesn’t stem from other people, it stems from me.  Deep down in some dark corner of my mind, there lurks the thought that I’m not enough.  I think that I, my feelings, my wants, my needs, won’t matter to others,  and so I tend to push them away before they can prove me right.   I put up the barriers and then I blame everyone else for not trying to get past them.   

In the end I know that, before I can place my trust in anyone else, I have to place my trust in myself.  If I believe I’m a person of value, than I have to believe that other people will see that too.   If I start reaching out past my barriers, I have to believe that other people will reach back.   I also have some amends to make.  Regardless of the circumstances, or why I did what I did, I know I’ve hurt some people, and that makes me sad.    I want to start trying to fix some of that hurt, if it is possible to do so. 

I still wish there was a magic spell or something that would make this all easier.  I guess I’ll just have to keep telling myself learning to trust both myself and others will make my life better.

And then I just have to trust that’s true.

I have to confess, sometimes I feel like I’ve paid enough dues in my life.  I’ve survived a lot of things and I often get the feeling that, from here on out, it should just be gravy.  I know that’s not a realistic expectation, but it still pops up quite a bit. 

Like everyone else I have a vision of how I would like my life to be, my ideal life if you will.  Sometimes it feels like I’ll never get to that life, every once in a while I think I’ll just keep trudging along until I drop in my tracks, the goals I’m shooting for still unachieved.  They say that all good things are worth working for and I believe that, I just feel sometimes as though I’ve had to work especially hard.  That’s generally not a good thought pattern to follow.

One of my personal resolutions is to try and be genuinely happy for other people when something good happens in their life.  I don’t want to be one of those people who always secretly, or not so secretly, whines about the fact that things never seem to come easily, and that everyone else seems to get the cake and they’re left with a plate of crumbs.  Most of the time I’m able to keep that resolution.  Every once in a while, however, the little green monster takes a seat on my shoulder and pushes me toward the dark side.

I don’t want to be jealous of the success and good fortune of others.  I don’t want to whine about how the good things in life never happen to me.  I want to appreciate what I have and look forward eagerly toward the good that exists in my future.  That’s what I want to do.  I just haven’t quite mastered it yet.

I suppose we’re all human and even the most actualized of us will occasionally feel a bit jealous of someone else’s good fortune.  I’m no saint, but I am going to try to celebrate the good that happens to others, if only because that’s the sort of person I want to be. 

As for the little green monster, he can go find a seat on someone else’s shoulder.

I’ve been faced with a lot of decisions lately.  Where to live, what I want to do and am willing to do to earn money.  How I want to go about getting healthier, and how much work I’m willing to do to stay healthy.  What sort of relationships I want to have, and what I’m willing to give to have those relationships.   The last few months have been chaotic to say the least.

I’ve always been an either/or sort of person.  When my back is truly to the wall I can always find an alternative and pull myself out of the abyss but, when I’m not in such a precarious position I tend to feel as though I only have one choice.  Stay or go.  Yes or no.  All or nothing. 

The problem with thinking I only have one choice is that it often leads me to feeling trapped.  Feeling trapped is one of the things that led to my lost year.  I know, sure as I know anything, that hopelessness and feeling as though I have no options can drag me to the bottom faster than anything else.  That’s just a fact of my life.

A very wise friend of mine helped me reframe some of my decisions and it’s made all the difference.  I was lamenting whether or not I should buy property where I live given that I’m not sure I like the current circumstances of my worklife and I’m not sure what I’m doing now is what I want to continue to do.  My friend pointed out that buying a house only obligates me to come up with the money for the house payment every month.  It doesn’t necessarily tie me to my current employment or my current lifestyle.  He made me see that I’m not trapped unless I choose to be trapped.  It made a lot of difference.

I now understand there’s a difference between no choice and a choice that comes with consequences.  If I don’t like where my life is going, I can change the path, but I have to accept that every change will bring its own set of issues.  My job is to decide which issues I’m prepared to deal with and which ones I would prefer to avoid.

One of the things I’ve always found annoying is people who make choices and then lament the consequences or people who won’t make choices at all.  As much as I’d love to have a guarantee that every choice I make will be the right one, I know there isn’t any such thing.  I also know that I’m tough and I can survive through pretty much anything.   So, I’ve decided I need to start making choices, and dealing with the consequences as they come.   This, of course, means I’m not trapped, and I never was. 

That’s a notion I find very comforting.

All my life I’ve dealt with the problem of having big dreams but little expectations.  I wanted to achieve greatness or at least happiness, but I never really thought I deserved to get what I wanted.  Sometimes that was because everyone was telling me I shouldn’t get whatever it was I desired.  Other times I sabotaged my own game out of fear that I might succeed.  It’s a tough world when you’re your own worst enemy.

