4. The Two Reasons You Don’t Like Me

This is the fourth post in a series. I’d recommend reading the first three before this one here, here, and here.

My Therapist has been with me for just under a decade and has witnessed every win and loss I’ve been through since the beginning. She told me recently that, without question, I have no reason to worry when anything catastrophic happens, because time and time again the miracles she’s seen take place in my life have left even her awestruck. One door closes, or my train derails yet again, and without hesitation, the solution immediately presents itself. My life has been a continuous wildfire only the new growth happens so quickly the embers barely have time to burn out. All of that said, my final big wildfire needed first to destroy all that was before I started to find new growth. The structure had to collapse completely, because only then would I finally be desperate and willing enough to take the water being handed so freely to me. Eventually, I caught on, and my resources for putting out the little fires everywhere magically popped up whenever I needed them most.

When I filed for divorce, I knew I couldn’t live in the same house as Tom* anymore. Despite our deep love and friendship, he was hurt, and hurt people hurt others, so he needed to villanize me and create a narrative that he could believe so he could make sense of what I was doing. Despite having countless conversations, over the years we were together, in an attempt to ask for what I needed, where I would tell him I was lonely because I felt like I was living in the shadow of the life he wanted, and despite my wanting that life too, I realized I wanted myself more. But I couldn’t have both with him, so I was left alone, grasping for intimacy, in what some people would otherwise consider a stable, almost Instagram-worthy marriage.

There was no question he loved me, we had a connection that was pure and oh-so-joyful at times and we had such a solid foundation in so many ways. Our mutual love for sports was the first thing that drew me to him. We both loved the Seahawks equally and I caught him off guard with my knowledge and enthusiasm for the sport despite being a girl. We developed chants and stupid superstitions that we still text each other about to this day, our own little rituals when watching the games that were uniquely ours. It became, in a way, one of our love languages. Our relationship also shined because we both love to travel and we travel well together. Someone told me one time the best way to tell if you and your partner are a good match is to take a trip together. Tom and I were the best travel companions. I loved going places with him, and my best memories of trips I've taken are still with him. He always said I was the dreamer and he was the one who could make it happen, and that is without a doubt true. Whether it was a short road trip to Chico Hot Springs for the weekend, a long weekend in Seattle watching the Mariners play and boating with his parents, or jetting off to Maui or Mexico- we were compatible at any destination. He was mostly patient, although briefly frustrated when I would push his firm timeline for when we needed to leave the house to make our flight, but, like always, the second we got to our gate, all the stress was gone and we were left with our excitement to be with each other and the possibilities that lay ahead of us.

All that said, he put up with a lot more than my perpetual mismanagement of time. I was a mess when I met him and he stuck it out and, most of the time, walked me through every step of the process as I got better. He wasn’t always supportive though, and less so at the end. I really believe he showed up and showed his love the best way he knew how to, but despite our connection, his actions proved to be more superficial than what I ultimately needed, when I needed it most. He was thoughtful in many ways and would make small or large gestures of his affection like the Pendleton blanket he bought me for my first birthday when we were together, or surprising me with Ed Sheeran tickets, our favorite artist we fell in love with together. The sentimental gifts weren’t always monetary. Each year for Christmas he would put together an album as a tribute to our previous year together which included even the tiniest mementos from moments I’d forgotten about or didn’t think he remembered or still had, like the ticket stubs from a weekend at the Gorge watching Dave Matthews Band, or a photo I had no idea he'd taken. I cried each year because I could see his love so profoundly displayed on the pages, and it made me feel like I had chosen the right person. His love and affection were conflicting for me though, as I began to unravel mentally.

Even with all the love and beauty that was in our relationship, it was often outmatched by the steady pulse of suffocation I felt. I was slowly dying inside and my resources were draining, so by the time I decided to leave, I felt like a shell of a human, and the only way through was to get out. His devotion in the way of giving came with expectations. Expectations for me to be a housewife and make a decent income were set high by his mom who embodied both so effortlessly. He would woo me with gifts and acts of service, but always with a catch. They began to feel like a tactic for him to look like the good guy and subtly guilt me for not appreciating him. His love started to feel like ammo for the case he was building that I was taking advantage of him because he gave so much and therefore our relationship was one-sided in his eyes. The dynamics shifted ever so slowly that, like a frog in hot water, his most likely unconscious behavior lured me in in microdoses so my confusion about this conditional love plagued me because I didn't have the capacity to fully understand what was happening. He had, in a way, nursed me back to health when we first got together. Now, it felt like he was the one making me feel crazy. Maybe he liked me as the wounded bird. Maybe he liked being the one who could save me. I think I wanted to be saved also, but when I started to stand on my own, the very things he claimed to love about me became the very things he appeared to despise.

