We’re supposed to

“He’s not the guy I used to know.”

“She’s not the woman I married.”

“I feel like I don’t even know them anymore.”

“We’re not that close anymore, she’s changed so much.”

“I’m not who I was back then, we just don’t have as much in common anymore.”

We often describe relationships as failing or struggling because someone or both people have changed. As if we could go through life, experiencing something new in every hour of every day and somehow remain the same. We change because we are supposed to. It’s unfair and unrealistic to expect someone to stay exactly who they were when you met them. Unfair to them and unfair to you. You’re denying yourself of the evolving greatness of who they are becoming.

The key to making any relationship - be it a friendship, romance, colleague, or family - thrive over time is figuring out how to grow and change together. Or at the very least take a step back and make space for growth to occur, paying attention to the newness with respect and curiosity. Or as 38 Special said, “Hold on loosely, but don’t let go.” The magic is loving someone enough to not hold them back, to love them through the process of living.

In my 14 year relationship with my partner, the gradual changes have been easy. I don’t party nearly as much as or as hard as I used to and that tapered off over time. He is much more progressive in his thinking than when we met but that too was an evolution over time. The sudden changes are harder to accommodate. Like when I found out he’d been listening to Christian music, or when I abruptly went and got multiple new tattoos. My partner is much more skilled at letting me stretch different parts of me and see what fits. I have a greater tendency to say things like, “You’ve never listened to Christian music before, why now?”

But then I think of this little cartoon I found and the value of make space for people to continuously figure out who they are and who they want to be. And to acknowledge that his new hobby doesn’t take anything away from who we are as a couple. In our partnership and as individuals, we are not fixed, not in the way we look or the way we think, not in the way that we feel or act. And that’s a good thing. Every new experience should contribute to an ever-developing sense and performance of who we are.

So of course we’ve changed. We’re supposed to.

Flashback Friday: The dream

Flashback Friday

The most vivid dream I've ever had from the active subconscious of my teenage self...

I woke calmly close to four o'clock in the morning. A thick silence filled my 11-year-old house. Through the darkness I crept down the stairs I knew by heart. I saw the silhouette of my mother standing silent, blankly staring out our front window.

Without approaching the window, I stepped out into the bitter night. The rain splashed on my warm skin and a sharp wind whipped around me. There in the rain-flooded yard stood a familiar man amidst a mess of our possessions.

He appeared to be aware of my presence but made no attempt to acknowledge me. Thunder shook the siding on my house and lightning lit up the sky. He didn't even flinch. In fact he remained motionless for what seemed like forever.

In the silence, I took a good look at the man I had called my father for nineteen years. He looked the same as he had when he left six years before. His shiny black hair was full but neatly trimmed. On his nose rested his thick, black-framed glasses. He was comfortably dressed and he held his 6'3'' frame with confidence.

After forever passed, he picked up and held in front of him a rug he and my mother had owned all of their 22 years together. He held it high and stared at it as if it were something sacred. For a moment, I thought he was going to tear it in two. Instead, he lay it carefully on the ground in front of him.

From a garbage bag to his right, he pulled out two objects. One, a pole that extended to be 30 or 40 feet long. The other was something I had never seen before. I held my breath as he raised his eyes to mine. His sparkling hazel eyes, identical to mine, now appeared cold and black. He seemed to look right through me. I don't think he even knew who I was.

"If this doesn't work, you will finish for me." His powerful voice I had grown to both resent and love rang loud in my ears. A sharp blade landed at my feet and I backed into the corner of my porch. I was frozen with fear and confusion.

Despite my terror, my body managed to shake and tremble at its own will. I stole a quick glance at my mother in the window to see that she had yet to move and remained expressionless. I slowly turned my head back to my father to see him move in calculated, controlled motions.

He raised the unfamiliar object to his mouth and it extended one foot to his left and six feet to his right. On the long end there were hundreds of tiny, reflective mirrors covering a platform the size of a pizza box. He reached for the long pole and raised it high above his head in both hands, dropping to his knees.

Once again the thunder rattled through the walls of my childhood home. I closed my eyes to block out the event unfolding before me. The lightning flashed and electricity surged through my father, illuminating the whole street and brightening even the backs of my eyelids.

He didn't scream or even groan as the powerful current raced through his body, boiling his blood and ending his life.

I heard his body fall to the grass with a soft thump and the pole tinkered to the sidewalk. The rain stopped and the wind settled. One of the tiny mirrors shifted as it settled, reflecting back to me the unchanged, blank expression of my mother.

