Raspberry Iced M

For a good portion of my life, I have struggled with trying to be loved.

Not only questioning whether or not I actually am loved by someone, but also the push-pull between, “Do they love me because I’m not really being me?” and “What do I need to change, right now, that would make them love me more?”

I recognize who I am at my core. Like…I get it.

And one of my biggest issues is the need for control.

So there’s a quiet contradiction there – on one hand, I want to be loved without having to perform for it and without earning it constantly. I don’t want to feel pressured to reshape myself depending on the person or group of people. And on the other hand, I am definitely not what anyone would describe as low maintenance. Not emotionally. Not logistically. Not personality-wise.

And I’ve been sitting with that tension (and confusion) for longer that I’ve probably realized.

For most of my life, my emotions have been loud. Not necessarily noisy, but internally powerful enough to steer decisions. If something “felt” good, I leaned in. And if something “felt” unbearable, I ran.

That instinct led to choices that – looking back – weren’t thoughtful. They were reactive.

These days, I am trying to slow down that process. I don’t ignore my feelings, but I also don’t let them drive without supervision anymore.

Have you guys ever heard of an RBF? I have one of those. I have never been one of those people who could make her emotions, and my moods tend to show up before my words do. Irritation, lack of comfort, excitement, joy, anger. Right there, on my dumb face, even when I try to soften it. And that means people know what’s happening inside my head – whether I intend to share it or not.

I like having options. I don’t enjoy the feeling of being boxed in – on someone’s else’s watch, or based on someone else’s list. I prefer autonomy. Choice. The ability to decide what I’m doing and why. If I find myself deferring to someone else’s preferences, something inside me starts pushing back. Sometimes that pushback is quiet, but sometimes it’s not, and while I might go along with something in the moment, resentment has a way of sneaking in, especially if I conclude that I am simply giving up too much agency.

Last night, I went to the movies with my son. He wanted to watch Hoppers, the new Pixar animated deal. I watched the preview. I looked up movie times to ensure that we could have dinner first. I paid for the tickets, the popcorn, his blue Powerade and Buncha Crunch…

And then I spent the entire movie wondering why we couldn’t see the movie I wanted to see (Bride).

Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed the movie. I like going to the movies anyway. And I know there will be plenty of other opportunities to see Bride…so why did I get that ache of, “I’m buying dinner, I’m buying tickets, I’m buying the snacks…why couldn’t I put my foot down and just say, unilaterally, that we’re watching a movie I wanted to see?”

And that’s just one example – and a silly one at that. The bottom line, in that scenario, is that I wanted to have fun with my son – and we did have fun. Mission accomplished.

If I’m honest, I have control instincts. I like knowing what’s happening. I like managing my environment. I like having influence over outcomes. That control is something I’m working on, especially in areas where control isn’t realistic – like when coparenting or when something very indirectly affects me otherwise.

But in spaces I can control, like my home, my routines, my daily environment – I tend to hold on tightly. Probably tighter than necessary.

When my choices affect other people, that’s hard for me. Most people don’t mind my day-to-day preferences. But some of the bigger choices I’ve made in the past – things driven by impulse, emotion or escape – those things have cost me whole relationships. And that’s a reality I’ve had to face, because it raises a difficult question: If I value connection, why do I sometimes protect control more?

And I’ve overthought it until I’ve nearly panicked – over and over again. Why do I sometimes prioritize autonomy – even when it risks connection?

And here’s what I’ve deduced:

Part of the answer, I think, is fear. Control feels like safety for me. If I’m in charge of my choices, then at least I know where I stand. Connection, on the other hand, requires compromise, and that can be difficult to do, especially now, as I am trying to separate my own preferences from the preferences of people who want me to be a certain way, or possess a certain number of qualities.

Now, it seems like – upon figuring out that I like something or prefer something – I put a stamp on it, and refuse to compromise it.

I tri-fold – not bi-fold – my towels. To me, that is the right way. I don’t care if other people bi-fold their towels. That’s not for me to decide. But don’t come at me with a sermon about how bi-folding is better. I literally won’t hear you. And if you push, I’ll argue. And if you keep pushing, you’ll end up cutting off our friendship, because I’ll die on my tri-folded hill.

(Another stupid example, but again, I’m trying to make a point here.)

Compromise requires vulnerability, shared decision-making, and letting someone else influence my world. And since I’ve kind of closed myself off while I’m trying to figure out who I am at my core – and then measure that against who I want to be and who I want to work toward – that makes me feel a little unsettled. I like steering my own ship.

But I’ve sort of figured out that wanting love without performing for it doesn’t mean that I’m refusing to grow. I recognize my own tendencies – control, emotion-driven decisions, a need for independence – and that’s not the same as accepting them without question.

It just means I can see them more clearly now. And once you see something clearly, you can start asking better questions about it.

The bottom line? I no longer believe that being easy is the goal. I think it’s about being honest – honest about the parts of me that are strong and honest about the parts that still need work.

I want connection, yes. And I’m slowly learning that connection – the good kind – should not require me to erase my personality – but it does require me to understand it better. Especially the parts that make relationships harder than they need to be.

So maybe the goal isn’t (or shouldn’t be) to become “low maintenance.” Maybe it’s about becoming self-aware enough to know when my instincts are helping me…and when they’re quietly costing me the relationships I care about the most.

That feels like a better place to start.