It’s a weird thing for me to admit, but I like being taken care of.
Taking care of others is good too. There’s a certain joy and sense of duty in doing so.
But there’s not a feeling of being complete. It’s depleting. You finish taking care of everyone else and you just kind of slump into emptiness.
Of course, the pendulum swinging in the other direction is equally unsatisfying – being taken care of too much breeds restlessness and neediness.
Finding a happy medium isn’t easy. I tend to land more on the taking care of others side of the swing – I’m used to it and it comes relatively naturally.
But recently I’ve been indulging in the other direction, and it feels fantastic. And I’ve never been more anxious, like someone having to pee on a freeway without an off-ramp.
I’m consumed by the fear that the floor could fall out from underneath me at any time, and that warm and cozy feeling I’ve suddenly become accustomed to could not just end, but leave me feeling emptier and sadder than ever before, consumed by restlessness, like a druggie waiting for the dealer. It also leads to a feeling of wanting to flip the equation, like being leg-deep in quicksand and evaluating whether you should just polevault out of there and be shinless.
So the options on the table would be:
1. Return to the default of taking care of people, enjoy feeling depleted bitch!!!!
2. Continue down this path and become a big ol tittybaby
3. Find a happy?? medium??????? somewhere that includes an honest assessment of wants and needs, including taking care of yourself so you can take care of others and in turn be taken care of????????????????
No way, #3 sounds way too adult and well-adjusted, so much easier to just keep driving this car into the wall until the wall moves.
