Or, how I learned to relax and not worry when I feel out of place

Photo by Kelsey Chance on Unsplash

The other night at a group dinner, I found myself gently apologizing.

“Just some light ladies’ night out conversation,” I said, shrugging while I smiled sheepishly, acknowledging that the group was free to move on to another topic.

I did it because I felt like I was annoying some of the people at the table. “Sorry about that,” I was saying. “Feels like you’re ready for this conversation to end.”

But, after I did it, I was sad.

I didn’t feel like I was apologizing for something I did. I felt like I was apologizing for who I was. “Sorry mates. I understand that this part of myself isn’t welcome at this table and I won’t subject you to her anymore.”

And I hated it. Hated it.

It felt like a decade younger and more insecure version of myself had popped her head up. Apologizing for who I am? After I’ve earned all these wrinkles?!

But it happened. And I couldn’t quite figure out why, until I was dancing around my bedroom one morning and it hit me.

“Ohhhhh,” I gasped, “At that table, I felt like I was being tolerated instead of cherished.”

I started to think about the tolerated vs. cherished spectrum a few years ago after hearing Glennon Doyle on a podcast. She talked about meeting Abby Wambach and falling in love. The reason she fell so hard, Glennon said, “Is that Abby loved all the things in me that I always wanted to be loved for.”

It took me a bit to understand what she was saying. Then I got it.

In most of our relationships, we love a person despite what we see as their flaws. Because we love so much of the good, we willingly tolerate other parts of them. Things we don’t love as much but accept as part of the package.

What Glennon was saying (I think) is that Abby was the first person who cherished Glennon for exactly the things Glennon cherished most about herself. Things that other partners had previously only tolerated.

For instance, I imagine that Glennon loves her own sensitivity. She likely sees it as one of the best things about her. It enables her to be an amazing writer and it adds a richness to her life that she values.

However, it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine that previous partners had only tolerated that sensitivity. “I love Glennon,” they may have said, “And, because I love her so much, I put up with how sensitive she is.”

Then Abby came into the picture and said, “Glennon, your sensitivity is so inspiring to me. I love how much you feel. I adore this part of you.”

Big difference, right?

At my dinner, when I was speaking passionately about shamanism and my experiences with it, I was sharing part of myself that I cherish most. When I got, “Please stop talking about this” vibes from some of the table, it hurt more than if I had just been chatting about something insignificant.

It probably brought up old feelings of being an outsider and made me revert to old coping mechanisms. I’ve heard that feeling state memories can transport us as powerfully as scent memories, and this is a feeling I’ve had frequently.

Fortunately, age comes with wisdom. And here’s what I know: there’s nothing wrong with me. There was simply a setting mismatch.

I mean that very specifically. I wasn’t with the wrong people. I was at the wrong table at the wrong time. Setting matters.

The ladies I was with are fascinating, kind humans. I’m a fascinating, kind human. We have plenty of juicy topics to talk about and there are a myriad of ways for us to connect.

However, I brought coffee or lunch conversation to a dinner, drinks and bar-hopping evening. They didn’t want to talk about shamanism there. They wanted to talk about where the best dancing was.

I, alternatively, was trying to block out that the next part of the agenda was bar-hopping and dancing. I hate drinking-heavy events. My last “drink” was in 2010, when I chugged some mouthwash and Xanax “cocktails” alone on my Mom’s couch while she slept, knowing I was going to rehab the next day.

But, since I’m in a new city and trying to make friends, I said yes to the dinner, drinks and bar-hopping evening anyway.

When I spell it out that way, is anyone shocked that the evening felt a little off?

I’m not.

Those vibes I was picking up on—they were real. The ladies at the table were only tolerating my topics of conversation. Just like I was only tolerating the planned agenda.

…not a lot of space for mutual cherishing in a setting like that.

So here’s a little piece of advice I’m sending back to my former self, just in case time isn’t linear:

Don’t trip, chocolate chip.

If you’re going to sign up to do things you don’t want to do, then it might not be super fun. Don’t read into it. Instead, how about you try inviting people to do things you enjoy doing? Then see how it goes.

Also, hang in there kiddo. Life gets so much better. One day you’ll learn the secret of life and it’ll change everything.

The secret? Oh sure. Of course.

Do more of the things that make you feel good. Do less of the things that make you feel bad. Then trust the unfolding.

You thought it was going to be more complicated than that, huh?

It’s not. Human on, baby Keely.