I've never been one to love with expectations so the delusion that I was selfish for wanting love without pressure to be so grateful for him giving so selflessly, as he would frame it, was a slow burn and wreaked havoc on my subconscious as I wrestled with conflicting guilt that I was a bad person who was unappreciative and only capable of taking. His passive resentment and entitlement showed up in his unwillingness to compromise on many of the things I wanted, from basic home décor or spending time together with my friends, to his inability to show empathy when I was suffering at work and with my mental health during the pandemic. He also couldn’t comprehend, on an intellectual level, the type of partner I needed, and maybe it was unfair to think he could. He would deflect and gaslight me and claim he was a bad husband which left me apologizing and took a significant toll on me. I tried desperately to convey my feelings and needs over and over again, but I was met with resistance, defensiveness, and dismissive comments that would leave me unsettled and angry.

As I became more conscious of the toxic dynamics, therefore more specific in my concerns that shed light on what he'd been doing to me, those concerns became the weapon he'd use against me for turning the tables and claiming my behavior mirrored what I was saying I was experiencing. It left me disoriented with no ground to stand on because suddenly I was the conditional one. He'd use my exact language after I would fearfully tell him my frustrations, carefully in a way not to make him react, but he would twist my words and use my concerns for his gain, making me the bad guy, which ultimately let him off the hook of any responsibility for the problems in our marriage.

It became apparent that Tom and I speak completely different languages. My outlook on life, from more of an abstract lens, confused him, making it nearly impossible for me to get through to him and his logical mind. My words expressing my feelings, despite being true, felt misunderstood, so his argument against my feelings, in my own words, regardless of his lack of understanding, took away any validity I had in the conversation. Even though I was clearly black and white in presenting my concerns, Tom's lack of self-awareness and inability to understand emotional and intellectual concepts were blocked by his pragmatic thinking, so his only response was that of cherry-picking the one or two negative comments I said about him in the sea of alarming and devastating concerns and thoughts I had about our marriage as a whole. Tom is really smart, so his ability to argue and prove his point was nearly impossible to reason with and completely leveled my otherwise strong communication skills. His methods of twisting my words to make me the problem were hard to disagree with even though my intentions were rooted in trying to save our marriage.

These conversations started years before we actually separated, but the gaslighting and power tactics he used so frequently kept me in denial and would dissipate when his blaming would shift to what felt like appreciation and thoughtful displays of love. It should have come as no surprise when I finally left him, but his clouded judgment of his role in our downfall, even still, allows him to justify his resentment and innocence.

I realized later the abusive cycle for what it was, but it took me far too long to understand. I felt paralyzed when I thought I’d made amends for my unacceptable behavior, which I still didn’t fully understand, when he’d get angry again and bring up all the instances he’d ever felt betrayed, or I had violated his trust. I thought we’d moved past that time I bought my fancy shampoo with our shared credit cards without asking for permission, or paid for lunch when I didn’t have time to make it before heading to work. He had not. I wouldn’t shop the sales, or I’d purchased yet another thing at the grocery store that helped my digestion but was too expensive because he couldn’t see the benefit for him, so he’d not so gently remind me that he paid all the bills, and if I wanted to buy things outside of our agreed family expenses, I should use my own money, which at that point was around 10 percent of my measly paycheck after I’d contributed the rest to the “family”.

A recent interaction involving my alleged theft of all of his prized Christmas décor, during the divorce, quickly pivoted into shaming me for taking the dogs on this trip, on the day I had told him I would, even though I gave him notice a month, a week, the Friday before, and the day of, three months after I was supposed to get custody. How could I force him to have to say his goodbyes on a workday in the parking lot? It’s not like he had them for two months longer than he could have while I worked all my travel plans out- oh wait he did. He had from April, when we settled, through June to get them ready for me, but other than the two weeks I spent in Sandpoint with them for my birthday, I thought it would be kind and the right thing to do to let him have them for another couple months over the summer until I left in August. I didn't know when I'd be back to Montana and this could be one of the last times they ever saw him. But when August rolled around, I was reminded again of what a monster I was for taking them.

