Terrified to be Eeyore

 By middle school I had gained a reputation. I was the one who was always happy. I was also the friend people went to for advice and counseling. When they needed help or a listening ear, they came to me. I was the one people trusted with their secrets. I remember kids joking that I probably knew things about everyone in the whole school because everyone felt safe talking in front of me even if it wasn’t to me because I didn’t gossip and I kept things to myself. I felt destined to be a therapist one day because it seemed to be something I was innately good at and I liked that people trusted me and felt safe with me.

But when crap hit the fan in my own life things got heavy fast and I realized that it was hard to shoulder everyone else’s burdens in addition to my own. And I felt I had a duty to keep being who everyone expected me to be. I was “the happy one.” I didn’t have anyone I could talk to and share my burden with because they had their own crap and I felt I had an obligation to be the strong one for them. The happy one. The one they could rely on.  

It was okay for a while. For a long while really. Because helping other people gave me a sense of purpose and a sense of worth when I couldn’t find those things in my own life. But I did eventually break. I stopped having the energy to be the strong, happy one, always there for others and ready to listen and shoulder their burden. I barely had the energy to keep myself afloat let alone help anyone else. 

There’s a song I like that talks about mental health with the lyrics “Like you have empathy inside but you don't really care; Like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air” And that hits hard because that’s exactly what it felt like. Losing my ability to help other people took away the one thing I had in my life that gave me a sense of purpose and worth. I cared about my friends but couldn’t find the feeling necessary to act on it anymore. I became a terrible friend. I was lost in a sea of apathy and couldn’t find the energy to care about anyone including myself. I knew I cared. I knew I loved people. I wanted to care. I just… couldn’t do it. 

And it took getting a therapist to become whole again. The beautiful thing about therapists is that there is no expectation to be anyone but yourself. No expectation to be strong or happy or reliable. No expectation to be nice or nonjudgmental or perfect. No expectation to shoulder any one’s burden but your own. You can say the inappropriate things in your head that would make anyone else uncomfortable. You can just be yourself, with no need to be tactful or politically correct or socially acceptable or not-awkward and you can accept help. Because you’re paying for it. Which is the down side, right?

In reality, for most people, what needs to happen is a certain amount of give and take in their relationships. I help you and you help me. I shoulder your burden and you help shoulder mine. But in order for that to work we can’t put people on pedestals. There are no “strong ones” or “happy ones.” People who are always strong or always happy don’t exist. And to have that expectation is unrealistic, unfair, and unhealthy for everyone involved. It doesn’t help to always view others as perfect and yourself as imperfect, or to be viewed as perfect and in reality never measure up.

And I have tried multiple times in my adult life to let down the walls of “always being happy” and try to let people help shoulder my burdens by sharing them with others. But it’s really hard. I get strangled by a sense of guilt. I don’t feel like I have the right to do that to people because it’s never been allowed of me within the confines of fulfilling the pedestal role of “the happy one.” I’m grateful for the intimacy involved in being myself with people. The feeling that they are seeing me beyond being happy. But I am terrified that in reality the real Emily is a bit more like Eeyore than I care to admit. I am terrified that if I’m not happy at least a majority of the time that people will eventually tire of being around me and will leave. I am terrified that my sense of self worth is wrapped up in my ability to be “the happy one” and the “strong one” and the listening ear for others. And if I allow myself to be anything but that I will be worthless.

Of course Eeyore had friends in Winnie the Pooh who loved him despite his demeanor. But I struggle to relate to that image because it’s not like you get to witness him falling off his happy pedestal and then still being loved. There were no expectations for him to fail. How does one walk away from the pedestal of needing to be happy to have value to people? 

I know that feeling this way isn’t unique to me. Which is in some ways comforting. And I also recognize that if I have always been able to love people in their Eeyore states that I should be able to accept that other people can love an Eeyore Emily too. But logic doesn’t easily change feelings or fears. And even now I feel obligated to tie this up with a nice, positive and uplifting bow. But sometimes, I haven’t yet found the ribbon to tie things up with yet 🤷‍♀️

Normalizing Mundane

Funny moments, memorable quotes, big life events, the occasional rant or whine, memes... these are the sorts of things that fill our social media feeds and even phone conversations. Right? I'm always a little frustrated when I call someone up and ask them how their life has been, and they have nothing to report. You have things you can share with me! It's okay if you talk to me about the kids or the laundry or what have you! You don't have to have some magical or disastrous event to happen in order to have an excuse to talk to me! 

Something I have been thinking about this week is that I am very grateful for windows into people's mundane moments. I've had the opportunity lately to witness regular moments, or at least have them incorporated into the conversation, of "I'm doing laundry" or "I'm doing the dishes" or "I'm making dinner" or "I'm cleaning the bathroom" or "I'm going to vacuum the floors" or "I'm picking up the clutter" or "I just took a shower." And honestly it's been the best thing. I have never felt great at being a normal functioning adult. I don't have the habits or frame of mind most people seem to have. The mundane "every day tasks" fill me with a sense of apathy or dread and they do not happen every day or even sometimes in a week. It's hard for me to explain. But it's been so helpful to have a model for those things.

It also makes me realize that if I can master those things, then I have the opportunity to be that model for my own kids so that they can have a more successful adult life than I have thus far had. And that the attitude that I take with those things will also affect the attitude that my children have. Can I make doing dishes into something that is a fun, memorable moment my kids can remember, so that there are positive associations with it, and not just "the dreaded chore" ? Can I help them feel a sense of pride for their work? Can I help them feel like the every day is possible, and not just expected? And not just that, but I feel like the opportunities that come up to serve other people in those things turn into moments I can be grateful for, because once again, it becomes a model for my children. If there is one thing that I learned from my mother, it is to serve and help others. My mother has spent most of my adolescent and adult life giving a large amount of her time and energy to serve her friends. And that is definitely one of my strongest priorities. It brings me joy. And I want that for my kids. But I also want all the mundane things for my kids too.

So let's normalize the mundane. Let's normalize finding joy in it. Let's normalize including people in it. Letting the kids see it. Letting your friends help you with it. Or at least letting me help you with it 😉 Because at least for me, I am finding that helping others with the mundane, and witnessing more of the mundane, makes my own mundane feel more possible, and less out of reach. And letting your kids see people serving you? That's a good thing too. It's teaching your kids that it's okay to have help. It's okay to ask for help. And that's something I want my kids to learn too. That it's okay to include people in your mundane... that joy can come from the mundane, and not just the extraordinary. Because at least in my experience, joy often comes from moments shared together, and usually, it’s the little things.