I came across this text last week when I was in the process of deleting some of my old messages. I don't remember my reaction the first time I read it, but this time around, I was stunned. No one had ever said these words to me before. And rereading them, six years later, was unreal, but not painful. I wondered why I hadn't internalized these words. How come I didn't zero in on this rejection and was able to let it go so quickly when others haunt me?
Reading that message led me to search for texts exchanged with another person whose perception of me caused her to retrieve. Here, rejection came quietly, and it hurt me deeply. I looked at both conversations again, still questioning what caused me to forget about one and fixate on the other. Was it closure?
NFC
Social psychologist, Arie Kruglanski, coined the phrase "need for closure" in 1989. According to Dr. Kruglanski, the need for closure (NFC) is defined "as a desire for a definite answer to a question, as opposed to uncertainty, confusion, or ambiguity."
I sat with that definition for two days, dissecting, pondering. I was unmoved by the harsh words of a woman who didn't know me well and wounded by the silence of another who did. Could closure be this powerful?
I didn't want to think that closure was the causal factor in my recovery from one rejection and my unabating heartache from the other. Instead, I was tempted to believe that perhaps the answer lay in the [perceived] depth of the relationships. One was a confrère; another a spiritual mentor. One barely knew me; the other knew the intimate details of my story. But, inevitably, it kept going back to the fact that the same message–I left our relationship– was communicated wholly differently. Therefore, I had to admit that communication did influence my ability to move on.
In my mind, I have this vision of an incomplete circle. See it with me. The text I received saying, "I have blocked my relationship with you…" became the piece used to close that circle. Once completed, this circle became a stepping stone that enabled me to walk away from that relationship safely. In the second scenario, the circle remained open when I was left without an announcement (ghosted). Rather than becoming a stepping stone I could walk on, this circle became a pit that swallowed me whole. The link was not given to me, so I tried to create it with stories.
My attempts to leave this pit by filling in the gap of ambiguity with concocted stories were futile. Why? Because in this situation, the story I'm telling myself has always come from a place of pain. Until today, the stories I made up were different versions of this belief: I am too much. So I caused her to leave.
Then, today, as I drew the visions I saw, I felt empowered to step out of the incomplete circle I had made into a pit. Visualizing myself leaving that hole was a game-changer. I didn't expect freedom, but I'm glad it might finally be mine. A roar came out from within me when I saw myself walking out of that dark place! I wish I had sought this revelation a year ago when I first stumbled into the pit. But like I've said before: what we can name, we can fight. So I had to name this giant of mine before I could slay it. First name: Rejection. Middle Name: Painful. Last Name: Seized.
Today I rest in knowing that I am not too much.
And the story I'm telling myself right now is this one:
I am free to leave this pit.
I am free from the perception of those reluctant to know me.
I am worthy of respect.
I am worthy of love.
I can let go. I can move on.
Pain Begets Pain
It is vastly unpopular to admit that people don't like you. Yet, here I am.
Not everyone will like me; I know this. But living it out in the real is HARD. I love people. But being rejected and abandoned by those you care about is brutal. It's wounding. And this kind of wound doesn't heal itself. This kind of wound needs examination, diagnosis, and a treatment plan. So my advice is this one, don't let pain beget pain.
