Discarded.
I don't like that word.
But sometimes, I feel that way.
Discarded. Like I'm some kind of superabsorbent, throwaway paper towel.
Now I'm no saint, but like most of you, I strive to be the best person I can be (even when I’m talking to a telemarketer). And that means keeping my heart open and my hand extended to others.
It means rolling with someone's ups and downs. It means listening to what happened to them at the grocery store, even if I'm dog-tired (maybe not when I'm super dog-tired, but otherwise ...) It means that when they've had a rotten day, I empathize, sympathize, offer a tissue, and provide them with the best medicine for a crappy mood–laughter. I give my all. In other words, I care.
But then, one day, they disappear. Pfft … gone. Without a word. Ghosted. And I'm left wondering, did I matter?
Then I obsess.
Did I matter, did I matter, did I matter? Oh, please, please tell me I matter. I want to matter!
Exhausting, isn't it?
Or sometimes, the person stays, but they're always "busy." Multitasking. Running. Spinning. Cray cray. Or worse, their body is in the room, but they're not present. They're tied to the phone, to the computer, and to their never-ending story. I am the Invisible Woman (without superpowers). Not seen and not heard, that’s me, as I slip deeper and deeper into a do I matter coma.
Now, I'm not into playing the role of victim. It's my choice to engage with the crazy crays and the walkaway Joes. And, I have to say, not everyone is so rude.
But the discarding and disregarding have happened enough that, quite frankly, I'm tired of questioning my matter-worthiness. (Yes, I have just coined a new word.)
Why does it matter so much to me whether I matter to them? What drives my hunger for validation from people who, obviously, could care less?
If you grew up like I did, in a home with domestic violence or in any other extremely chaotic environment where the parents’ wants and needs were center stage, you're probably having an aha moment right about now. Amid the turmoil, you took a back seat to the chaos and confusion, didn't you?
Your parents loved you, but your tale about the monkey almost escaping during your zoo trip with Rickey couldn’t compete with the sounds of crashing dinner plates and shattering wine glasses. But you understood. Big people have big people problems. Mom and Dad matter. You got it.
But today you're the big people and, honey, you matter! (You always did.)
And for all you codependents out there, raise your hand if that's you. (I have to lower mine to type.) Of course, you don't matter. It's all about them, remember? You, who put the "co" in codependent, oughta know that. All that you do and all that you are should be treasured, revered, and celebrated. I say save yourself and start giving to the person who matters most in your life–you!
Regardless of background or lifestyle, we all want and, more importantly, need to matter. Don't waste this one precious life of yours trying to claw your way into the cell phone contact list of some jerk who means nothing in your life. (Forgive me for name-calling, but there are individuals, bless their hearts, that can be classified as jerks. Believe me, I've done the leg work.)
Stop clawing and start mattering to those who matter. To those friends and loves whose faces light up when you enter the room. To those overwhelmed-with-life souls who, in the midst of their daily crises, still take the time to call you "just because." To those mother hens who can't sleep at night worrying about their baby chicks (like you). To that one, loyal, stick-with-you-for-life ride or die, who always has your back. Yeah, those people.
This is about discernment. It's about deciding where and to whom you'll give your valuable energy, not to mention your time. Time that you'll never get back.
It bears repeating: This is your one precious life.
Doesn't it matter?