A strange courage arose in me. I brought myself to my feet and approached my lifeless father. I bent down close to his face. The cold air swirling around us sent a chill up my spin. I blew him a kiss and allowed him to step out of my life one last time.

I have the right to be uncomfortable

My 6yo son attends a public school and when I was picking him up one day, I overheard a few older children having a discussion and while I missed the general context of the conversation, I heard one girl say, “I have the right to be uncomfortable.” 

This struck me as profound in several ways. First, it is incredibly empowering for a young girl to talk about her rights and with such assertion. Second, I started to think about what right she was talking about. Simply the concept of recognizing that we all have strong emotions and sometimes they aren’t clean cut and uncomfortable is the best way to describe how we are feeling. 

I started to think about why making space for discomfort is so important. It’s a holding space for sorting through emotions. A space to disagree with the norm. An honest reflection of discontent with an idea or circumstance in front of us. A chance to say, “this doesn’t work for me.” It demands that people around us consider our confidence in questioning the status quo. We don’t have to take what is simply because it is presented to us. We can push back and let the world know that we aren’t ok with how things are. We don’t have to solve what is but we can say, “hold it right there, I’m having some feelings about this.” 

And when a small child says something this profound, I think of hope. For the future of change, careful consideration, and challenging the agenda. 

I didn’t feel uncomfortable in that moment. Instead I felt an overwhelming comfort in the notion that the future recognizes the opportunity that lies within declaring, “I have the right to be uncomfortable.” 

You don’t see me

Do you really SEE the people in your life? Do you let people see YOU? 

Thinking back to my years of being single and having several short, mostly unsatisfying relationships, I’ve often thought, how did that not work out? I’m awesome, other people seem to think that person is awesome, surely we couldn’t be anything but awesome together! 

I was reckless and careless - with myself and others. There was one man in particular that I had a physical relationship with but nothing more. We agreed it wasn’t going anywhere but I toggled between apathy and heartache. I knew I had feelings for him but I also knew I could never be with him. And that felt really confusing. Despite the significant amount of time together and our strong physical connection, he couldn’t see ME. He was respectful and polite and took me on nice dates but no matter how much time we spent together, there was always an indescribable distance between us. I never felt like myself around him and sometimes it felt like that was because I didn't want him to see me and other times it felt like he was never even going to try. Our relationship was purely physical, he didn't need or want to see me. And ultimately, this is why our "relationship" ended. Why was I trusting my body with someone that either didn't care enough to try and see me fully for who I was -or- that I didn't trust to let fully see me? Unfortunately for him, this revelation came at an inconvenient time - on Valentine's Day, mid-thrust after a lovely date. It was over. Right then and I pushed him off and told him he had to leave. I simply said, "I can't do this. You don't see me." I knew in that moment and this moment now that all of it had to do with issues within myself I had to work on, right down to the decision to "date" someone who didn't bother to see me. 

This was an unfortunate pattern for me. I had a very calculated way of doling out vulnerability - I could be physically vulnerable with someone but closed off my emotions. Or the opposite, I could have a deep emotional/intellectual connection but couldn’t also be physically intimate. Failed relationship after failed relationship. That is until I met my husband. I broke all of my rules and I let him see me. Physically naked, mentally naked, emotionally naked. He was it, he actually saw ME. Because I let him. And he didn’t look the other way or try to change me. It was so new and so wonderful for me to just simply be seen. But it also felt like a giant scary risk. If someone could fully see ME, they could fully leave ME. 13 years later, that risk is still there, at any moment he could decide that I am too much, too flawed, too broken, too messy. And walk away. That risk has always been there and always will be. But if I hadn't let him see me, I would've been equally unsatisfied as I was in all my other relationships. The gamble wasn't any less, I just decided by not putting it all on the table I was actually losing more.

So I started practicing this more in my life. With friendships, with work partnerships, and even with strangers. I show up as me, fully, wholly, imperfectly ME. There are still relationships that don't work, that have that same marked distance and feel disingenuous. But when I stopped calculating vulnerability and just showed up as me, when it didn't work, I knew it wasn't because I wasn't showing up. Sometimes it means they didn't show up, or didn't try, or didn't need me in their life, or we just weren't the right fit. But it became a lot easier to find the right moment to part ways and simply say, "You don't see me". But definitively not because I didn't allow them to.