The Nicest, Best Thing You Could Possibly Say
Besides, I guess, "Here's a piping hot chocolate chip cookie."
I used to think, “I’m proud of you,” was the nicest, best thing you could possibly say.
Years ago, I went to a David Sedaris reading and uncharacteristically wanted to wait in line after to get my book signed. A lady gave out Post-Its, telling us to write down whatever we wanted David to write in our books. I wrote, “I’m proud of you,” on mine.
In the brief moment between handing David Sedaris my book and David Sedaris reading the Post-It note, I realized I’d made a mistake.
We were meant to write our name on the Post-It. David Sedaris wasn’t, like, signing our yearbooks. He’s a very busy internationally best-selling author and there were probably over a hundred people waiting for his autograph. It would be impossible for him to write HAGS and I Love You’s in every single person’s book.
He glanced at my Post-It, tossed it aside, and scribbled his name on the title page.
Afterwards, I sat in the dark, empty UCLA parking garage, wondering what kind of desperate dumb dumb person asks David Sedaris to write “I’m proud of you” in the front of a complete stranger’s copy of When You Are Engulfed in Flames.
In therapy lately, I’ve realized that a part of my brain is still sitting in that parking garage, thinking my wants are stupider than everybody else’s.
It might be because of my Capricorn Moon (“I should be able to fulfill all my own needs all by myself!”) or maybe because an ex told me my emotions made me hard to be around (which is only one of my biggest fears LOL (not LOL)). Maybe there are symptoms of being an oldest daughter I’m still discovering. Or could it be my Catholic upbringing, where you’re supposed to feel guilty if you’re the sheep that deviates from Jesus’ flock?
Whatever the reason, my autopilot is set to: “figure out what other people want and then do that.” Asking for what you need is needy.
My therapist called me a people pleaser.
Which, honestly, on paper sounds great to me! I genuinely enjoy making people feel comfortable, asking them questions about their interests, watching how they study the menu at a restaurant. Don’t even get me started on making people laugh.
I guess the part about people pleasing my therapist was alluding to is the whole “putting other people’s needs before your own until you get hurt” bit. Not like in a saintly Mother Teresa way, but in a fairly useless way. Kind of like holding your pee until you give yourself a kidney infection.
So I’ve been ~practicing~ noticing my needs and then (get this) expressing them.
Sometimes, I cry! It’s a combination of relief and fear, even though all I’ve done is tell a friend that I need alone time. Sometimes, I feel guilty. But then I try to do what I want in spite of that.
I’m proud of myself.
In the past, there were a lot of times asking for what I need might’ve saved me a lot of heartache … like asking my boss for positive feedback rather than writing “I’m proud of you” on a Post-It note and hoping David Sedaris would tell me instead.
This past weekend, it was time for my monthly emotional breakdown, and I felt almost prepared. When the familiar dread set in, I reminded myself that it wasn’t because my life was falling apart; it just felt that way.
It helped.
Instead of shoving the emotions back into my chest, I told West I was overwhelmed. I used our code for I’m having big feelings for seemingly no reason: “I think I miss Simmy.” I asked if we could avoid talking about work for a while. I laid on the couch in the dark and cried like a toddler and listened to the end of a true crime podcast and fell asleep balled up under an oversized sweater. An hour later, West woke me up with dinner.
I thanked him for giving me space and making food. And involuntarily braced for impact.
Because what if I’d ruined the whole day? What if I got my sad all over him? I felt better, but at what cost?
“Thank you for telling me what you need,” he said.
I was wrong about, “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you for telling me what you need,” was the nicest, best thing he could possibly say.