Like all people, Herself thinks often about the individuals who are important to her. She reaches out to them periodically by text or e-mail (or even on occasion by telephone): she sends them cartoons they'll find amusing, or articles that might be interesting to them. Sometimes, her purpose is just to touch base to affirm a connection to them. She doesn't necessarily expect a reply; oftentimes it's enough to have sent forth a word to them. I am thinking of you.
There are also times when she wishes to elicit a response -- some kind of return acknowledgment to assuage her need for human connection. She might write of what makes her happy or sad, in the hopes they will share her joy or help alleviate her sorrow. She might inquire about their opinions or about their plans. Or perhaps she merely wants to receive word that the person is well. She likes to know.
Sometimes that goal of evoking a reply is not realized. It's not an earth-shattering event; everyone has things to do and his or her own life to lead, and may not be capable, either literally or metaphorically, of responding at a particular point in time. She knows this. (This is, in fact, why she prefers text and e-mail; they can be read at the receiver's convenience, and she feels less as though she might be intruding on someone else's activities or solitude.) It is fine. She hopes that her people will reach out to her in turn when they are not busy. She waits.
When she has not received any reply for a period of time, though, she becomes uncomfortable. How long a silence is too long for her? That varies with the circumstances. At some juncture, though, she crosses a threshold, and then she is lost. She has completely inexplicable reaction to the lack of communication. It is out of proportion. The silence frightens her. It's akin to panic. Visceral, primitive. Terrible. Terrifying.
If she could give it a name, it would be: Abandonment.
The Beast of Abandonment is coming; it is not a question of if, but of when. This she knows, in the same way she knows that the moon waxes and wanes. It is the Nature of the World.
The Beast whispers: They do not care. You are Alone.
No amount of reasoning with her brain can soothe her primordial fear of the Beast. Only contact with the person in question can reassure and console her.
She doesn't understand why she feels this way; she just knows she does. Sometimes when she is feeling fine, she wonders what Freud would say.
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There are many times when Herself's Beloved Husband works very long hours. He is tremendously dedicated to his work as well to several boards and activities. We admire his commitment and his work ethic. With his dedication, though, comes the shadow of the Beast. Even though she knows that he spends time with her to the best of his abilities, and even though he periodically reassures her that he is thinking of her even when he doesn't communicate with her, she can still see the Beast lurking in the dark places. She knows it is there. Always.
Today when she came home, though, she found an unexpected light: mail. When Beloved Husband was away over the weekend, he took the time to write and send her two note cards.
Ah.
It has been ages and ages since she's received letters from him, yet there they were: tangible evidence that she was not out of mind, even though she was out of sight. And the Beast momentarily slunk away, into the recesses of her mind's jungle.
It is the small miracles like these -- a pen taken to paper, a stone put in a pocket -- that tell her that despite her being the way she is, she is not Alone. She does matter. And at least for that day, she need not fear the Beast.
The lesson that she has yet to learn: she is Enough.
It’s easy to feel uncared for when people aren't able to communicate and connect with you in the way you need. And it’s so hard not to internalize that silence as a reflection on your worth. But the truth is that the way other people operate is not about you. Most people are so caught up in their own responsibilities, struggles, and anxiety that the thought of asking someone else how they’re doing doesn’t even cross their mind. They aren’t inherently bad or uncaring — they’re just busy and self-focused. And that’s okay. It’s not evidence of some fundamental failing on your part. It doesn’t make you unloveable or invisible.... [D]espite what you feel, you are not too much. You are not too sensitive or too needy. You are thoughtful and empathetic. You are compassionate and kind. And with or without anyone’s acknowledgment or affection, you are enough. ― Daniell Koepke
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