You may have read my last post and thought, “Okay. Sarah doesn’t like the treasurer.” But that is not true. It is gray and today I am sitting with it.

I feel vulnerable in that relationship. I feel silly, even a bit unhinged, for fearing an adult friendship with someone who lives in the same building as me. But I’ve promised myself that I will not sugarcoat my feelings.

The truth is I feel vulnerable in every relationship to some degree. I am terrified of the connections I so deeply desire. With her (and many others) I can’t get a good sense of how she feels about me. Am I a friend? Or just someone she will inevitably see since we share the same front door? A friendship of convenience and shared financial interest?

My barometer for acceptance in relationships is how much I hear from you, how much time of mine you seem to want, how consistent you are. With her we talk and hang out in spurts. It is frequent and then it eases up. When communication is consistent, I feel calm. I do not worry as much about how she feels about me. I feel accepted. When there is silence, my feelings of doubt remind me they are my most consistent and reliable friend. The doubt is still with me. To “protect” me. To whisper just loud enough that I’ve been here before. “Be careful. People like you…until they don’t.”

Growing up I was bullied in middle and high school. By girls I thought were friends. Best friends. A memory that has stayed with me over the years is when they wrote a love note and pretended it was from the boy I really liked. They put it in my locker and watched me read it and get excited. I then heard them laughing hysterically. At me. At my excitement. Was the thought of my crush liking me ridiculous? Was my excitement funny?

Then there was the time girls left the Oompa Loompa song from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on my voicemail. It felt like they could see my insecurities and threw them back at my face. I felt mortified. Ashamed. Exposed. Alone.

This was not the beginning of my mental health issues (that was elementary school), but I think it was when they began to spiral. It was when it went from anxiety to depression. From feeling a bit different to feeling completely alone. Years of secret anguish and plans of escaping from a world that was hurting me.

It was the beginning of keeping you at arm’s length. It was the beginning of self-sabotage. Of getting close and pulling away. Of living in my world of doubt and convincing myself it was reality so I could keep being alone. It was not the place I wanted to be, but it was safe.

During that time and for many years after, I did not feel safe. I didn’t know how to. What if I seek solace in the arms of someone who would just end up hurting me? I did not push everyone away completely, but I learned not to trust. Like I said, I kept you at arm’s length. And I held my breath. I never wanted to be caught off guard again. By anyone or anything.

There is more here to unpack and over time I will. Today, I will just share that I’m grateful I’m lightyears beyond that place. That horrible, lonely place. Today, I can let you in a bit more. This blog is evidence of that. But it is hard and it will probably continue to be hard. I’m learning how to unlearn behaviors and thought processes that, during that time, I thought I needed to survive.

I still struggle with relationships. I can very quickly time travel back to my 12-year-old self. I can assume your silence is a rejection instead of busyness. I can assume it must only be about me, my weaknesses, the parts of myself that are not attractive. The parts that are “too much”. I have to slow down and remember to breathe.

The struggle can be exhausting, but I’m okay with it (most days). Connecting with you and pushing through the vulnerability has taught me so many things. You’ve been hurt too. You may have been bullied. You share many of my fears. You are a work in progress just like me.

This has been a powerful realization. We are the same kind of imperfect. Weathered from life’s experiences. I wasn’t alone then and I’m not alone now. And despite the chaos in this world, I feel okay. I feel safe.

Cue ‘Scars’ by Lukas Graham