Wound
By Erin Deborah Waks
Most of the crushes I had growing up weren’t reciprocated. They were fleeting infatuations with boys I considered to be on a pedestal, and it’s telling that I continuously put myself in romantic situations where little was at stake. Either I wasn’t that invested, or I knew the guy wasn’t, so nothing was likely to happen that could lead to disappointment further down the line.
On the surface, it seemed like the harmless ebbs and flows of teenage crushes. But it was hiding a greater fear that I’d never have a relationship that was reciprocated from both sides. I believed I was not cut out for a love like that, a love where you feel so strongly towards a person that you want to be in their presence all the time and - the ‘and’ is the important part - they want that too.
The thing is, we all have little wounds that we keep safely tucked away under layers of healing. Small badges of honour to show how far we’ve come from when those tiny scars were wide open, bleeding pain and vulnerability.
I learnt how to put on plasters myself. I learnt how to write to understand myself, how to protect my heart just enough that I wouldn’t let ill-intentioned people in to hurt me, but not so much that I continued to hold myself back from love. I learnt how to spend time on my own, feel safe in my own skin. How to look at the friends around me who do love me, and learnt to trust in that. I had to learn to trust and believe in a more positive view of myself, that I am the girl those who love me see, not the girl the sad and broken parts of me do.
But I also learnt which things cut into those same old wounds, prying them open again. I learnt not to avoid them altogether, but to reduce my exposure to situations which make me feel unlovable. To try to be robust in those situations, yes, but also to recognise that it is okay to try to minimise damage to yourself, even if that means not being ‘cool’ or ‘laid back’.
My wound is a worry that I’m only loved because people pity me, or feel obligated to do so. Sometimes I know that’s because in my past, I’ve shown loyalty to people out of fear, pity or obligation, rather than love. But not everyone has the same guilt as me. Most people do things that feel right to them, not things that feel like work.
This week, in an already-fragile, PMS-induced state, worries I keep at bay through trust came back to haunt me. A simple joke on a matter I’d kept firmly safe beneath a tight waterproof elastoplast ripped it clean off, and I felt all those worries that I’m too much, that I’m not lovable, that I’m loved out of a sense of pity and obligation, flooding right back. I’ll fix it back on; I know how. But it might sting a little for a while. Cuts and grazes always do.
