The Both/And Of It All

On the daily work not to be a jackass

My partner, Evan’s, mom died this week. Her story isn’t mine to tell, but I can tell you what I saw of Carole in the brief time I knew her. She was smart, opinionated, creative, and funny, though sometimes that last bit not entirely on purpose. She had three grown children who absolutely adored her and four gorgeous grandchildren who felt the same. She was lucky enough to marry a man who was truly her best friend, and flexible and forgiving enough to stay with him for 64 years. She had a long, beautiful, enviable life. Would that we could all be so lucky and loving in our choices.

Her death leaves those that loved her incredibly sad, even if there’s no tragedy in it. Evan has been grieving and distracted for weeks. This is understandable. Losing a parent is world-changing. And maybe there is some reality in which I would be completely selfless in response, when my life would feel so full and well-supported that his very understandable emotional absence would prompt nothing but feelings of concern for his well-being and a desire to help in any way he needs.

That is not my reality. I am not completely selfless.

After months of overwork, I expected to stumble triumphantly across the finish line and collapse into the loveliness that is the two of us when nothing else intrudes— the talking and laughing and hanging about and good food and great sex. Instead, I broke the tape and pitched myself forward into his arms, only to fall on the ground— alone, bruised, lonely, disappointed, and resentful.

Then I felt like a jackass for not simply being happy to help, so I offered. But the help he wanted was for me to allow him to disappear for awhile. The offer of absence rather than presence felt, from an emotional standpoint, like a remarkably dessicated way to be of assistance when what I was hungry for was intensity and connection, an overflowing mess of emotional juice.

Photo by Derek Owens on Unsplash

Why am I telling you all this? What does this have to do with our conversation here?

Well, I don’t know about you, but on a day-to-day basis my biggest integrity challenges don’t come in the form of deep ethical conundrums over human rights, racism, politics, or climate change. I’m not generally debating how to stand up to injustice or not be complicit in acts of violence. I’m just trying to figure out how not to be an asshole.

I’m trying to understand and honor my own needs, weather the internal storms of my own emotional ecosystem, and also stay in loving connection to the people around me. Who, it turns out, often need and want different things than me, damn them.

When I don’t engage in the depth of introspection necessary to understand what my needs even are then I simply drown in resentment. I don’t know what I need, I just know I’m definitely not getting it. This takes me to a place of such inchoate, primal rage, I truly cannot see beyond the end of my own nose. I just want, and nothing and no one else matters.

Even when I take the time to sit with myself and figure out what I need, then shame intrudes. Who are you to need that? Who said you get to need things? A toxic sludge of internalized misogyny and learned enabling washes over me and I start thinking it would be better if I never needed anything from anybody. Being needy is gross. Being needy is shameful.

Being needy is dangerous.

That’s the real thing when I get way down to the bottom of the emotional barrel, isn’t it? To need someone means vulnerability. To be vulnerable means releasing control of the fate of my heart. If there is some reality in which I am completely selfless, then it should also be a reality in which my heart is never broken. So far, I do not live in that reality, either.

Though part of me really, really wanted to over the last few weeks, I did not scream or rage or pout at Evan. I did not demand things he didn’t have to give. Instead, I just kept myself company, even though I was kind of shit company there for a while. I also reached out to other loved ones, who were much better company than me and still loved me. What an immeasurable gift it is to have people love you even when you’re not terribly lovable.

Then, finally, Evan came over and reminded me that one of the things I love most about him is how non-defensive and non-judgmental he is. Standing across from each other in my kitchen I confessed, “Look, it makes perfect sense that you’ve been completely consumed with your family, your mom, all of it. Of course you are. I both understand that and also have been feeling lonely and neglected. I both get why you haven’t had any attention to spare and also am hungry for your attention.” In response, he didn’t pretend like he hadn’t been absent. He also didn’t apologize, because there was nothing to apologize for. He just said, “Yeah. That makes sense. This all sucks.”

And there it was, the thing I needed most of all— to have the chance to acknowledge all the conflicting things happening and not be made to feel bad about myself for being exactly the one I am.

I remember in my twenties having, for a brief time, this incredibly lovely boyfriend. He was a single dad, a social justice worker, and an intensely creative guy who lived in a wacky group house in South Seattle overlooking the Kingdome. One night I shared with him something I was feeling intense and conflicted about, something having to do with our relationship. His initial response was a simple one: It makes sense you feel that way. He didn’t agree with me and wasn’t having the same experience as me, but he was able to sincerely say that he saw where I was coming from.

This remains one of the more beautiful things that any romantic partner has ever said to me.

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After the kitchen confession I made dinner. We sat on the porch for a while right next to each other, and then to climbed into bed to snuggle a bit before he took himself home. Evan didn’t serve up the answer to every need I’ve ever had back to god on a silver platter, but he offered me company in the both/and of it all. He made space for me to practice my integrity— honoring my own needs while staying in loving connection to someone whose needs are different than mine right now.

Photo by Seth Hoffman on Unsplash

What is the biggest challenge to your integrity practice on the daily? Like me, do you have to work on not being an asshole— figuring out how to honor yourself and other people at the same time? Or is your challenge something entirely different? Where do you find your practice most challenging? In intimate relationships? With kids or family, or friends? At work? Online?

Recently, quite a few new folks have joined us. I’ve been nattering away on Notes in the Substack app, which probably has something to do with it (Hey! Join me there! It’s pretty fun!). Some of you newer folks have also been leaving comments, sharing your own experiences and asking questions, which is my favorite thing. Because I’m not only here to report on my own integrity practice, but also to make myself of use in yours. So, please let me know what you need, what’s going on in your world. Then we can sit in the both/and of it all together.

XO, Asha