the happy cactus

When I was 16 I dated a sweet lad – we shall call him Brad. He was a car enthusiast, a rev-head, and I was not. After merely a week of being totally love struck, I was soon thinking yeah nah yeah he is not for me. Nothing in particular stood out, I just was not into him as much as I thought I was. Well actually, I lie…he was always ‘happy’ to see me if ya know what I mean. Like always. It grossed me out and being the innocent little lamb that I was and having very limited education about the male body, it was a turn off because it was always there, silently eyeballing me. I felt like there were three of us in the relationship and I had no clue how to address it.

He was into me though. Like really, really into me. And hence began a three month and four day long relationship that was full of moments where I would pluck up the courage and attempt to break up with him. I just could not do it. Each time I broached the topic, I felt waves of guilt pour over me. I was petrified of letting him down, of breaking his heart, of making him unhappy. Classic me though, years of learned behaviour of putting my needs way, way below those around me. Childhood trauma will do that to you.

Part of my origin story is as follows: I was just shy of turning nine when my darling mother died. Severe Asthma attack. Unexpectedly, my entire universe unravelled and was thrust headlong into a chaotic black abyss of loss, loneliness, confusion, anger and being referred to as ‘that girl’ whose mother died. Subsequently, my father went into shock and fell apart which was very hard to witness. The mother of his babies and the core of his entire world totally crushed into oblivion; part of his heart ceased to beat from that moment on. I remember waking up and hearing him sobbing in the early hours of the morning. I would quietly climb onto his lap and cuddle him and tell him it would be all be okay. I can remember morphing into a ‘parent’ trying to make my dad feel better despite the suffocating weight of my own despair and overwhelming grief. It was a pivotal moment for me. A moment that paved the way of becoming an unsuspecting martyr and placing my needs, my dreams and my wants aside to cater for the new role of bootlicker or people pleaser. Nobody asked me to step up but I distinctly remember a sense of duty washing over me to help mother my little brothers and make everyone happy. Being an empath, this was where my instincts would read the room and act accordingly, something I still do to this day. I continue to work on managing my bootlicking ways and let me tell you…it is painstakingly arduous and exhausting. I am a lifelong member with a gold card and absolutely no perks!!

Hence why it took me just over three months to work up the nerve to break up with him. What??? I hear you say in an astonished tone. You realised after a week you wanted to ditch the relationship yet you took THREE MONTHS to do it? Well, I was a naïve 16 y/o and it was difficult to speak up and the thought of Brad being sad and unhappy made me physically nauseous. Thus it was easier to just stay. Not because I thought I would never find anyone else to love me. Not because my self-esteem was so low. Nor was it because there were slim pickings in the church to choose from. But because I was a people pleaser, a bootlicker and the thought of crushing his heart made me put my needs further down the list. I wanted to, but couldn’t. My people pleasing behaviours ran deeper than the Mariana Trench and were so deeply embedded into my personality they altered my DNA. The story ends well, actually not for Brad, but for me. I spoke with my good friend Darve (now husband) who gave me the best sound advice regarding breaking up. It really was not fair to be in an empty relationship that was holding us both back from who we were meant to grow into.

Riding high on a cocktail of adrenaline, nerves and a kick ass attitude, I crushed his heart later that night. At the time, it was one of the hardest thing I had to do. Breaking up with someone is horrid, like swallowing cold vomit. Not pleasant. So much so that as soon as I said ‘hey I don’t think it’s working and I want to break up’, he started crying and I felt so terrible I immediately said ‘oh no, we don’t have to break up. We can stay together if it makes you happy’. What the heck mate!!! I take three months to finally verbalise my decision only to renege on it as soon as Brad’s eyes unleashed a torrent of tears? Needless to say, I remained firm in my breakup. The most agonising aspect of the entire night was that my brother was driving us home from church and had to drop Brad home. A forty-five minute car ride. An uncomfortable, heavy atmosphere blanketed the car as the awkward silence was sporadically interrupted with Brad’s sobs all the way home.

Longest, most excruciating car ride EVER!

If I could travel back in time to my 16 year old self, I would give her a big hug and tell her the best decisions are often the hardest decisions.