I have been an altruist these last few months—I just didn't know it. I have helped others get what they want by stepping back. Sometimes, that’s what it takes. And sometimes, people don’t know what they want. My family used to act as if I were an awful person for being distant, yet all along, they wanted me out of their lives. I obliged, and I must say, there have been absolutely no complaints on their end. For that, I am glad. We are living our own lives, as we should have done decades ago. Sadly, it takes a long time to figure out certain things in life.
Regarding my desire to return to my job at Kalaloch Lodge: by removing my application from the pile, I have given them what they want. That is: having nothing to do with me. I was not the best employee. In fact, it’s funny to think about. I used to look through the Employee of the Month container when I worked there (curiously, they didn’t lock it) and remove any votes in my favor. I never wanted to be in the spotlight. To be honest, I was always terrified of being noticed. What I found interesting was how some cards would say things like, "X deserves Employee of the Month because he keeps the kitchen running," as if one person’s presence was so vital—greater than the combined efforts of everyone else. No one has that kind of power, yet we like to believe we are the indispensable cog in the wheel. This illusion of grandeur is amusing, and I always chuckled when reading those cards.
I have always been the kind of person to bow out of places where I feel unwanted.
Another recent example is the world of my in-laws. I never fit in with them. At one point, I tried—perhaps because I had nowhere else to go. But I don’t get along with them. I feel empty and don't want to deal with it anymore. The last trip back to Spokane for the funeral of a father-in-law kind of cemented that. Having left social media has made some uneasy, but I believe that’s more about their own insecurity than any real desire to keep me around. I have found the same pattern with my own family. These people don't want me in their lives: They want to feel accepted by me, as if my acceptance is that important. Here's the thing: It's not. I'm tired. I want to live my own life now and the past has exhausted me.
Am I a Sociopath? Some May Think So...
I have recently been reading Confessions of a Sociopath by M.E. Thomas, and it has shed some light on aspects of myself. While I fail many of the sociopathy tests, there are certain traits I recognize in myself. One is my writing—I don’t care what others think when I write. Perhaps I am a sociopathic writer. I also find that I grow cold toward people, even those I once loved, and I don’t always care about my words or actions. I used to think of this as a flaw and felt guilt about it. Now, I embrace it because I value having an outlet for honesty. For years, I hid aspects of myself. Strangely, by being too "nice," I pushed people away. Perhaps that’s why I ended up estranged from my family. I was the "nice" one—the one who visited and never spoke up when I was hurt. I always wanted things to work out. Unlike my sisters, I never argued or lashed out. Now, they are the ones who remain, smoothing things over with my volatile mother, while I have no connection with her at all. But that estrangement goes deeper—after all, she once tried to throw a hair dryer into the bathtub while I was in it. She also admitted that she could not love me, even as a baby.
I Am the Dark Spot that Challenges My Mother's Self-Image
Speaking of which, I find that I am the "elephant in the room" when it comes to my mother. She presents herself as a loving, accepting, kind, and compassionate person. Her Facebook page paints her as the embodiment of love. Yet, in truth, she is highly insecure, constantly posting about "not caring what others think." This insecurity is almost comical to me. A truly loving person doesn’t disown their children or treat them as she did us. She can never undo the fact that she was often overbearing, ruthless, and devoid of love, using control to feed her fragile ego. As children, we had to maintain a spotless home—not for our well-being, but so she could appear as the perfect homemaker. Perhaps she sought to impress her own parents. Yet, we were her little slaves. If we missed a single speck of dirt, we had to start over. Meanwhile, she would sit at her WebTV, spending hours crafting the perfect email signature, while we vacuumed and dusted endlessly. Then, her boyfriend from Hawaii would call, and she’d disappear upstairs for hours. Eventually, she left us for a year before returning and taking over my father’s house. It was a nightmare, one I am relieved to be far away from.
I believe my mother was partly relieved when I distanced myself, but another part of her was horrified. When I left, I took her most cherished possession with me: her first granddaughter. It is ironic—she resented me for the close bond I had with my grandparents, yet in the end, she lost the one thing she wanted most. Life has a funny way of playing out. If that’s not karma, I don’t know what is.
I Know When to Leave Relationships and Quickly Oblige
I think it is in my nature to know when to leave, and I see that as a strength. Granted, sometimes I may leave too soon or misread people. Perhaps there were those who were simply too shy to reach out, and I mistook their silence for rejection. Maybe I disappointed people who wanted me in their lives by assuming they had grown cold toward me. But that is the cost. All friendships and relationships fade if they are not nurtured. I saw this with my former friend Vanessa from Forks—after a short absence, our friendship collapsed. The same thing happened with the people in Queets. After I moved away and returned six months later, I was a stranger to them. Many friendships require constant contact and reassurance, and I struggle with that. I don’t like insecure friendships. I want friends who can come and go, pick up where we left off, and not need constant validation. But many people are not like that. They move on quickly, treating you as if you never existed. To me, that’s not a real friendship, and I don’t see the need to be desperate enough to accept it.
According to psychological research, social withdrawal can sometimes be a sign of self-preservation rather than avoidance. Studies indicate that estrangement, particularly from toxic family dynamics, can lead to greater well-being and reduced psychological distress (Agllias, 2018). Additionally, the ability to detach from unhealthy relationships aligns with findings in attachment theory, which suggest that avoiding toxic relationships can be beneficial for long-term emotional health (Mikulincer & Shaver, 2016). Ultimately, recognizing when to leave may not be a flaw—it may be a sign of self-awareness and growth.
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