I made sure to keep him in the loop over the next several months as I traveled with them, sending pictures and videos, but that all seemed forgotten when he called me enraged over the Christmas debacle and reminded me that I took everything from him and how cruel it was that I had to take them exactly when I said I would.

Luckily I’ve distanced myself from our cyclical dynamic for long enough that I immediately recognized this was not a productive conversation and knew I did not have to engage. My response, of not responding, made him angry. I felt some compassion because, even though yes, I was angry that I still have to defend my character months after we officially divorced, I can’t imagine the level of pain he must carry with him to create such a negative outlook on everything. I felt genuinely sad for him because of how hard and miserable it must be to live in a world where everyone is out to get you and everyone is the problem. For so long I was the target of this pain, so, despite the compassion I had, I also felt intense gratitude, in that moment, that I had escaped, and thankful for the fact that I didn’t even know what that type of thinking looked and felt like.

I’ve always been the opposite. Eternally optimistic. This version of me is what drew Tom initially to me. The dreamer. The curious and wild mind. The big imagination and excitement for what could be. My core belief that everything will work out for the best can be good, even if it's a little delusional, like when I think the Seahawks might have a chance even though they are down by three scores and there are two minutes left in the game with no timeouts. My thought is that crazier things have happened, and until that clock hits zero, you never know. In addition to being overly optimistic about things that aren't that important, although I would argue that the outcome of a football game is, in fact, very important, in the big things, my not so and yet so toxic trait has turned on me in a way that is always baffling. I give too many people the benefit of the doubt. It’s spilled into every relationship and every job I’ve had. When the unhealthy ones eventually collapse, I’m left confused and angry that I didn’t see it coming. I may be self-aware, but that doesn’t stop me from still trying to overdo it by giving people second, third, and fourth chances, or trying to give them space to become the people I think they can be even though I have absolutely no power to change anyone and never will. I’ve learned, through trial and error, mostly error, that I don’t want to stick around for the change because most times it never comes, or it does long after me, if ever. I heard someone say recently that when we see potential in someone and love what they could be, we are actually projecting our own thoughts for how we would act if we were in their shoes. This thought shifted my perspective knowing it's not my job, nor is it fair to push someone to act in a way that I would. My hope for their potential is a lost cause because my hope is a losing battle that I have no power over. I can be a good example, but that's it. That sounds bleak, but leaving those relationships and jobs are circumstances when I've exhausted everything in my playbook and it's the only trick I have left.

When I started to realize our marriage was never going to get better, I began to disengage with him and no longer try. This gave me some of the power back because I no longer cared how he was going to respond to the things I had to say, which allowed me to say the things I’d held back out of fear so many other times, like my intolerance for both his conservative political beliefs and apathy for marginalized groups. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been walking on eggshells until I was finally on solid ground. I also hadn't realized how much I'd protected him and kept our abusive patterns a secret.

When we were in the process of our divorce, he would often justify saying bad things about me to others because he was convinced I'd so often thrown him under the bus. It was actually the opposite, it's easy for people to take sides during a divorce, and my friends were quick to jump to my defense, but I never fueled any fire that could have been, because I knew deep down that what we had was so good on so many levels, and just because I was leaving, doesn't mean we have to hate him. I don't hate him, I've never hated him, and he wasn’t a bad person. He was, however, triggered if I ever broached any of these now formerly avoided subjects, so I had learned to stay silent and argue about other things that were acceptable topics.

No longer having an attachment to his reaction allowed me the space to be totally honest. It was several months before I filed for divorce, but once my behavior changed he got scared and, I think, subconsciously knew I would leave, but desperately hoped I would stay. He went into damage control like he often did after I had had tough conversations with him, but instead of love-bombing me, he finally agreed to marriage counseling, but it was too far gone at that point. I would have welcomed this idea if he had agreed years, or even months ago like I’d asked, and maybe things would have been different if that had happened. I still went even though I'd mostly made up my mind because I still loved him and wanted the space to be able to talk about everything with an objective person. I knew if I was going to leave, I wanted to make sure I left with love, and that he knew and felt that from me. I also knew this would finally be my chance to have a third party decode my jibberish that had been lost in translation for so many years.