I’ve done a lot of reading over the years, and some of it was on the theme of self-help.  Most of what I’ve read I think is pretty much crap, and a lot of it allows people to make excuses for why they do the idiotic things they do.  One thing, however, that I did read and that made some sense to me was this, we get the kind of life we think we deserve.

I’m not saying that people who get cancer brought it on themselves or that a child who dies in a car wreck had a death wish.  That sort of thinking is why I don’t have much, make that any, respect for organized religion. (That’s a post or posts for another time.)  What I am saying is this, if you don’t think much of yourself, you’ll probably make bad decisions about how your life should go, or you’ll fail to pursue opportunities that could be of benefit.  If you think you’re worth it, you’ll go after what you want and you’ll refuse to accept poor treatment from anyone.  It’s really that simple.

One of the biggest battles I’m fighting right now is the battle to convince myself I deserve more.  Some days I can easily and readily believe that’s true.  Other days I can’t conceive why anyone would even want to talk to me.  As I face new choices for my life, and I’ve faced some doozies in the last few months, I’ve come up against this issue again and again.  Do I assume I deserve more and make the choice that supports that idea, or do I assume I’m not worthy and let an opportunity pass me by?  Sometimes the choice between those two alternatives is more difficult than you might think it would be.

I would bet I’m not the only one with this problem.  I’ve made the resolution that I’m going to proceed as though I believe I’m worth only the very best, even when I’m not sure that I am.  I guess it’s the “fake it ’til you make it” theory.  Maybe, if I keep acting like I expect and deserve the best, I won’t be so surprised when my life takes a turn for the better and I really do start settling for more.

I used to be the queen of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings.  I always felt that I should be nice and kind and never tell anyone “no”.  The result was that I frequently got dragged into doing things I didn’t want to do and my personal boundaries were often violated.  I thought that the way to get people to like me was to say what they wanted to hear, but the words I said often didn’t reflect how I really felt.  As a result I made other people feel good while convincing myself what I felt didn’t matter.

As I’ve made progress toward getting healthier, one of the things I dislike the most is people who won’t tell me what they really think.  I’d much rather hear a firm “no” than a lot of dancing around the subject.  I’d much prefer a forthright “I don’t want to” to some half hearted participation and a lot of whining.  What I really wish is that someone would tell me when we lost the ability to be honest with each other.  When did saying how we really felt become such a bad thing?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t advocate brutal honesty.  Telling someone their hair looks awful after they spent a couple hundred dollars on a cut and color isn’t honest, it’s mean.  When someone asks you if they look fat, the kindest answer may be one that is slightly less than honest.  There is a time and a place for the little white social lie, and that time and place is when it really won’t do any harm.

There is also, however, a time and place for honesty.  There should be honesty between people in relationships.  There should be honesty, at least about the goals the organization is pursuing, between those who work together.  There should be honesty between family members.  Sometimes there should be honesty when being anything less than honest, even if in the pursuit of kindness, would simply prolong a situation that shouldn’t be prolonged.

One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is that sometimes being less than honest only drags out a situation that could be ended, if both parties would be honest about what they want and need.  I’ve also learned that being honest about what I value and what I want can get me out of doing things I don’t value and don’t want to do.  Being honest also helps me separate those who really care about me from those who only care about what I can do for them.    In a lot of ways, saying what I mean and meaning what I say has brought a certain lightness to my life.  It has allowed me to clear out a lot of deadwood while still preserving the vital living vines. 

I wish more people would learn how to say what they mean.  I’m guessing it would save us all a lot of time and heartache in the end.

I’m an odd contradiction at times.  I have an easy time forming relationships as long as their in a context of a particular role.  In my work life, I have no problem forming relatinonships because I know who I am there.  Those relationships are also defined by a specific set of parameters and I know that they’re probably not going to last.  Eventually I’ll move on, the basis for the relationship will be gone, and I’ll have to form a new set of relationships.

In my personal life things are more problematic. I’m not as good at meeting people when I don’t have a pre-defined title or work role to hide behind.  I thing part of the reason for that is that I feel secure that, in my work life, people will find me interesting and worth knowing, but I don’t have that same security about people getting to know just me.  I also have a hard time trusting that the people I come to like and/or love will stay around. 

It can be almost like having a split personality.  I know, in my head anyway, that I’m smart and funny and nuturing and I would be a great addition to anyone’s life.  In my heart, though, I’m always wondering how much the people I meet will need from me, what price I’ll have to pay to keep them around, and when they’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble.  As a defense mechanism, I usually decide they’re not worth the trouble first.  It’s irrational, I know, but that’s generally how it works.

As I’ve started to examine my life, and particularly after my recent health scare, I’ve come to realize how alone I am.  I’ve finally faced how few people really know me and how few people I can really count on.  I’ve also realized how much of that is my own fault.  I don’t give people a chance.  I tend to leave before I can be left. 

