I sat with a couple of childhood friends at my favorite, local brewery. It was more than just a time to catch up, it was an opportunity to go deep into the emotional journeys of our lives.
One of them asked the other two of us a question – “What was the worst, most damaging comment that was ever said to you growing up?”
When it came my turn I blurted, “You aren’t good enough – you don’t have what it takes.” They both laughed at me. Their perception of my young adult life is very different than my own. They both thought I the popular, cool kid that ran with the the in-crowd. They weren’t wrong – on the outside I pulled off that feat, but on my inside I always felt like I was a fraud and didn’t really belong there. When I told them this they stopped laughing and asked more poignant questions about my self perceptions.
I answered, “For an example, I started every game for my high school varsity basketball team from my sophomore year on, but I was always terrified that they would finally figure out that I wasn’t really good enough to even be on the team.”
I know that it sounds silly, maybe even ridiculous, but that is the inner terror I’ve lived in most of my life. If I wanted to fit in I would have to perform in order to gain acceptance. I learned to join groups where I had a chance to earn a position. If I had a title THEN I was significant. This was my security blanket. So In jr high and highschool I always went out for student council, I participated on my church Bible Quiz team, I tried to get into any leadership assignments in the church youth group I could find. I worked on my school grades to earn valedictorian status. But no matter how golden my successes were they were always tarnished by my own feelings of self-worth. I’ve simply always felt that I didn’t measure up, which meant I’d better do one hell of a job proving the opposite to others.
This worked pretty well for me until I hit competition with those close to me. When one of my close friends ran against me for Student Body President it devastated me. I felt betrayed because this friend knew how much it meant to me. It was an ultimate slap in the face based on how I’d opened up my heart to them. I confronted the person and their response is still branded in my memory, “Oh, I’ll still vote for you, like I promised , but that doesn’t mean that I won’t also run.”
I couldn’t deal with the rejection I felt. I dropped out of the race.
She won.
I cried.
*****
I chose to go to college for a profession that carried with it a lot of honor and acceptance – a Pastor. Of course there were a lot of great, heart-filled reasons for me to go into ministry, but in the background I was always comforted that I would have a job that carried its own embedded honor in our culture. I fed off of this the years I spent in full-time ministry.
I expect people who know me to be surprised when they read this. I was the guy with no stage fright that could easily get a congregation to smile, usually laugh, and smoothly transition between music, greeting, offering, and message. Standing in front of a crowd of a couple thousand people didn’t bother me at all – as long as I was safe with them – which meant that I had a place, a title, a position that they all appreciated and accepted me for. But if you put me in the middle of a congregation of 2000, a classroom of 30, a homegroup of 20, or a men’s accountability group of four without a stated role or position, I would be terrified and looking for a way to make a place for myself.
“Hello. My name is Chad and I am insecure.”
“Hello, Chad.”
Here is the crazy thing. I can’t point to any abuse, awful parents, mean siblings, tormented childhood, school yard bullying, sexual predators, or anything (or anyone) else to blame for being so maladjusted. Maybe I was born insecure… all I know is that I’ve always felt I had to prove myself.
So imagine that once I was let go from my ministry job imagine how terrified I was. I’d finally been found out. I wasn’t worth it. In fact they told me – “You aren’t worth your salary here, you should be pastoring more people than you are. Please go somewhere else.”
Oh Fuck.
That is one awful, cold reality.
*****
The past several years has been a journey of going after these seeds of rejection that have grown in my heart over the past four decades.
I’ve had a couple of amazing opportunities to talk with friends about messages and actions that I’ve received as gospel truth. There has been some fantastic healing with these people. I also have to admit there have been some interactions with others that have caused more pain. Maybe they are insecure too.
I’ve liked Facebook because it has allowed me to connect with a lot of people from my past as well as with new people I am building relationships with. Yet Facebook has this interesting feature in that it forces both parties to be involved in establishing a connection, but only one of them when it comes to unfriending. In some ways I understand why people would want anonymity at the end of a connection, yet it also blocks what could be some very interesting and worthwhile conversations. I mean, we don’t let people anonymously divorce, do we?
I found a cheat – a program that allowed me to see who unfriended me. In some ways it triggered more hurt (OMG – why did they just unfriend me?), but it also gave me the opportunity to confront and dialog with the person instead of just assuming the Facebook unfriending was actually rejection.
My wife thought I was just heaping more pain on myself, but I told her with my trust issues I’d rather know who had given up on me and why. If I didn’t’ have a reason I’d automatically take it as rejection. At least my Friend Tracker app allowed me to ask those who wanted no more social media dialog with me, “Why?”
I’ve learned from the conversations I’ve had. There are significant, valid reasons why people don’t associate with me on Facebook any longer. It has helped me learn that not all disconnections are rejection. Unfortunately I’ve also learned that some of my relationships were much thinner than I’d believed. My reliance on them for identity and acceptance had been misplaced. I guess in the long term I’d rather know than not.
But now I have lost my crutch. Facebook disconnected my Friend Tracker app today. I am now blind to the unfriendings as everyone else. I can no longer ask “Whys?” when people unfriend me so, I will have to hope that they will have a conversation with me (and my wounded identity) before they disconnect so I know that it isn’t something that I could work on or fix if it is just a misunderstanding,
*****
Misunderstanding. I look across the table at one the friends sitting across from me. She now has tears in her eyes. “Do you want to know why I ran against you for President?”
“Yes,” I say. “YES!” my heart screams.
She tells me.
Oh Fuck.
I cry.
It wasn’t about me. And it wasn’t betrayal. And I understand. I even find myself on her side.
I heal from that memory, almost in an instant. In its place is compassion and solidarity. She has my vote.
We cry.
And I wonder if this new bit of truth applies to other wounds in my life. I’m sure it does. I’ll look for ways to apply it.
But it will take conversations. And I no longer have Friend Tracker to help.
