If someone told you to your face that you would deserve to be loved once you were better-looking, more successful and a little less complicated, you would probably object. Yet you may have been telling yourself much the same thing for years, only more gently: “Once I get my life together a bit.”
Of course, there are things to sort out. Who doesn't have something to work on? We have bad habits, jobs we keep putting off, perhaps a temperament that even we find hard to live with sometimes. Still, it would be going a bit far to treat ourselves as unfinished work that isn't ready for anyone to see.
It is easy to slip into it, though. Once I lose some weight. Once I get a better job. Once I speak more confidently, know more, feel less nervous. Until then, I'll somehow make do with this current version of myself, the one I can always find something wrong with.
Meanwhile, life goes on. And by the time we finally change something, we have found something else that isn't good enough. It is hard to feel satisfied with such a strict inspector living inside your head.
It is worth looking at how we treat the people we love. A friend can have a bad spell, feel uncertain, make some unfortunate decisions. We don't suspend the friendship until they pull themselves together. We know there is more to them than whatever isn't going well just now. Somehow, we find that harder to believe about ourselves.
When I say that your worth lies in who you are now, this is part of what I mean. The person you can barely see behind your own faults. Someone who pays attention to others, who can be trusted with something, who is good to talk to, or who doesn't look away when things get difficult. None of this only becomes valuable once you add an impressive achievement to it.
There is still plenty of room to grow. We need to, too. I just don't see why that should require us to be constantly at odds with ourselves.
When the first impression goes a little too well
“As long as people buy the packaging, they never meet the real person.”
— Bágyok Károly – SeishinDo mester
Someone looking for a partner understandably wants to show their better side. They wear something they feel good in, try to be considerate, and don't necessarily open the first date by listing all their difficult relatives. There is nothing wrong with that. Getting to know someone takes time, and so does trust.
By packaging, I don't mean grooming or good manners. I mean the point at which someone, hoping to be accepted, gradually replaces their own answers with ones they think will go down better.
The other person likes hiking? So do we. They would set off at dawn on Sunday? Wonderful idea, even though we have spent the whole week looking forward to finally sleeping in. They don't like talking much about their feelings? Of course, we don't like overcomplicating things either. Except we would actually like to talk about them sometimes. For now, though, getting along seems more important.
Getting up early for a hike is not, in itself, abandoning who you are. We might even discover that we enjoy it. The problem is more that we never say what we would like to do, because we don't dare risk the other person's good opinion.
We can end up looking like wonderful partners. Flexible, understanding, easy to be with. The other person just doesn't know how much has been left unsaid to make things so easy.
Then, one day, our patience does run out. We want someone to pay attention to us now, for our wishes to count too. The other person looks puzzled: you never had a problem with this before.
And they may have a point. At least in the sense that they didn't know.
It isn't always that someone refuses to consider us. Sometimes we have hidden our needs so carefully that they never had a chance to learn what they were. At other times, the problem shows itself very clearly as soon as we say no for the first time. That is another reason it matters when we start being genuinely present in a relationship.
For me, the idea of packaging comes down to this question: how can you find someone who suits you while you are busy trying to resemble somebody else?
It's good that they like you. Do you like them?
When we are getting to know someone, we can become so occupied with how they see us that we hardly notice our own impressions. On the way home, we analyse whether we were interesting enough, whether we talked too much, whether they will get in touch again. We are less likely to ask whether we actually enjoyed ourselves.
That ought to matter too.
Their attention may be flattering, but we have to weigh every word around them. They may be very attractive, yet ask hardly anything about us. Or there may be nothing wrong with them; we simply don't have much in common. We are allowed to notice that as well. Someone's interest in us does not mean we owe them a relationship.
Looking for a partner can sometimes resemble applying for a job we haven't even decided we want. Just let them accept us; we'll work out the rest later.
The eagerness is understandable, especially when someone has been missing from our lives for a long time. It feels good to receive messages, to be sought out, to interest someone. Even so, it is worth paying attention to how it feels to be together. Can we talk about something uncomfortable? Are we allowed a different opinion? What happens when things don't turn out the way the other person would like?
The room a relationship has for one simple sentence can tell us a lot about it: “I'd prefer to do this differently.”
It doesn't have to lead to a huge argument. The other person might simply say: all right, let's work something out. For someone who is used to adapting rather than finding out what happens when they disagree, even that ordinary experience can matter.
“That's just how I am” isn't an answer to everything
There is something here that can be misunderstood, and I don't want to sidestep it. Owning who we are does not mean clinging to every one of our habits and leaving everyone else to adapt.
If we hurt someone, we can't end the discussion by saying that is our nature. If we are always late, refusing to change is not a defence of our authenticity. We are responsible for how we treat one another in our relationships. The other person has needs and boundaries, just as we do.
The difference is whether we can shape things together or whether the same person always adjusts. Can I say what I need, and do I hear what you are telling me? Can we make concessions without one of us regularly having to swallow what matters to them?
Of course, that means knowing ourselves to some extent. Someone who has spent a long time watching what others want in every situation may not immediately have an answer of their own. Asked where they would like to go, they are already trying to work out what would please the other person.
It doesn't help much to set ourselves another task at that point: from now on, be authentic, preferably without making any mistakes.
Starting with smaller things may be enough. Rather than immediately saying “Of course, I'll manage” when someone asks a favour, we can first consider whether we really have room for it. Or say that we have planned to rest this weekend. Perhaps admit that the activity everyone loves doesn't interest us at all.
That doesn't make us difficult people. It gives others a few pieces of information about us that they didn't have before.
And we don't have to say everything at once. Wanting to be honest doesn't mean we can't choose whom we let close, or how close. We don't owe advance trust to everyone who shows an interest.
What we learn when the packaging comes off
There is a chance that someone will like us less this way. There is no point pretending otherwise. Honesty doesn't improve every relationship, and it comes with no guarantee that the person who matters to us will stay.
But we don't gain security by always avoiding rejection because we never reveal anything that could be rejected, either.
It is hard to believe in someone's love when we keep thinking: fine, but they only say that because they don't know what I'm really like. We receive praise, attention, affection, yet something is missing. We know those things are being offered without the full picture.
I believe a relationship is somewhere we can live well when we don't have to remain constantly on guard. Somewhere we can come home tired, be clumsy at something, and hold a different opinion without immediately putting the whole relationship in danger. We can still argue about who forgot what. We just don't have to prove, during every argument, that we deserve the other person's love in the first place.
That takes two people. We can't build it alone by being patient, kind and accommodating enough. The other person also has to be curious about who we are and take responsibility for their part.
When that doesn't happen, we can learn from it. Sometimes we learn something about our own behaviour that is worth changing. But the end of a relationship is not a verdict on our entire being. We haven't become worth less because we couldn't stay together with someone.
There are still many things we can become in life. We can learn, change our habits, become more considerate, braver, better partners. It would be a shame, though, to put our present selves aside until then. That is the person we have to start with, and the person someone can get to know today.
So the next time someone asks what you feel like doing, give yourself a little time to answer. Perhaps something will come to mind besides the usual “I don't mind, whatever works for you.”
Maybe all you say is: I'd rather sleep in on Sunday morning; let's go for a walk in the afternoon.
There ought to be room for that much in a life together.
Bágyok Károly – SeishinDo mester
