I am not the problem.

My whole life, I thought I was the problem.

Too emotional.
Too angry.
Too attached.
Too invested.
Too loud.

Now, at 32, I can wholeheartedly say: I am not the problem.

I am not perfect by any means, but I communicate. I engage. I follow through. I restore. I reflect. I allow weigh-in.
(Although the people from whom I do not allow weigh-in may disagree. But sing it with me now: boundaries.)

I make mistakes. I get mad. My feelings get hurt. But I earnestly try to make up for my shortcomings and see the other side.

Even now, I feel the need to validate others’ feelings and explain my faults and this is my blog.

Here are my conclusions:

Lack of emotional depth.

Spending 30 years tumultuously examining your faults leads to emotional depth. Spending years considering where you went wrong, where you could have been less, done less, done more, adapted more, changed more, “made it work,” gives you insight into what others need and how you can fulfill that for them.

I have become so compassionate and understanding that I have become a martyr.

For the last year, I have been struggling to identify my feelings. A lot of my interactions have felt painful and uncomfortable, and I couldn’t pinpoint why.

Then it hit me:

Lack of emotional depth - in others.

An unwillingness to pause and understand me.
An unwillingness to take my side.
Always being urged to “understand” someone else’s point of view.

I have to take a pregnant pause there, maybe forever, because I have been doing all of that for years.

I realize now (and here we go again with the compassion for others) that not everyone has spent a lifetime minimizing themselves and endlessly self-reflecting.

If I just say less.
If I just laugh quieter.
If I just need less.
If I just contort my entire being into something more palatable, maybe then I’ll be loved.

Do you know what that looks like for me?

Needs unmet.
Left wanting.
Feeling isolated.

In addition to “you need to consider how this is impacting them,” my other favorite ask people have placed on me is: “Just ask for help.”

That’s an interesting concept, can you feel the sarcasm? Ask for help when others only ask things of me? I have asked for help. I have expressed my needs. Many people have followed through. Many people have given me what I needed. Others have scrutinized my delivery. Explained when, how, or why they could or couldn’t. Offered unwanted alternatives instead of support.

And that has left me knowing this:

I’m not doing it anymore.

I’m not explaining why you hurt me. Look in the mirror.

I’m not explaining what I need. Ask yourself: WWGD: What Would Gillian Do?

Would she call?
Would she visit?
Would she send flowers?
Would she remember the name of your favorite coffee shop, restaurant, flower, or candy and send it just because?

I am choosing me.
I am choosing my side.

I do not want to understand your point of view anymore. I do not want to hear how my diagnosis is affecting you. I wholeheartedly do not care.

When people needed me, I stripped pieces of myself away to support them. I can’t do that anymore. I won’t do that anymore.

I haven’t arrived at this conclusion entirely on my own. I arrived here through contrast, through the emptiness some people leave me with compared to the fulfillment I receive from others.

That is where my finite energy will go.

And I only hope I have the clarity to recognize the difference before I continue morphing myself for people who would never do the same for me.

The discomfort I have felt has also given me immense gratitude for those who, like me, give without hesitation, correction, or demand. It has given me the ability to identify what and who I need. I am beyond grateful for my community. The people who love and care without requiring perfection first. ✨💗