Before They Get the Chance
Not disappear forever....just disappear from rooms where I feel like I am constantly getting something wrong.
Disappear from conversations I will replay later. Disappear from the expressions on people’s faces that make me wish I could pull every word I just said back into my mouth and not even say anything. Disappear from the feeling that somehow, without even meaning to, I have made myself the strange person in the room again.
I will say something.
Start a conversation.
Try to be friendly.
Try to connect.
And then it happens.....
A look.
A pause.
A response that feels colder than I expected.
Someone glances at someone else.
A certain person is always watching my interaction with others like they're monitoring what I'm saying.
And suddenly, I am standing there wondering what's so wrong with me.
Was I out of line?
Did I interrupt?
Did I talk too much?
Was I too honest?
Too awkward?
Too loud?
Too quiet?
Did I misunderstand the moment?
Did everyone else understand some invisible social rule that I somehow missed?
Sometimes there is no obvious answer.
Just that sinking, familiar feeling that I have once again managed to make myself uncomfortable in a place where everyone else seems to know exactly how to belong.
Then I leave.
But the conversation doesn't stay there.
It follows me home.
It sits beside me in the truck.
It climbs into bed with me.
It replays itself over and over, except now every pause seems longer, every look seems harsher, and every word I said sounds worse than it did when it first came out.
I examine the conversation like evidence from a crime scene.
Here is where I probably said too much.
Here is where their face changed.
Here is where I should have stopped talking.
Here is where they must have decided I was weird.
And maybe that sounds dramatic to someone who has never experienced it.
Maybe to someone else it was just a conversation.
But to me, it becomes another reminder that trying to connect is risky!
Because being alone can feel lonely, but at least it doesn't look at you like you said something wrong.
Being alone doesn't make you feel foolish for trying.
It doesn't make you wonder whether you are being tolerated instead of welcomed.
It doesn't make you question whether people respect you once you leave the room.
There is a loneliness in isolation.
But.....there's another kind of loneliness that happens while standing in a room full of people and feeling like your presence is slightly inconvenient.
Like.....you're there, but not quite part of what is happening.
Like.....everyone else received an invitation into the ease of belonging, while you're still standing at the door trying to figure out whether you are actually welcome.
And after enough moments like that, something changes.
You stop reaching as often.
You stop starting conversations.
You stop inserting yourself into the circle.
You rehearse what you're going to say before you say it, then decide it is probably safer not to say anything at all.
You begin editing yourself before anyone else has the opportunity to react to you and it's not because you don't want relationships.
You do...and that's what makes it hurt.
You want connection.
You want to laugh without wondering afterward whether you laughed too loudly.
You want to speak without immediately studying everyone’s face for signs that you've made things awkward.
You want to be able to relax around people instead of feeling like you're taking a test you were never given the study guide for.
You want to feel accepted without having to become a quieter, smaller, more carefully managed version of yourself first.
Was I out of line?
Did I interrupt?
Did I talk too much?
Was I too honest?
Too awkward?
Too loud?
Too quiet?
Did I misunderstand the moment?
Did everyone else understand some invisible social rule that I somehow missed?
Sometimes there is no obvious answer.
Just that sinking, familiar feeling that I have once again managed to make myself uncomfortable in a place where everyone else seems to know exactly how to belong.
Then I leave.
But the conversation doesn't stay there.
It follows me home.
It sits beside me in the truck.
It climbs into bed with me.
It replays itself over and over, except now every pause seems longer, every look seems harsher, and every word I said sounds worse than it did when it first came out.
I examine the conversation like evidence from a crime scene.
Here is where I probably said too much.
Here is where their face changed.
Here is where I should have stopped talking.
Here is where they must have decided I was weird.
And maybe that sounds dramatic to someone who has never experienced it.
Maybe to someone else it was just a conversation.
But to me, it becomes another reminder that trying to connect is risky!
Because being alone can feel lonely, but at least it doesn't look at you like you said something wrong.
Being alone doesn't make you feel foolish for trying.
It doesn't make you wonder whether you are being tolerated instead of welcomed.
It doesn't make you question whether people respect you once you leave the room.
There is a loneliness in isolation.
But.....there's another kind of loneliness that happens while standing in a room full of people and feeling like your presence is slightly inconvenient.
Like.....you're there, but not quite part of what is happening.
Like.....everyone else received an invitation into the ease of belonging, while you're still standing at the door trying to figure out whether you are actually welcome.