He didn’t want to get lawyers involved, but I’m glad I did because the divorce quickly got messy and dragged out months longer than it should have. The day I handed him the papers, because I insisted on giving them to him in person rather than having my lawyer serve him, I knew I had to move out. I didn’t have anywhere to go and I was working at a job that was sucking my soul and wasn’t doing the situation any favors, but I didn’t care because I now knew freedom, even if it meant insecurity, was better than the alternative.

My friend Merida, in Helena, graciously offered to let me stay with her. She had gone through a difficult divorce years earlier and had had a friend who helped her so she wanted to pay it forward. For that, I will be forever grateful. While living with her and gathering all the documents I needed for my lawyer, I was also actively planning my exit strategy at work.

My adult life has been a series of jobs that promised creative freedom and infinite possibilities for the future, only to show me that my skills and intellect didn’t matter, in fact, they hindered me, and I was time and time again told to stay in my lane, punch my time card and go, and not, under any circumstances, try to do a better job. Similarly to my marriage, I was left perplexed and defeated and had to unpack all of it in therapy.

Every job would start the same. I would wow them in my interview with my resume, curiosity, drive, and intellect, start off strong, receive high praise, and be encouraged to take on new projects while utilizing my skills in a way that added value and made my job and the company I worked for better. Every job would end the same. My managers would start to see me doing well and their big yeses in response to my big ideas would shift into big nos with hints of annoyance and disapproval. When my eyes would widen and my voice got louder as I presented my ideas in confidence, now that I'd finally found my stride at work, I'd watch their faces grow cold with frustration or confusion and often hear things like, "It's too much!" as they'd interrupt me mid-sentence or ask me to slow down so they could digest what I'd just told them. At first, my excitement was encouraged and they would give me the approval to run with my ideas because they trusted me and appeared relieved to have someone in the position who would hit the ground running. Our collaborative dynamics made me feel seen and valued and appreciated for all that I could offer. But I always take things to the extreme and, despite my confidence, I would often still run ideas by my bosses, maybe because I wanted validation, or maybe because subconsciously I didn't fully believe in myself even though I knew I was qualified and absolutely deserved to be there, or maybe because on some level I was waiting for them to tell me no. This feels like what set the not-so-graceful endings in motion.

I've been told I'm exhausting by more people than I can count, and not just at jobs. Maybe at first, my energy is attractive to people because they want to have a little bit of it too, or maybe because they think it's a nice quality in a candidate ready to take on an important job. I remember working at restaurants throughout my young adult life and could never pin down why the back of the house always hated me. I thought it was because I had messed up ringing in an order one time, or I hadn't picked up my table's food soon enough for their liking, but in my final restaurant job, my boss gave me the feedback that finally connected the dots. It was brutal, but it clarified a lot about other people's perceptions of me when they don't have enough exposure to me to varying degrees. They thought I was fake and my praise for them and over-excitement about the food was off-putting and I needed to tone it down. It baffled me that the crew that worked so tirelessly to bust out all the food for the busy restaurant would be annoyed by my enthusiasm for everything, but I guess I was too much or my appreciation felt disingenuous. This could be a generalization, but it seems to me that back-of-the-house restaurant workers have this collective jadedness, maybe they are hardened because of mistakes they've made and now they've made peace with the fact that this is their final landing spot, or maybe the culture is so rooted in this idea that restaurants are where people go to immerse themselves in the school of hard-knocks- I don't think it's a coincidence that the norm of this mini class system has a hard line between the front and the back of the house.

