(Image from Dnstyle)
When I was at my sickest one of the many things that I struggled with with feeling worthy of love. I felt like because I wasn’t doing anything or contributing I was no longer lovable. I fully expected my husband to get frustrated, stop loving me, and leave. It is in no way a comment on him or how he treats me, this is 100% in my head. I don’t know if I got this from cultural messaging or from my family of origin or from some of my early work experience. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I drove my husband absolutely crazy by constantly asking if he still loved me. Sometimes even after he confirmed for the fifteenth time that yes, in fact he does love me, I would follow up with “why??” Even now when I’m doing better I constantly ask if I was a good wife on a given day, asking if I did enough. While I’m aware that I’m being a little crazy I just can’t seem to stop myself.
For some mysterious reason my husband loves me through all of this. Actually he proposed and married me while I was sick. I was worried because on our wedding day I was throwing up in the morning. (But my stomach settled and we had a lovely, small, pandemic wedding.) He has been here with me through all of it. He’s human so of course he got tired and at times frustrated but his love never changed.
I don’t know where I got the message that I have to work and produce to be worthy of love but I know that it is culturally pervasive. Unhoused people are treated like being on the street is a moral failing on their part rather than a systemic issue with the lack of a public safety net. I can think of at least two times in my life where if I had not been able to move back in with my mother I would have ended up on the street. I’m lucky. Then the ways that we treat mental illness and drug addiction… this could because a completely different conversation if I keep going down this road.
The older I get the more I’m starting to hate the word “lazy” because I don’t think it’s real. When I was sick and still trying to work I requested a reduction of my weekly hours from forty a week to thirty and I was told no and accused of being lazy. I haven’t fully forgiven that, I was trying so hard to keep working and was being told in no uncertain terms that what was my best at the time was not good enough. Most people I have met in my life want to be productive and contribute to the world. We also want to have time and energy left to be human. We also have an issue with productivity for productivity’s sake is the most draining thing ever. I’ve had jobs where I was required to be at my desk eight hours a day, whether there was work to do or not. Trying to look busy is a special kind of torture.
Add to that the overachieving culture. That being exhausted from overwork is a badge of honor. I do believe that some of the generations coming behind me are going to change that. I really look forward to that. I dream of a world where people get called into HR for working too much and they have a conversation about bringing in new help. I am dreamer.
The nail in the coffin for all of the issues with our attitude about work is the type of work the majority of people do. Most work done in this day and age is truly not necessary, the shutdowns showed us this. Many of the jobs that exist just keep the capitalist machine moving. It doesn’t really feed, clothe, and house people. We live in a culture that aspires to accumulate wealth. I feel like people who hoard money have the same mental illness that people who can’t throw away magazines do. I can’t imagine getting that rich and not giving away endless amounts of money. And that’s probably why I will never get that rich.
Don’t get me wrong, I like stuff, I have a lot of it. But as the saying goes, you can’t take it with you. My most treasured memories are not things. Many of the things that I love I love because of their connection with a memory or a person who is important to me.
I’m starting to believe that I am loved even when I’m sick in bed. I’m starting to understand that it is not the act of me doing things for others that makes them love me. I may have a way to go to believe that I’m worthy of that love. The problem is that I still don’t understand what does make me lovable. It sounds utterly silly but whenever I see a friend or receive some kind of positive feedback from someone close to me I’ll say to my husband “it’s so weird, people like me!” I genuinely don’t know why.
Then I think about the people that I love. I love my husband. I don’t love him because he works or because of him doing things around the house. (Though I’m in no way complaining about the regular breakfast in bed… not need to stop doing that sweetheart.) I love how he sees and treats people. I love how direct he is and how kind. And more, that’s not what I’m talking about tonight.
So how to connect the dots? How do I make the logical leap to understand that I don’t love people based on their contributions and extend the same grace to myself?
Screaming in the Dark 