Expecting You from Other People

I have spent a lot of time being disappointed that other people did not behave the way I would have. I would have called. I would have remembered. I would not have said that. I would have been more excited. I definitely would have noticed the tiny detail nobody else on Earth noticed because somewhere along the way I appointed myself head of quality control for the entire universe.

When someone responded differently, I rarely let it be just that. I made it mean something. They didn’t care as much. They were inconsiderate, jealous, secretly upset with me or not the person I thought they were. Meanwhile, they were most likely just living their own life.

It is easy to say we expect people to have the same heart we do. That sounds beautiful…as though my heart is made entirely of puppy dogs, rainbows and emotionally available unicorns. But expecting yourself from other people is a double-edged sword. You aren’t just projecting your loyalty, generosity and thoughtfulness onto them. You are also handing them your anxiety, suspicion, perfectionism, control issues and whatever other bullshit you are still trying to clean up.

That can make you wildly unfair. Recognizing your own struggle in someone else can also be the very thing that helps you give them grace.

As much as I would love to believe being exactly like me is the highest possible level of human achievement, I know better.

The Contract Nobody Signed

We remember the birthday, find the perfect present, rearrange our schedule and show up when somebody needs us. We may sincerely want to do those things, but a quiet expectation can still be tucked inside all that generosity. We usually discover it when the other person fails to fulfill it.

We picture them returning the effort with the same enthusiasm we would have shown. When they don’t, the nice thing we freely chose to do suddenly becomes evidence.

Your Honor, I would like the record to reflect that I remembered her birthday, commented on every photograph of her dog and drove clear across town to help her move a dresser. She responded to my exciting news with a heart emoji. The prosecution rests.

The other person had no idea there was a contract. Seemingly I wrote the terms, signed both names and became furious when they failed to meet obligations they never agreed to.

Reciprocity is not too much to ask. Relationships should not leave one person doing all the caring, calling and showing up while the other wanders through life collecting favors like hotel points. But mutual effort will not always arrive in the form we imagined.

I happen to enjoy a parade. I want enthusiasm, balloons, a marching band and possibly a small municipal proclamation when something exciting happens. I need people who can celebrate with me, and I am not going to pretend otherwise.

Not everybody I love will be a parade person, though. Some will say, “That’s awesome,” hug me and return to unloading the dishwasher. They are not necessarily jealous, unimpressed or emotionally dead inside. They may simply not be me.

There Will Be a Test Later

I have also done thoughtful things as a demonstration of how I wanted to be treated. Instead of asking for what I needed, I put on a full instructional presentation and waited for the audience to catch on.

I checked on people because I wanted to be checked on. I celebrated their accomplishments because I wanted somebody to make that kind of fuss over mine. I went out of my way because I needed proof that someone would eventually go out of their way for me.

The care was real, but an expectation was hiding underneath it. Two things can be true at the same time. We say that a lot in recovery, probably because most of us would prefer one clean truth where we are completely innocent and somebody else is entirely wrong.

Resentment begins collecting interest when we repeatedly give more than we want or can afford to give, hoping the sacrifice will be noticed and repaid. Then we explode over one small thing because we are actually collecting on an unpaid emotional invoice the other person never knew existed.

That is where passive aggression moves in and unpacks its bags. Passive-aggressive people are a special kind of you spot it, you got it. They communicate through hidden meanings, so they start hearing hidden meanings everywhere.

They say they are fine when they are absolutely not fine. They drop hints, make little comments, go cold or insist nothing is wrong while punishing everyone nearby for failing to figure out what is wrong. Then they become resentful because nobody successfully completed the emotional scavenger hunt.

I know because I have done versions of it myself. My “Don’t worry about it” has absolutely meant, “You should be extremely worried about this, and there will be a test later.”

When hidden meanings are your native language, a simple comment cannot stay simple. Someone says they are tired and you wonder whether they are mad at you. They take too long to answer a text and you decide they are teaching you a lesson. They give you a compliment and you start digging around inside it for the tiny hidden knife.

You spot it – because you got it.

In recovery we also talk a lot about resentment and the idea that holding onto it is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Meanwhile, they may be walking around having a perfectly lovely day with no idea that a crime was committed, a trial was held and they were convicted in a courtroom located entirely inside your head.

Quietly punishing somebody is not communication. Swallowing your feelings until they turn bitter is not a boundary. Say the thing. Ask for what you need. Change the relationship, change the expectation or let it go.

My Mess Made Me Kinder

Recognizing myself in somebody else has not always made me more suspicious. In some areas it has made me a hell of a lot more understanding.

I have canceled plenty of plans in my life. I know it looked flaky from the outside, and there were times when it absolutely was. There were also days when nobody could see how much anxiety went into getting me out the door.

I could genuinely want to go. I could be excited when the plans were made. Then it was time to get dressed, and something inside me started falling apart.

My clothes looked wrong. My hair looked wrong. My makeup looked wrong. Nothing fit the way I wanted it to. I could stand in front of the mirror trying to fix one thing after another until the problem was no longer my outfit, my lipstick or my hair.

The problem was me.

By the time I was supposed to leave, I felt almost paralyzed. Billy could tell me I was beautiful. My friends could tell me they loved me. A photograph could show me something completely different from what I saw in the mirror, but none of it could reach me.

The problem was not really what I looked like. It was how empty, ashamed and unlovable I felt inside.

That anxiety became tangled up with my drinking and reaching for anything that might change the experience of being me for a little while. I was not always trying to loosen up and have fun. There were times when I was trying to survive being inside my own skin long enough to leave the house.

Because I know what that feels like, I do not immediately turn someone else’s cancellation into proof that they do not care about me. I understand how badly a person can want to show up and still feel incapable of getting there.

They may owe an apology or need to communicate better. I still do not have to assign cruelty to a struggle I recognize.

That is the other edge of expecting yourself from people. My own mess taught me to look for pain before I assume malice.

A Conviction or My Preferred Font Size?

Learning not to expect myself from everybody does not require lowering my standards or tolerating disrespect. My convictions still guide me. Honesty, loyalty, respect and accountability matter. I get to decide who I trust, where I draw a line and what I will no longer participate in.

I also have to admit when I am defending a conviction and when I am merely insisting that something be done my way. I have promoted plenty of personal preferences to moral law without putting them through the proper approval process.

Somebody can approach a task differently without being careless. They can miss a detail without being disrespectful. They can decide something is finished while I am still moving one word half an inch to the left and wondering how nobody else can see that the entire universe is falling apart.

Morton Blackwell has a rule I love: “Don’t make the perfect the enemy of the good.”

That one hits me squarely between the eyes. My attention to detail helps me do good work, but it can also make me exhausting—to myself and probably to everyone within a ten-foot radius.

Good really can be good enough.

Different is not automatically lazy, thoughtless or wrong. My convictions should guide my life. They should not become a rulebook I silently hand to everybody else and then resent them for never reading.

I do not want to expect nothing from people. Trust needs consistency. Relationships should feel mutual. I am allowed to want enthusiasm, reliability, honesty, affection and direct communication.

I just need to know whether somebody truly treated me badly or merely responded differently than I would have. Did they cross a line or fail a test I never told them they were taking? Am I reacting to what they did or to something in me that still needs attention?

Other people are never going to think exactly like me, love exactly like me or notice every detail I notice.

And truthfully, considering the amount of work it takes to be me, that is probably best for everybody.