The Availability Curse
Recently I’ve been sinking my teeth into my relationships (platonic…nothing going on romantically for me recently nor in the foreseeable future LOL) and really identifying which ones fill my cup and which take from it. Of course, any relationship is a constant give-and-take—that’s just the nature of a relationship. You fill when their cup is in need, and vice versa.
But I’m talking about relationships in which you give and they simply sit and take. All gain, no effort. A zero sum for yourself and an infinite sum for them. Watering one-sided gardens. And that’s not to say they necessarily intend to do it- sometimes it’s just a subconscious thing. But a thing worth recognizing nonetheless.
This is something I’ve noticed I’ve done for years without awareness.
The first instance in recent years was with a guy in Boston, sophomore year of college. Good looking, fun, yet emotionally unavailable (all those ‘sexy’ types are, aren’t they?). He could always reach me, but I could never reach him. The Sex and the City Big of Bigs. I’d wait up until his bartending shift was over at 3:00 in the morning, feeling sick to my stomach over how I knew I would feel afterwards, but continuing to allow myself to suffer the pain of self sabotage and emotional harm.
Miss you. Can I come over?
I’d stare at the floor after messaging back that my door was unlocked. I’d be nauseous watching him park out of my living room window—just hoping, thinking if god is real then surely he’d just disappear off the planet or never text me again. Then, badabing badaboom, he’d be leaving out the door an hour later. There was this expectation of my availability because of how I had continuously proven that expectation to be the norm. And he didn’t want me, he wanted what I provided (earth-shattering perspective, I know).
So why? Why did I do that to myself? Was I simply devoid of self respect? Struck down with loneliness? An idiot (a soft yes here, sorry, me)?
I think the issue was I believed that putting my own innate desire for emotional self-fulfillment first would lead to a lack of all love. I would take this attention I was getting because it’s what I deserved, right? I mean, it was fun, so why not? I’ve always been told my college years are for fun. Except… it wasn’t fun for long before it started to hurt. Before it started decreasing the self image I had of myself. Before it got into my head that genuine love and good intentions weren’t in my cards, weren’t things that looked my way.
And yet, I remained available.
This went on for far too long (longer than I care to admit) until I finally put the hammer down and started understanding the magic of taking control of your own relational boundaries. I was clear and open: I do not want to be involved with you anymore. Thank you and goodbye.
It felt good. Really, really good.
Except…I didn’t implement it with everyone. Or at least, not in the same way. Even though I could implement change with him, this little availability bug in me refused to purge out. The emotional raid spray needed to be atomic, I guess. It still sat, waiting patiently (as it does so well, I’ve learned) for the next target of disproportionate availability.
Just in time for the relationship! Yes! Score! …Not appropriate—my bad.
I talked about this in my first piece on childhood trauma and love. The cycle of wait and reward. But there’s another piece to it that I have since reflected on.
The red-light-green-light pre-dating conversation in blog 001. The waiting for a reward thing, childhood stuff, yes we know.
BUT. In the time proceeding the relationship, the cycle continued.
I reached out, he responded.
I reached out, he responded.
I reached out, he responded.
Which—I’d like to say I don’t analyze all my relationships, friendships, etc. in a series of faux-scores, like some sort of sick game of communication table tennis. That’s horrid. This is all just a general pattern observation I’ve noticed.
And though I know it isn’t personal, I still find that pattern in my own life and relationships interesting.
And even more interesting:
I stopped reaching out, we stopped talking.
And such is life. People go through things and it’s normal and human. But recently I’ve made it a point to draw my own attention to this pattern and seek to adjust my involvement in it. No hard feelings. No tears shed. Just identification and resolution.
Because as much as I hate to admit it, constantly initiating communication does get to me. It makes me feel annoying, burdensome, unwanted. Lame-o, loser, square. Sigma. Whatever the kids are the saying these days.
And if you’re anything like me, it’s this force larger than yourself holding you to these imaginary rules of having to be available 24/7 physically, mentally, and emotionally. For some reason, I feel this gigantic urge to always be there for everyone around me. Even with work (which I really fell victim to with my last job). I have the hardest time ever turning it off, let alone recognizing it.
It’s like if I’m not there I’ll disappoint, won’t be loved, or—worst of all—I’ll be abandoned. I simply owe people my availability and energy.
Which, interestingly, I believe is in part due to my anxious attachment (she’s so annoying).
((Editing Alli here: I was reading this and had a little *ding* moment where I thought to myself…wait a second…this isn’t always true. I have in the past, as odd and hypocritical as it is to this whole ‘availability’ thing, pushed loved ones away?? Romantically available for the chase, but not when caught??? My brain is tired, I can’t break that down now. Just know I’m a jack of all f*cked-up trades LOL. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the word, especially in this case)).