So, in a nutshell, here’s the problem.  I need to learn to trust, both in other people and in myself.  I need to trust that other people will see my worth and will treat my feelings with respect.  I need to trust myself and believe that I will pick healthier, more grounded people as lovers and friends.  I also need to let people in, despite how vulnerable that makes me feel.

I want to have good friends.  I want the love of a good man.  I want people I can laugh, cry and celebrate with.  I want people I can count on to be there when I call.  Most of all, I want to believe that other people will believe I’m worth letting into their lives, and that my worth doesn’t depend on my job or what I can do for them or how entertaining or helpful I am. 

It will just depend on me being me.

Oh, how I want to believe that.  I’m just not sure I do yet.

I’ve made some spectacularly bad decisions in my life.  I’ll be the first to admit that.  I chose to put the needs of the wrong people ahead of my own needs.  I chose to push people away when I should have pulled them closer.  I chose to go when I should have stayed and to stay when I should have gone.  I know, probably better than most, that decisions have consequences.  I also know that not making decisions has consequences.  In the end, it comes down to which set of consequences you want to deal with least.

Take my recent health issues.  I didn’t make the right decisions there.  I knew I had a heart condition, I knew my heart had already been compromised twice, and I chose to not exercise, not lose weight, and not get help when I was feeling as bad as I ever had in my life.  I could make a lot of excuses for why I made those decisions,  I listened to my doctor, I work long hours, I was under a lot of stress, I hate exercising, the list could go on and on.  It doesn’t really matter why I made the decisions I made, the consequences that resulted were still less than optimum. 

One of the things I’ve learned is that even not choosing is a choice.  It doesn’t matter if you simply choose to drift through life, letting the current take you where it will, you’re still making a choice.  I’ve come to realize that making conscious, well thought out choices is better than letting the luck of the draw or circumstances make the choice for you. 

One of my favorite quotes has always been this:

People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are.  I don’t believe in circumstances.  The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can’t find them, make them.  ~G.B. Shaw, Mrs. Warren’s Profession, 1893

I’ve made up my mind I’m going to go out and look for the circumstances I want and if I can’t find what I want I’m going to make it happen. Yes, decisions have consequences, and I think the consequences of this decision will be good ones.

When I was growing up, I never worried about money.  My family wasn’t enormously wealthy, but I always had money to do what I wanted to do.  Looking back, I suppose my parents did try to teach me how to manage money, we had savings accounts and we had jobs, but I don’t remember ever worrying particularly about saving for something.  If we wanted it, we bought it, or at least that’s how I remember it.

The gravy train, if that’s what it was, ended at the end of my freshman year of college.  My parents split up and my biological dad cleared out the bank accounts, including my college fund.  Suddenly there was no money.  I did not handle the transition well.  I got myself in debt using credit cards I never should have had in the first place.  I bought because buying was supposed to make me happy.  It actually did just the opposite.

Gradually I learned how to manage my money.  I learned to say no when I needed to and I learned how to live within my means.  I wouldn’t say I’m living in the lap of luxury now, but I’m managing my debt, living fairly well with a few small luxuries and putting a little aside for a rainy day.  I really felt like I was getting a handle on things, and then I got sick. 

Medical bills can really put a crimp in your fiscal planning.  I spent a week in the hospital.  The total bill came to something like $22,000.  The portion for which I am responsible is in the neighborhood of $3,000 or so.  It’s not an unmanageable number, but it isn’t an amount I have just lying around.  Owing this money also means that some of the plans I had for things I wanted to do and buy will now have to be put on hold.

Whenever I think of settling for more, part of my more is always financial freedom.  What I’m starting to realize is financial freedom can be defined in many different ways.  Can I fly anywhere in the world I want, buy anything I want and pay any bill immediately?  No.  Can I set up a plan to pay the debt I need to service, keep myself fed, clothed, housed, and purchase a few small non-necessitites along the way?  Yes. 

I’ve finally learned that happiness when it comes to money is all relative.  While I wouldn’t be adverse to winning the lottery, where I am at the moment isn’t so bad.  Having been through months where I only ate every other day and sparingly at that, knowing that my fridge is full, my car is gassed up and runs, and my rent is paid feels pretty darn good to me.  

In December of last year I wrote a post, “Dancing with the Dark“  in which I spoke about what I call my “lost year”.  This was a year in which I was so profoundly depressed that I didn’t really care whether I lived or died.  I’m quite convinced that the only reason I didn’t die is that I didn’t have the motivation to take my own life.  I was quite simply numb. 