It's kind of a heartbreaking thought when you realize the similarities of why some people don't like you. Most people seem to dislike others for specific reasons. Maybe they acted rudely, or they didn't have the same interests. Maybe they got into a fight about something and it feels irreconcilable. The list of reasons is long. But with me, and maybe I'm being dramatic, it feels personal and appears consistent across the board. They either don't like me because our time together is confined to small, but regular interactions such as a specific job with very little complexity to it, or a college class that meets twice a week, or they don't like me because we've spent extensive time together and my energy is no longer novel so their curiosity or attraction to me becomes annoying or disruptive for lack of better words. Both scenarios have very little in common from the reasons to the outcomes, but both, if broken down in an attempt to simplify the nuances are just because the people who seem to not like me don't like me because I rarely deviate from my truest self. I'm just always the same, big, excited, and for the most part annoyingly happy, and yet I'm also direct and unfiltered. My therapist tells me, on the regular, that one of my best traits is that no matter what, you get what you see. I'm anything but basic, but I also just present myself consistently no matter what the situation is.

Most everyone likes me in small doses, but the second I take my cheery disposition and childlike wonder into even the smallest of things, but in a big way, I start to get eye rolls or comments that call out my behavior as if it were not acceptable. And why is it always in such a public way? I remember a Thanksgiving with my family, a few years ago, where I sat grinning ear to ear, about to dive into the dinner I'd been waiting a whole year for, oohing and ahhing after each new bite of food, while simultaneously thanking everyone for doing such a great job. I meant it, the food was incredible and I was so thankful to be there. My uncle started laughing at me and made a joke about how I was acting as if I was a starving college kid who hadn't had a decent meal in months. Most people laughed, and I didn't really digest it - pun intended- until later, that not everyone has the same appreciation for things in a way that presents as experiencing them for the first time.

My family also has an ornament exchange every year and with each unwrapping, comes new ahhs as if each new sparkly item is better than the next. Eventually, the admiration grows so loudly that it does feel inauthentic and comical, but it's anything but. This is the exact same behavior I demonstrate solely, on a daily basis, but for some reason when it's a collective experience, it seems to be more acceptable.

Similarly to my deep love for good food, when I have a great idea, I want to share how amazing it is with everyone so they can join in my joy. This might be why my presentations became so overwhelming to my bosses that they didn't want to hear all the details, but I couldn't help it, I'm just always so excited. Just like when I explain the plot of a movie I love, I have this tendency to go overboard on all the specifics and people usually have to shut me up. Is this my downfall? At my jobs, my ideas became the source of confusion because my over-explanation of something I probably didn't need to run by them in the first place, would alert them to their own lack of understanding. Because I was hired to do a job that maybe they didn't have expertise in, suddenly I'm now digging my own grave because I'm handing them information on a silver platter that now makes them curious as to why they don't understand. I've watched their confusion, over and over again, turn into a need to investigate further what they don't understand, and therefore take back my project or take over in a way that slowly starts to look like micromanagement until I feel like I can no longer do my job.

I watched the last job I had go from letting me run the show completely, hands off, to making me run every social media post by them, to eventually having them track my lunch hour to the minute so I didn't take it too early or too late. My confidence quickly deflates from rejection after rejection of my ideas, and I'm left irritated that I now have to hand over a task I know so much about and watch my bosses make decisions about it when they don't even fully understand what they are looking at. My self-doubt seeps out so widely it evokes suspicion in others that I am being sneaky or doing something wrong, so they begin to watch my every move. This creates a cycle of more doubt and more management, and I'm left feeling guilty for trying to do my job when they aren't looking. My guilt and fear are then validated when they start to question my use of my time and I watch the walls close in on me and I suffocate because I can no longer breathe without approval.

I've had a lot of really great jobs that I loved more than anything I’d ever done before. Each new job felt better than the next. This time it would be different. A fresh start, a new canvas for finding my true purpose. My enthusiasm, drive, and work ethic made me a valuable team member, and my loyalty was unwavering. My eternal optimism would initially work in my favor. I would be so excited for a new job and would start to envision what a long-term career with the company would look like and how I could work towards being a critical piece in the bigger picture in their growth for the future. I couldn’t help it, that’s how I’ve always been. When I care about something, I do it wholeheartedly. I could work 60 hours a week at a job I love and never get burned out if I was allowed to fully embrace my role.

