The Death of the "Should" Self
Learning to play well with others
Interpersonal relationships have always been hard for me.
What? Me? The social, outgoing, will strike up a conversation with anyone kinda gal who put her life story into a public blog?
Yup.
When I was four years old, I came home and told my mom I had no friends. She says I seemed more or less unbothered by this statement but, of course, as my mother she was beside herself and immediately went to my kindergarten teacher to figure out what was going on.
My teacher said to her, "the other children want to be friends with Rae, but she prefers to play by herself."
My mom got to see this behavior firsthand as we toured the school where I would eventually complete grades 1-8. Another child came up to me and introduced himself saying, "hi, my name is JJ," and I looked up briefly from whatever I was doing and said, "good for you," and continued playing. I was five.
Now, of course, my mom did what any good parent would do and informed me that interacting with other people this way was rude. I should be nicer to the other kids and this is how I would make friends.
Another problem I was later made aware of was my tone. My fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Sabo, sat me down one day and said "I know you're not trying to be mean or rude, but sometimes the way your voice sounds when you say things makes it sound harsh." I should adjust my voice and then other people would think I was nice.
The birth of "should" Rae
I continued to refine myself based on these "shoulds" over the years. Figuring out all the things I should be was difficult to accomplish alone, so I began pulling personality traits from tv shows, movies, books I was reading, people I knew. It got to the point that when I got home, I'd recreate facial expressions I'd made over the course of the day in the mirror to make sure I hadn't looked too animated, too practiced, too weird.
My entire existence became about this version of myself that I "should" be. I should be polite so that other kids would like me. I should be smart, but not too smart because other people found it intimidating. I should adjust my tone. I should listen more. I should talk less. I should be outgoing but not too available. I should be assertive but not bitchy. I shouldn't say that because it could offend someone. I should make eye contact when I speak to people and when they speak to me. I should, I should, I should...
And then came the emotional "shoulds". I should be sad when people leave my life. I should be nice to boys who like me. I should be gentle and thoughtful in my communications. I should show love by hugging and telling people verbally what they mean to me. I should let someone in.
In the process of trying to manage all the things I "should" be, I completely lost sight of all the things I actually was. I began to struggle with things that had never been difficult for me before: finding passion in my hobbies (I used to love theater, but I should do something that looks better on a college resume), taking care of my body (I enjoyed dance, but I should do something I was better at), finding peace (I was baptized Catholic, but I shouldn't question God or disagree with his message).
When I wasn't drowning in "shoulds" I was actively rebelling against them: doing everything I shouldn't, trying to get a pulse on what "shoulds" really mattered and what I could discard.
I was attracting the wrong people, the wrong relationships, the wrong jobs because I was presenting as my "should" self. It created this monumental cognitive dissonance because, based on my should-self, I was doing everything right. I had everything I needed. Friends, family, job, partner. But I was miserable.
This misery made me feel ungrateful. I began to drown further in "shoulds". I should be happy. I should be thankful. I should be content. I should be taking better care of myself. I should be enjoying this. Why am I not enjoying this?
领英推荐
The antithesis to should: Why?
I remember the first time I challenged myself. For a child who asked "why" of the entire world, I had somehow lost the ability to ask myself much of anything. I became wonderful at accusing myself (you should be this, you should be doing that) but I had lost touch with the ability to question my own motives (why are you feeling this, why are you doing that).
The beauty of why came not from the robust and well-thought-out answers, but more from the simple ones. I remember the most powerful answer to a "why" I asked myself came in the words "I don't want to."
Why aren't you staying in California? I don't want to.
Why aren't you friends with that person anymore? I don't want to.
Why aren't you willing to commit to me? I don't want to.
Why aren't you doing this job? I don't want to.
The birth of the want-self
A smart but stubborn man once told me "we need to kill your should-self. There should be only two of you: the person you are, and the person you want to be. This version of you that you feel you should be does nothing for you except tear you down."
It was difficult to hear at the time because I knew what self he aligned with. He was smart, he was successful, he was handsome. For all intents and purposes, I should be wildly into him. But I wanted to be alone. I wanted to focus on myself. My life. My needs.
I might always struggle with that, feeling like I should maintain certain relationships based on loyalty or history or potential.
However, I now go through life asking myself two questions:
I'm not naive enough to think that we can all saunter through life only doing the things we want. But the things we do need to at least get us closer to who we want to be.
The farther I get from my "should" self, the easier taking care of myself becomes. Going to the gym is no longer about how my body should look, it is about wanting to be toned and strong. My job is not about what I should be accomplishing, it is about how much I can push myself and learn. My self is not about who I should be, it is about who I am.
So if you walk up and introduce yourself, I might say "Hi, I'm Rae." Or I might just say, "good for you."