The Biggest Hustle

By Susan Nappi

It was 1978 and the pecking order of who was and was not cool at my school was painfully obvious. On the periphery of the ‘cool girl’ circle, I was not quite in or out. It was also the year of Grease and my mother managed to buy me a coveted satin jacket for my birthday. I loved that jacket so much I kept wearing it even after the zipper broke. Ironically, it was this prized possession that would possibly render me an outcast as I was informed by the most popular girl in my class that wearing it made everyone think I was “stuck up.” Horrified by what would be a social death sentence, the jacket was immediately disgraced to the back of my closet to ensure my precarious standing in the social pecking order.

The satin jacket proved to be prophetic. Against the backdrop of a chaotic and complicated family life, I learned how to make myself small. While my parents loved me very much, our house was a revolving door of people and situations that took up a lot of space. Despite limited emotional and financial resources, they were always someone’s emergency plan. There was also the looming legacy of my family’s unhealed acute abuse and trauma which made life very unpredictable. The suffering and needs around me were so big and at times frightening that my own were dwarfed in comparison. How could I complain amid broken homes, substance abuse, even worse financial situations? The unintentional message was that other people’s needs and wants took priority over mine and I should be grateful for what I did have. Over time I learned how to make peace with this reality by twisting, burying or ignoring my needs and eventually ‘taking care’ of them myself. I also harbored a deep secret that would take years to uncover – a profound insecurity that I masked by caring for others. It is not a surprise that as I grew older I gravitated toward people and situations that took up a lot of space or needed “fixing.” I was comfortable offering help but unable to ask for it or take it. Self-sacrifice was also affirmed by my parent’s strong charismatic Catholic faith. I erroneously took this way of being to mean that I was a great friend, daughter and partner and became fiercely loyal to those in my circle.

Which is why I didn’t take lightly the decision to break from a long-term friendship. The decision was the result of acknowledging the hard truth that our relationship had gotten to an unhealthy place. For a long while I denied the repeated sting and pain of rejection in the form of broken plans and interest in my life. I rationalized that my friend had it harder, that this was a passing phase, and that I was truly important even as things gradually deteriorated. The breaking point came in the form of an almost imperceptible slight that lit the match to a deep anger. I was furious.

Being angry was the easy part. I desperately needed to hear how careless my friend had been and how this carelessness was not an isolated incident. Validation brought me temporary relief, however, as simmering just beneath the adrenaline of self-righteousness was a deep sadness I was afraid to touch; the belief that I was somehow unlovable. Old feelings of being flawed, too much, and essentially feeling rejected and unseen were bubbling up, threatening to break the surface. Like that fateful day in 1978, I desperately wanted to feel connected and ‘good’ again. Unlike that day, I had honed an effective arsenal to keep from feeling that same shame and unworthiness. Every time the searing pain of rejection surfaced I pushed it further down with another double-espresso shot of anger. I wanted my friend to bear sole responsibility for my pain and I created an iron-clad narrative in which I was the victim. I told the same stories, with more refined words, a new analysis, or to a new audience to keep the validation going. Even so, my suffering was not diminishing. What’s more, I couldn’t recognize myself or my friend amid my bitter chatter. Out of sheer desperation, I told my friend I needed a break.

While it was heartbreaking, I was also relieved. Without a steady supply of fuel for my anger, however, I came face to face with a deep sadness that was difficult to bear. It was painful to think my friend couldn’t or didn’t care for our friendship but even more devastating to think that perhaps I was not worthy of being cared for. There was also the gnawing feeling that this wasn’t the only relationship with this pattern. Without distractions, I was forced to examine my deepest beliefs about myself. Was I not worthy of my friend’s love? Was I not worthy of love? Was I not worthy?

Years prior I attended a training called the Core Sensitivities taught by Kent Hoffman, a gifted clinician who shares the wisdom of how attachment, the bond we share with our primary caregivers, creates the blueprint for how we see and interact with the world. While I sat in that room as a “professional”, I was leveled by his insights, tears welling up from a deep place. At the time I lacked words to convey what was happening but have now come to see that I was recognizing all the ways in which my childhood didn’t allow for space to be seen or heard. Despite my parent’s fierce love, the legacy and worn patterns of our family trauma meant I had adopted unhealthy patterns to attract and keep love. I, like all of us, searched for this presence in forms that were familiar. Kent talked about the words that changed his life: Everyone you will ever meet has infinite worth. In short, every single one of us is valuable. This value is never earned but simply a universal truth, dissolving the illusion that some people are deserving of love while others are not. I was actually pretty good at recognizing the value of other people. In fact, I had learned and practiced how to elevate other’s worth above my own. But not seeing my own value meant I needed other people to see it for me, for me to feel worthy and loved and that was simply unsustainable and dangerous. Brené Brown talks about the difference between fitting in and true belonging:

“Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be, to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn't require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.”

I had accepted the promise of fitting in so many times as a cheap substitute for true belonging. Without understanding my own worth, I was incapable of setting boundaries for what was and was not acceptable.

In the 10 months, I didn’t see my friend I slowly came to terms with the fact that our relationship was very comfortable because it mirrored all the relationships that came before. In absorbing the belief that I was valued by how much I was able to give and how others saw me (and expecting others to satisfy the need for belonging), I handed over the reins to my self-worth and never asked for what I needed. My relationship with myself and by extension other people was therefore conditional, fed by acts and deeds but not presence. I knew this to be true because even after my friend had apologized, I still wasn’t satisfied. It was because no amount of apologizing could satisfy my deep, first wounds. Those first wounds– trauma from loss, not being seen or heard, or abuse – run deep and demand healing. Without healing, we will continue to find new situations and people that replicate these conditions whether we realize it or not. We will need to distract ourselves with busyness and outside validation. We will, as Brené wisely points out: “hustle for our worthiness.”

I had spent a lifetime hustling by achieving, proving, doing more and expecting less in the hope that I will be loved and seen. Taking ownership of my own worth frees me to be more generous and compassionate to others. It was true that my friend had been struggling and it was also true that my friend had hurt me. These narratives existed simultaneously. It was also true that until I got clear about what was acceptable in relationships I was destined to repeat these same patterns with my friend and others which really had nothing to do with them. While there was a sadness in the loss of a comfortable relationship, there is the possibility of a new one based on self-respect and clear boundaries. Understanding that I am not required to deny what I need to be loved or valued allows me to love more deeply and compassionately. The daily practice of acknowledging infinite worth grounds me in this truth. I think of that little girl in her red jacket and I finally see her fully. I can give her what she needs now and free her from the conditional approval of others. In doing so, I can free others to ask for what they need as well. This is the power of self-love which is not really selfish at all.