And after enough moments like that, something changes.
You stop reaching as often.
You stop starting conversations.
You stop inserting yourself into the circle.
You rehearse what you're going to say before you say it, then decide it is probably safer not to say anything at all.
You begin editing yourself before anyone else has the opportunity to react to you and it's not because you don't want relationships.
You do...and that's what makes it hurt.
You want connection.
You want to laugh without wondering afterward whether you laughed too loudly.
You want to speak without immediately studying everyone’s face for signs that you've made things awkward.
You want to be able to relax around people instead of feeling like you're taking a test you were never given the study guide for.
You want to feel accepted without having to become a quieter, smaller, more carefully managed version of yourself first.
But eventually, every attempt at connection begins to feel like another opportunity to be rejected. So you begin rejecting yourself on everyone else’s behalf.
You withdraw before they can exclude you. You stay home before they can overlook you.
You stop speaking before they can respond in a way that makes you regret speaking.
You remove yourself before anyone else gets the chance.
You withdraw before they can exclude you. You stay home before they can overlook you.
You stop speaking before they can respond in a way that makes you regret speaking.
You remove yourself before anyone else gets the chance.
And people may think you are distant.
Unfriendly.
Uninterested.
Maybe even stuck-up.
They don't see the conversation happening inside your head.
They don't know that you almost walked over.
Almost said hello.
Almost sat beside them.
Almost reached out.
Almost tried again even though you were shunned and hurt the last time you stepped out.
They only see that you didn't.
They don't see how much courage it sometimes takes to say one simple sentence.
They don't know how exhausting it is to constantly wonder whether you're too much and not enough at exactly the same time.
Too much when you speak.
Not enough when you are quiet.
Too strange when you are yourself.
Too distant when you pull back.
And I wish I could say I have figured out how to stop caring.
I haven't.
Sometimes people really do look at you differently.
Sometimes you really can feel the change in a room when you walk in or when you say something.
Sometimes the silence after you speak really does feel louder than anything anyone could have said.
I think that's the hardest part...not knowing whether to keep trying or finally protect yourself from the humiliation of trying again.
I'm not writing this because I've reached the other side of it. I'm not writing it with a lesson neatly tucked into the last paragraph. I don't even have an inspiring conclusion about finding my people, learning to love myself, or bravely walking back into the room.
Right now, I'm simply tired.
Tired of replaying conversations.
Tired of wondering what's wrong with me.
Tired of feeling exposed every time I try to be known or heard.
Tired of leaving places feeling less accepted than I did before I walked in.
Sometimes I want to disappear because trying to connect has become more painful than being alone....not because I don't want relationships....but because I'm tired of every attempt at connection feeling like another opportunity to be rejected.
How many times can a person feel unwelcome before they begin removing themselves before anyone else gets the chance?
Unfriendly.
Uninterested.
Maybe even stuck-up.
They don't see the conversation happening inside your head.
They don't know that you almost walked over.
Almost said hello.
Almost sat beside them.
Almost reached out.
Almost tried again even though you were shunned and hurt the last time you stepped out.
They only see that you didn't.
They don't see how much courage it sometimes takes to say one simple sentence.
They don't know how exhausting it is to constantly wonder whether you're too much and not enough at exactly the same time.
Too much when you speak.
Not enough when you are quiet.
Too strange when you are yourself.
Too distant when you pull back.
And I wish I could say I have figured out how to stop caring.
I haven't.
Sometimes people really do look at you differently.
Sometimes you really can feel the change in a room when you walk in or when you say something.
Sometimes the silence after you speak really does feel louder than anything anyone could have said.
I think that's the hardest part...not knowing whether to keep trying or finally protect yourself from the humiliation of trying again.
I'm not writing this because I've reached the other side of it. I'm not writing it with a lesson neatly tucked into the last paragraph. I don't even have an inspiring conclusion about finding my people, learning to love myself, or bravely walking back into the room.
Right now, I'm simply tired.
Tired of replaying conversations.
Tired of wondering what's wrong with me.
Tired of feeling exposed every time I try to be known or heard.
Tired of leaving places feeling less accepted than I did before I walked in.
Sometimes I want to disappear because trying to connect has become more painful than being alone....not because I don't want relationships....but because I'm tired of every attempt at connection feeling like another opportunity to be rejected.
How many times can a person feel unwelcome before they begin removing themselves before anyone else gets the chance?
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