The funny thing about my dedication though, is that, similarly to my competence in a particular field, it often backfires on me leaving me disappointed and at a loss for why doing my job well is suddenly a liability. My bigness has haunted me my whole life, and what felt like shared enthusiasm, almost encouragement for my drive at the beginning of all of these jobs, starts to feel personal when my abilities are questioned. I've had this core belief that I'm not deserving and that I'm not good enough, but I'm starting to understand, that I am deserving and good enough, I just, unfortunately, have landed in position after position in places with people who aren't the right fit. I get comfortable enough to let my true self shine which seems to trigger something in others and appear as if my very existence feels offensive to them. They think it's not a good fit, and I don't get it, but the disconnect in my brain that used to be so baffling is starting to register that maybe they aren't a good fit either.

This has been a tough pill to swallow. I want to be a good fit for everyone. I remember when I was younger being careful not to let myself be too comfortable with my friends and fellow classmates. If they saw the real me, the weird me, they might hate me. I've been laughed at and mocked, even through college, and watched as the eyes roll when I make what I think is a funny comment or get pumped about something, just a little too much.

The vicious cycle of trying so desperately to salvage a relationship that shouldn't have been in the first place, or had run its course, also comes out as my attempt to stand my ground in a way that oozes defiance. It fuels my ego. I am a natural rebel, maybe because people always try to reign me in, but in jobs, they frown on rebellion or pushing back when my ideas differ from my bosses. Their rules become my resentment and I dig my heels and start to test their limits just a little too much. Salvation be damned, they are going to have to pry this job out of my cold dead hands. It becomes a power struggle of who is right and I always lose because ultimately I am always not the boss. I can ask for what I need, but if I don't get it in the growing hostile situation, it's probably the right move to just leave.

I never wanted to leave a job without dignity and grace, but my need to prove myself often fueled my need to show them where they were wrong. I had to quit, I had no other option, and I felt like my departure would somehow make them realize how valuable I actually was allowing me to feel my own value towards myself. Leaving my final job in Helena was particularly vital, only this time it became so unbearable, that I didn’t care how it went down. I still wanted to show them. I was still resentful, maybe the most up to this point in a job, and all reason had left me, all the feelings and clarity surrounding my own perception of myself came to a head, and, for the first time, walking away felt like freedom, not justice, because I finally realized I never wanted to compromise myself like that ever again.

I think I always knew I wanted and needed to be a writer, but I had this belief, heavily influenced by others, that it was unrealistic to try to make it a career. I had this deep longing to write in some capacity that was unrestricted and void of any interference. I think this is why I tried so hard to mold jobs to fit my liking. I saw an opportunity for creative freedom and thought this was my way of making it happen without having to go out on my own because I didn't yet believe I was capable of thriving without someone else's help. It was a double-edged sword. They really did promise me the opportunity to explore in ways I was hoping for, but I think, despite my playing by their rules and doing the mundane tasks, required of my job, that were less than exciting, leaning into the other parts was all of a sudden unacceptable and I felt pigeon-holed into a job that was only those tasks under the guise of what I wanted so they could get me in the door. Each job started to feel like a sham and slowly ate at me until I had nothing left.

My dream of being a writer would always be at the root of my next job prospects, but once I figured out I couldn't tailor a job to make it what I wanted, I started to write about anything and everything which became the foundation of this blog. I wanted to follow my passion and somehow figure out how to make it profitable so I could live a life doing what I truly loved the most. I trusted that I would figure it out; it was my calling after all. Through all my employment failures, the common takeaway is that I'm better off guiding myself. When I'm stuck in the confines of someone's expectations, I've learned it's never a good fit. Unfortunately, it's been well after I'm all in, ready to fly in a job that never wanted me to have my wings in the first place.

My last two jobs before I left for Missoula were practically the death of me. I say that not as an exaggeration, my shell of human existence that so desperately tried to endure with the belief that maybe things would get better while simultaneously processing the reality that my only escape from work was home and vice versa, and both were equally bleeding me dry, left me disoriented and grasping for any hope left in the world. I felt none. But the forest fire ranging through every aspect of my life somehow catapulted me into a psychic change that would shift my existence forever.

*I changed the name of my ex-husband to protect his anonymity.

*First picture of me all dressed up because, why not, and the wind made me look like I should be in a magazine.

*Second picture is me at the Seahawks game in Seattle while Tom and I were spending the holiday with his parents.

*Third picture is just me in my happy place- anywhere warm, anywhere near the beach.