Hell, even outside of the romantic scope I’m victim to this little game of emotional red-light-green-light.
I still found myself going through the same motions, simply in a different font. Because surely the only way to be too available is romantically, right? Or so I thought.
My most recent shooting star realization has been my availability-issue platonically. You see, recently I underwent an experiment of sorts. Now, before you go and assume—no I’m not one of those people doing horrible experiments to test the foundation of friendships and trust in a way of trickery and deceit. But instead one of which I step back and allow the other individual the opportunity to lead the way instead of the established opposite (me leading).
I did some reflecting and realized I had been putting in a lot more effort than this person in the friendship department. While this is okay short-term because we’re human and go through rough patches, this was an established pattern that had been ongoing for months and months as they slowly joined a friend group and left me behind. It was simply wearing on me. And the thing with realizing this pattern in particular is that you can’t fundamentally ask someone to change who they are as a person. You also can’t demand more of them than they are willing to give. Communicate, yes. But after a certain point it demands attention. You have to take a look at what’s in front of you and think “What now?”
And my ‘what now’ was stepping away and seeing what it would do for my heart and soul.
I was nervous. I was scared. I was disappointed. This is a close friend, one whom I cherish deeply. But Alli can’t always be the only one pouring herself into the friendship to make up for the lack of care on the other side. I can’t keep waiting and always being available for everyone else in my life.
I have to be available for myself first.
And thus I did.
It was a slow burn. You know the 5 stages of grief? It was that but less intense.
I present to you: The 4 Stages of Friendship Breakup™ (by me).
Denial.
Anger.
Disappointment.
Acceptance.
The first week I couldn’t believe the sudden drop in communication. No way, I’ll get a message any day now.
By week two I was feeling frustrated. Are you serious?
Weeks three and four I was just disappointed. I thought I meant more.
After about a month I finally fully absorbed the situation. It is what it is.
And it’s not a reflection of my own value, just a reality of where that person is and where I am. ((I do want to point out the very-obvious and very-different situation in which the other person stops communicating because you’ve wronged them. That is extremely valid on their hypothetical part, but is not the case in this story or I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you, the reader)).
And that’s a hard pill to swallow: the realization that being available for others doesn’t guarantee their availability for you.
So it’s important to protect your energy and learn to be able to know when to withdraw out of self preservation and respect.
My aunt mentioned a phrase that stuck with me on her last visit from San Francisco.
Soul contracts.
It’s this concept that some people are meant to be in your life for a short blip, while others may stay much longer. It’s in the universe’s control, not ours. Fated friendships, if you will.
And this concept gave me so much comfort. Because if this was the universe’s lesson, it reinforced stage 4 of my grief journey—acceptance. I was not a personal attack, but rather the ending to the last clause of our soul contract. And that’s okay. In fact, I hold it in my heart with radical acceptance.
So here we are. Almost three months of radio silence when it was previously daily communication for years upon years. A decade of friendship no longer blossoming. And it sucks. It’s disappointing. And being a human is hard. And complicated. But I have the memories and I only feel gratitude. And of course, if this person were to reach out and water the friendship flower again, I would welcome it in. But until then I release the first 3 stages and sit only with #4.
It’s forced me to do a ton of reflecting on understanding and identifying relational balances. But it’s also led me to let go of any assumptions I have previously held on stuff of this nature. I’ve really absorbed and allowed myself to understand that it’s not a direct mirror of my value, nor is it always done with bad intentions. It just simply happens. Still sucks, yes. But it happens.
And the beautiful thing about having this realization of my own excessive availability is that I no longer have this crazy burning urge to ruminate. I don’t immediately take things personally (such as a text left on read for days). And I’m less inclined to explain myself.
I’ve realized that when you put so much of yourself into other people who don’t reciprocate, when they pull away they take that huge chunk of you with them. And then what?
It’s led to me having more energy to nurture myself and other relationships. I can spend more time getting to know myself all over again—which is something I’ve recently been trying to put extra effort into doing. Who knew there’s so much about myself I could learn, huh?
I also recently learned about this idea of conscious unavailability; thoughtfully putting boundaries around your availability and choosing selectiveness in who receives your energy. In practice, this looks like letting yourself respond to texts and calls at a more convenient time that works for you, rather than feeling pressured to answer right that second. Saying no without guilt to things that don’t align with your priorities or emotional bandwidth. Being emotionally selective to not engage in conversations out of guilt or politeness. And not feeling guilted into over-explaining why you’re taking space when you need it.
And there we have it.
Once again, just like everything else, all roads lead not to Rome but to healthy boundary setting.
Thanks for sticking around.
You’re so loved.
Xoxo,
Alli