Once I started to come out of my lost year I made a decision.  My theory, flawed though it may have been, was that too much of anything, happiness or sadness, could lead to another bout with depression.  My plan was to build a life that was  study in moderation.  I would never be too happy, never be too sad and never face the risk that the darkness would envelop me again.  At the time it seemed like a good path to follow. 

The problem, as I mentioned in my other post, was that I never could succeed in keeping out the sad stuff.  I got fired.  I had to have surgery.  My mother got cancer and died.  The sad just kept coming and I dealt with it, absorbed the pain and moved on.  Sad, apparently, didn’t have the same power over me that it used to have.

The drawback of my plan for a moderate life was that it kept all the joy out of my life.  I didn’t laugh for the sheer wonderfulness of being alive.  I didn’t have one afternoon where I was gloriously, hopelessly in love wiht the man of my dreams.  I didn’t risk, so I didn’t know the exhilaration of having a risk pay off.  In my attempt to be moderate, I blocked all the happy while completely failing to keep out the sad.  In short, my plan was a failure.

Now I’m working to rebuild my life, and I realize I have a choice to make.  I can, if I choose, stick to the moderate path and have a safe, and mostly o.k. life.  It won’t be the life of my dreams, but it will probably hold less opportunity to fall into the dark abyss again.  This sort of life won’t be the most appealing, but it would probably be the most safe.

My other option, should I choose to take it, is to live the life I want, which would mean taking some risks.  It would mean opening myself up to the feelings and the people I’ve so carefully kept outside my barricades.  Taking chances would mean I would certainly face some deep sadness, but it also brings the possibility that I could face deep joy. 

What it comes down to is this.  When I die, however many years from now that may be, I don’t want my life to simply fade.  I want to have stood for something, to have been valued and to value the people in my life.  I want to have one perfect afternoon when I was hopelessly in love, and one purposeful moment when I realized I was doing what I was put here to do. 

The choice is simple:  safe life or great life.

If you were me, which would you choose?

My mother died in September of 2002.  She was 11 days shy of her 57th birthday.  Women in my family live forever, so I had a resonable expectation that I would have my mother around a lot longer than I did.  The one saving grace of the whole experience of her cancer and death is that we did have the time to work out a lot of things between us.  The greatest sadness of the whole experience was that we had finally come to an understanding and created a great relationship and then she was gone.   I’m grateful we had the chance to become closer.  I’m also deeply saddened that we didn’t get to savor that closeness for a longer period of time.

If there were ever two people who were absolutely opposites in almost everything, it was my mother and myself.  I was firmly convinced when I was a child that gypsies had sold me to the family in which I lived and that somewhere my real family, the family that would understand me, existed.   I’m sure there were times when my mother wondered how she had given birth to a child like me.  We agreed on very little.  Everything that was important to her was not important to me and vice versa.  It made for some interesting experiences as I was growing up.

Even though we didn’t have a meeting of the minds on too many things, there were a few on which we agreed.  We both loved music.  I can still remember standing by the piano singing while she played.  We did that a lot.  We also both loved to read, although it made her nuts that I would tear through books so quickly.  I think, for her, that was just another sign that I was different.  I also think she knew, at times, that being different would cause me pain, and she wanted to help me avoid that.  She wanted me to be a regular kid, and that was something I just didn’t know how to be.

My Mom was an odd combination of timidity and trailblazer.  She worked outside the home when a lot of women didn’t do that.  She encouraged the women who worked for her to better their lot, and helped a lot of them to do so.  She was always active in our activities when my sister and I were young, running our talent shows, leading our Girl Scout troops and encouraging us to try new things.   In some ways she was very brave.

Despite being a trailblazer at times, she was also very unsure of herself.  She was convinced she needed a man to be whole, and stayed married to my biological father for 20 years, even though he treated her and, to a lesser extent, us quite badly for a lot of that time.   She always wanted to be a lawyer but never had the courage to return to school.  She also had a tendency to encourage my sister and I to pursue more traditional paths.  I think, mostly, she wanted us to be happy and she saw that striking out would bring a lot more chances for unhappiness.  

Up until the last few years before she died, my Mom and I loved each other, but didn’t understand each other.  I didn’t get why she thought being with someone, even in a bad relationship, was better than being alone.  She didn’t get why I wanted to be a writer, which was such a precarious career.  I didn’t understand why she devoted so much time to her appearance.  She couldn’t understand how I could endure being overweight.    We were chalk and cheese, about as different as two people could be and still share the same genetic material.

Still, on this Mother’s Day, as on every one since she died, I miss my Mom.  One of the biggest blessing that came out of her cancer was the fact that we both learned to understand each other.  I learned she was braver than I had given her credit for being.  She learned that I cared for her more than she thought I did.  We both learned to appreciate what was best about the other one, and we both learned to overlook the things that grated.   I’m grateful for that. 

It does, however, just make me miss her more.