Killing It In My Sixties

Belonging, longing to be longed for, longing to belong, longing to be loved and included.  These are the feelings and unattainable qualities I have chased for as long as I have had memories.  Other people usually do not see this; they see a friendly, outgoing and positive person. Someone who is likeable enough.  A person who strives to be fun, witty, and kind – and almost inevitably striving to be liked and accepted into whatever world they are orbiting in.  Apparently, this was a survival mechanism I developed early in life – probably at birth and possibly even before that.  After almost 64 years, it brings me to my knees to realize that I have spent my life yearning for a feeling of belonging – a need greater than any therapy has been able to remedy.

This quote resonated deeply; “A deep sense of love and belonging is an irreducible need of all people. We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don’t function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick.”  Brené Brown.  Brown has a way of putting words to painful names that have previously been un-nameable when they lie deep in our souls.  If I could have named and identified the feelings at some point earlier in my existence, I would quite possibly have made very different choices in my life.  

My life-long battle with depression has motivated me to seek answers, and solutions, (if they exist).  I have spent many years in therapy, read countless books, combed through numerous articles and academic papers, as well as many nights sipping a good glass of wine with friends – trying to unlock the mystery of my yearning for feeling to be part of something.  I have chased it in so many ways: moving to other towns, communities and even another country, taking new jobs and career angles, joining clubs and groups, taking classes, and even dating and marrying the wrong people.  I am sure my attempts seemed somewhat pathetic or desperate to people on the outside looking in.  Worse – it caused me to lose relationships and respect, when what I needed the most was to be included and loved.

I have come to understand that my childhood and growing up years did not provide the safe and nurturing environment that would pave the way for being a confident, secure adult.  This is not a ‘blame my parent’s’ article, but I am comfortable in saying that being the third child born in as many years, and then experiencing the horrible divorce of my parents at the age of 12 and all the years that followed, were a rich breeding ground for my deep insecurities and feeling abandoned.  Unfortunately, when my parents decided they no longer wanted to be married – they also pretty much decided they didn’t want to be parents anymore either.  I was NOT ready to NOT have a family at this critical stage in my development.

Within the first year after they split, my demeanor changed enough to be noted by my teachers, so I was sent to my first round of therapy.  It was fruitless – mainly because no one talked to my parents.  I just sat in the psychiatrist’s office looking at Rorschach drawings and saying whatever I thought he wanted to hear.  The following years were spent in high school, bouncing back and forth between whatever parent would take me.  Due to not really having a family to go home to, I joined the track team, was a cheerleader, acted in school plays, went over to friend’s houses after school and for dinner, and generally tried to find somewhere that I felt like I belonged.  School was a home for me – the teachers, the coaches and my friends were where I felt included.  I know that is why I was so enthusiastic about coming to work at my alma mater recently.  It feels like a home I once had.

I have always felt like someone was trying to pawn me off on someone else.  My mom encouraged to marry right out of high school to get me out of the house.  Similarly, she told me that having children early would “keep my husband”.  It didn’t.  But it did set me off on my next chapter of trying to find a place or person that would make me feel like I belonged.  The one place I always felt like I belonged and that I had my tribe of unquestionable love and acceptance, was being a mom to my boys. The best role and the best time of my life. When the last one left for college on the East Coast – I crashed and burned. The deepest depression I have ever known, set in for months and pushed me to confront my fear of being alone – really alone.

It has been twelve years since having my kids at home with me, and the journey has not gotten any easier.  I still have the feeling of not really and truly belonging anywhere in this world.  I have had periods of time when I did feel included, somewhere or with someone, but they seem to be situational and not secure.  It is these times where I feel myself cut out, cut off and distanced – that the depression drapes over me again.  Inserting my self in settings or situations where I am hopeful to feel connected, only serves to increase my isolation when it does not manifest or materialize.

I often wonder if anyone else feels this way. I ponder:  If I opened myself to a relationship – would that be an answer to my feelings of experiencing real connections?  Or would I feel like an imposter, just trying to create a life I have always yearned for.  Research shows that childhood trauma is the culprit for my feelings and healing is what is needed. Apparently, acknowledgement is the first critical step in healing. The second step is professional help – I’m doing that. The steps that follow after those two, are more difficult to master, but there is support to be found and self-care to be practiced as I continue my journey.