That's what is terrific about you."

When I was in 9th grade, Mrs. Martha Mae Baker, recently retired as principal of the school at Garland City, Arkansas, came to be the principal at my school. One day near the end of the school year, exasperated by way too many kids asking for help before attempting to solve problems themselves, she stopped class and announced "I just want to point out that Laurie finds her own answers. She works things out for herself, and almost NEVER asks for help. I wish more of you would do that!" That was high praise, and it was dead-on. I wasn't the jock in my family, and in a family where everyone is very bright, being bright wasn't much to get excited about, or even noticed.

In my experience, being a squeaky wheel might get you the grease, but it wasn't a pleasant sort of thing, so I made as little fuss as possible and kept plugging along, not asking for help even when it would've benefited me in the long run. I didn't want to give up the one thing I was ever praised for - not inconveniencing other people.

Fast forward 36 years. Thirty-six years. Yesterday I attempted (yet again) to have a non-nagging talk with someone about making two hours of time for me. Thursday before last, I had asked this person to look at the day planner for the ten days upcoming, and find a block of two hours (any time, day or night) not already committed in writing, and put it down as an appointment, without feeling  a need to justify it to anyone. "I'm not near my day planner. I'll check as soon as I'm at my desk." Every day or two, I'd gently ask how that was going, and got variations on the same theme. These were always followed by "I'm sorry. I'm busy. I have this and this and this going on."

I understand being overwhelmingly busy. I used to have a life, too. But the past couple of days, I've been so unspeakably lonely, and felt that old, familiar "ugly puppy" feeling nipping at my heels pretty hard, I finally challenged this person to do one thing for a whole month, I dared this person NOT to say "I'm sorry" one time unless "I'm sorry" was sincere enough to actually correct whatever the problem was. Why? Because an apology, no matter how sincerely it is meant, has no value if you don't intend to take measures to correct the problem. Furthermore, it's a lie!

I am not Catholic. I have an absolutely amazing aunt who is, and who lives her faith. There are some concepts the Catholic Church actually puts into writing so well, so from www.stmattewhillsboro.org, I'd like to quote an Act of Contrition: 

":My God, 

I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. 

In choosing to do wrong 

and failing to do good...

I firmly intend, with your help 

to do penance, 

to sin no more..."

Wait. Does this mean that truly being sorry for something involves not continuing to do the thing for which we are truly sorry, and correcting the situation?? It sure sounds that way. Granted, this might mean simply telling the person we're discounting "Hey, I'm sorry. You're a great person, but you're just not important enough for me to make two hours in one month for you. My gosh, that's 1/360th of an entire month, and I can't spare that much time." Yes, it might be a little uncomfortable, but at least it's honest. It's also a bit more polite than saying "If I had a rat's ass to give, I still wouldn't give it to you!"

This person explained that life is busy, with this and this and this and this going, and said "Working out is my stress reliever". I get that. "Like you have your vices..." I felt compelled to ask exactly which vices we were talking about. I don't drink to excess, abuse drugs, rarely even think a cuss word, throw tantrums, blame people when I'm having a bad day, bite my nails, sleep around, smoke, binge eat, kick dogs and children, or gossip. 

I considered what, exactly, I do when I'm angry or hurt or stressed, and the answer sounds very lofty and noble. When asked what I do or use to balance life issues, I examined myself and came up with this answer:

 I internalize and put on a happy face. I pretend I'm not hurt or lonely because it's not fair to make other people suffer for what they didn't cause. I go into overdrive trying to make sure those around me aren't going through anything I could help alleviate.

I know the response was meant as a compliment: "I know. You're a great person. That's what's terrific about you." No. Anything done to excess is NOT terrific. Once I didn't cry for 5 years, because I was so afraid it would feel so good, I wouldn't be able to stop. Ever. This led to anxiety attacks and eventually alopecia areata. Yep, my hair fell out in a big clumps. My doctor at the time, who was a personal friend, told me I'd better start learning to externalize my pain, beginning with allowing myself to cry. He then prescribed an anti-depressant.  I eventually learned to cry again, but I still hate it. I accuse myself of throwing a pity party if I so much as allow myself to think "Hey! I build you up, bend over backwards to accommodate you, praise you perpetually, and am sooooo understanding about your having a lot on your plate, and you don't even know what my favorite color is or that I need a hug or that I'm so emotionally starved, the crumbs from your table seem a feast."

It is NOT "so great". It's horrible. It's painful. It leads right back to my feeling like the ugly puppy, the only one in the litter who didn't get chosen to be some child's special puppy, and instead, puts her front paws against the window of the pet shop and wags her tail and begs with her eyes "Pick me! Pick me!" 

Maybe this is why, when Tyler and I went to adopt a dog for him at the Ft. Smith ASPCA 14 + years ago, I chose Schatzi, who died less than a month ago. I saw in her a kindred spirit. There were 16 medium-size dogs in individual kennels on that wall, four rows of four dogs, all of them except one barking and yipping and clawing at the gate to get out and go home with someone. She was the only one who stood there silently, wagging her tail slightly, looking terrified yet incredibly brave and hopeful, with this "PLEASE choose me. I promise I'll love you and I'll protect you and I'll never bark or tear up things and I'll be the best doggie anyone ever had!!" look on her fuzzy face, but never making so much as a whimper. She was that way her whole life. I miss her sweetness and her understanding of my pain. She truly seemed to understand, and she never forgot for one second that she had been chosen to be loved. She was perpetually appreciative and adoring. 

So now I'm here alone in the kennel of life again, waiting. Just for a little while, I want NOT to need to suppress my feelings and NOT to have to ask to be considered worthy of bumping some other commitment aside for two hours. So far, it's not going too swimmingly.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming of "Fake It 'til You Make It".