Needs, it seems, are an important ingredient in any healthy relationship. I’ve been listening to Esther Perel’s podcast: Where Should We Begin? and in almost every couple’s counselling session she records, needs come up.
“I’ve never been any good at identifying my needs,” I tell my therapist in a recent session. “In fact, from an early age, I’ve tried to make sure I don’t have any.”
“This is a characteristic of parentification*. The child gives up their needs in order to care for the parent(s).” (* Click on link to read more about parentification.)
“Perel alludes to that in one of her episodes.”
When it comes to identifying my needs, I draw a blank. “I’m not even sure how to define a need,” I confess.
“Well, one need you have is for people to see your awesomeness and not your sickness.”
Her suggestion silences me. I think about my family, my husband, my friends. It is true that I feel like my illness is a barrier between myself and others. Hard to believe otherwise, when the symptoms are so up front. Disability has rendered me dependent, taken away so much of what I used to be, made me useless. When was the last time I felt whole in the presence of another?
“We attended a wedding this past weekend,” I say, processing aloud; ” and I had a lot of anxiety about being around other people. I was really irritated and quite short with my husband. While we were getting dressed, I asked that he help me decide on an outfit. He gave me the usual dismissive response – Wear what you feel most comfortable in – but I wouldn’t accept it. I told him: I want to wear something that will make you feel proud to be with me! I guess that is expressing a need?”
“Yes. It is.”
“It’s just so uncomfortable asking for what I want.”
“But it is something you are going to have to do as you move forward. Maybe start writing these things down. What do need from your husband to feel good about yourself?”
Feeling good about myself, we discuss, equates to looking after myself, and setting healthy boundaries: something I’ve been struggling with lately.
I tell my husband about our conversation and add that I feel as if he only sees me as my illness.
“That’s not true!” he quips, and then dives into a diatribe about how he suffers when I do too much and crash, which only deepens my original sentiment.
The thing is that I don’t know what I need from him. We’ve been locked into the same old dance for so long that it’s comfortable, yet; I know it’s not healthy, and I’m certain it is robbing us of a potential deepening of our relationship.
I’ve invited my husband to listen to Perel with me. Maybe it will be a starting point.
For my own part, I think I’m going to revisit the work of Harriet Lerner: The Dance of Connection. I have enjoyed her work in the past, and can use a refresher.
Appears I have more work to do.
What needs do you have from a partner? I’d love to hear about them.
Father worked six days a week, and with the exception of Saturday, was gone from 7:30 am to 10:30 pm. Sundays were reserved for family day: usually church, visiting, and a formal dinner. He could be fun at times, but typically he was tyrannical – angry and critical – calling us idiots, useless, and expletives I won’t mention here. When Dad was home, more often than not, we ran for cover.
I wanted to be that kid, whose family rallied around when times were tough, and always ‘had my back’ (whatever that meant). Instead, I grew up in a household where attention was in short supply, and siblings were either jealous, fighting, or indifferent. Comparisons pitted us, one against the other, and the competition was on to see whose drama gleaned the greatest power. As the most “stable” offspring, I was a constant outsider.
History cannot be rewritten, but it can be re-examined.
My parent’s were not disappointed in me. In my own convoluted way, I made myself responsible for their well-being, and I translated their pain into personal guilt. What I failed to see through the lens of expectations was that we were all victims of a tragic situation, each struggling to pull through. Some of us thrived better than others.
Permanence is not a quality of harmony. Can’t understand why I should ever hope for such a thing, yet here I am disappointed again, disagreement having chipped away at momentary bliss.
We were in bed when he spoke it, and I rolled away from his words, conjuring all sorts of retorts (not spoken) in which he was the villain, and that I had been equally disgruntled by his daughter, and then; consumed by the impossibility of it – the never-ending rancour – I melted into depression.
The old way put me at the center of the family (even though I was fifth born), listening to and attempting to resolve every family issue: 
“Help me to understand, something,” I prefaced the conversation. “When I was young, you always told me no one would ever love me. What was that about?”
I didn’t want to accept the ‘worst’ for my life, and so I fought to stay afloat, and rather than succumb to Mom’s bottom, I even offered to give up the children to their father (who promised to meet all their needs while they were under his roof) until I could get on my feet.
Lately, I’ve been wondering. New Age philosophy suggests that abundance is a state of mind, and that just by affirming so, all our needs will be met.
A little voice speaks up: 
The coincidence was enough to jar me into recognizing how lucky we are, Ric and I. This woman, who hails from a different place, and whom we may have never met under different circumstances, embodies all the fears I have encountered over the years since Ric’s diagnosis. She is a living reminder that life is resilient, and that even though loss and sorrow are certainties, so are tomorrows. In this instance, I might argue that synchronicity is at play.
As do I – there are never happy endings, just a worsening of the situation caused by my inappropriate actions.
In fact, there is – a conversation my younger sister and I had around Mother’s Day. While I have sought extensive help to support my healing process, my sister prefers to hold it all in, and then every once in a while bits spew out. Her mini revelation was enough to ignite the dreams for me.
“Do you have a copy of Growing Yourself Back Up?”
