I struggle to believe that I am lovable. My mother told me I wasn’t. She said I was worthless. Comfortable with people who didn’t think I was valuable or lovable, I made friends with those kinds of people and they treated me accordingly.
My husband’s last affair partner was one of those friends. When I sent her a letter explaining how much pain I was in her response was that yes, she was a terrible friend, but she believed it was necessary to hurt people sometimes to get what you need. I couldn’t believe she was so callous and uncaring. She had been my friend. I had confided in and trusted her, listened to her woes and thoughts. I had thought that she cared about me.
But it turned out that she only cared about herself. Even when things were uncovered she had no remorse. All the people who remained friends with her said that she did, but she never demonstrated it to me, which only led me to conclude that she had to be manipulating them. What difference does your remorse make if you don’t demonstrate it to the person you actually hurt?
From my research I think she must be a sociopathic narcissist. She wanted everyone to like her, was charming and witty, but she talked about everyone behind their backs and clearly had no qualms about stabbing a friend in the back in the worst way with no apparent remorse shown except to the people who might have unfriended her if she had shown how callous she really was.
Why did I become friends with such a person? I think it must have been because I didn’t believe I was lovable. Why did I allow her and my husband to take me and all the things I have to offer for granted? Because I didn’t believe I was lovable.
Part of this journey is going to be learning to believe I’m lovable. I try to remember instances where people showed me that I mattered, that I was worthwhile. I am holding on to the memory of my grandmother and grandfather (my dad’s parents) taking my mother and I in when we had no place to go even though my parents were long divorced and they did not like my mom. They did it because they loved me. They loved me so much they were willing to put up with my crazy mother so that I could have a roof over my head.
They loved me. Many people love me. I am lovable. I have to keep telling myself this until I believe it.