I am a Resentment Queen. Part One.
In which I consider one of the many sources of my resentment
So I mentioned in my dictionary entry for resentment that one source of this terrible, wonderful emotion for me is filling voids.
Oh! Hey. I’ll define filling voids even though it’s not an emotion:
Filling Voids: Managing anxiety — fear of chaos, intolerance of ambiguity, need for someone to be in charge — by stepping up and being competent where others just cannot be relied upon.
I became a void filler because I grew up in a pretty unpredictable home. And, frankly, because I was raised by a void filler who modeled the behavior magnificently. We void fillers are observant (some might even say hyper-vigilant), organized, super-competent. We take control. We do it all for everyone and make it look easy.
Why? Why would anyone do this?
Because we void fillers believe any number of things (sometimes consciously, most likely unconsciously):
I’ll be loved if I fill this void. (Or I’ll be hated and abandoned if I don’t.)
If I don’t fill this void, no one else will.
If someone else fills this void, they won’t do it as well as I will.
I’m the competent one here; everyone else is incompetent.
If I don’t take control, chaos (or something else terrible) will ensue.
For void-fillers, filling voids happens automatically because of the emotional and dynamic stakes involved. No blame. Just reality. A dysfunctional reality.
The good news is that most void fillers, certainly me, can’t fill voids indefinitely. Because at some point our miraculous organisms rebel. They send up to our consciousness a feeling, a terrible feeling, of anger and hatred and self-pity and self-righteousness.
In short, a feeling of resentment. A signal that my life is out of balance. That I’m out of whack. That I’m living in — yea, living on — disequilibrium. And that I’ve got to get
back in whack.
To review: I see resentment as a signal that my life is out of balance. One source of my life’s imbalance is void filling, which I do automatically because it’s a psychic survival mechanism. The reason I love resentment is that, while my void filling might be unconscious, resentment is hard to deny. It is my cue to get myself back in whack.
So how do I get back in whack once I’ve noticed my resentment? It’s not easy. But here’s the first step:
I stop doing what I’m doing.
I notice my compulsion to step up and do the dishes. Walk the dog. Cook the dinner.
Listen to my complaining colleague — again. Take on the holiday planning for the entire extended family. Volunteer for yet another task that I don’t have time for. Do what someone else wants me to do even though I definitively do not want to do it.
And I say, “No.” To myself, surely. Sometimes to someone else. Or, if I don’t want to say anything out loud (since saying anything can invite anxiety-producing pushback), I just don’t do it. I let the void lie.
Hard, I know. But not filling the void is, well, the best way I know to break the out-of-whack habit of void-filling.
Here’s the second step for getting back in whack:
I ask for what I need.
This one’s hard, too! Because void fillers like me have learned over time that we don’t need anything. Need is for weaklings, for people who need us to step up and do the work for them.
Really, though? Void fillers can’t afford to feel any need because we know those needs won’t be met. That is, we learned very early on that our job is to take care of others, not to be taken care of ourselves. So we don’t bother feeling what we know will be ignored.
We void fillers fill voids to protect ourselves from deep disappointment in the people whose needs trump our own.
Nonetheless, an important step towards getting back in whack is to ask for what we need anyway. At the very least, we will begin to become familiar with those needs and can start fighting to get them met.
Next step (if all goes well):
I survive getting what I’ve asked for.
Another hard one! (This is why filling voids and feeling resentful can feel so much easier than listening to our resentment and getting back in whack.) I don’t know how many void fillers I have worked with who resist the above steps because they know what’s going to happen. They’re going to feel
guilty.
Guilty for having needs. Guilty for letting others down (by asking them to step up). Guilty for calling out the truth. Guilty for bucking the relational system that requires them (us, me) to pretend we don’t see the truth. Guilty for giving others the excuse to hurt and abandon us. Guilty for being such a bad, mean, selfish person.
Guilty because our very void filling is premised on our deep, by now probably unconscious, assumption that we have no intrinsic value or power. That we are always at risk of being abandoned or overwhelmed. That getting what we want flouts the law of nature that says we don’t exist unless we sacrifice ourselves for others. That getting what we want will get us in trouble.
And guilt because of our model of the universe, the dichotomous model of all-giving vs. all-getting, all on or all off. Given that model, if we get what we want — if we’re on the all-getting side of the dichotomy — then the other person is necessarily on the all-giving side and will, in turn, resent us.
And we know how terrible that is.
But our work is to survive all this. To look for changes in the people we’re in relationship with. To seek out people who want to and can respond lovingly to us as we practice having our own needs and practice letting others have their needs without automatic interference from us. To train the people we’re with to get used to the new self-respecting us. To commit to self-respect whether we’re with people who get used to it or not.
Oh and: We need to survive not getting what we’ve asked for and the
glimpse of reality
that offers us.
Which means we get to ask ourselves,
“What am I willing to do with this information (this glimpse of reality)(this failure)(this disappointment)?”
Cuz, at bottom, the antidote to resentment, besides rebalancing, is becoming a conscious agent in my own life: deciding what I will do and deciding what I won’t do. For the right (and by that I mean healthy, sustainable) reasons. Which makes me a better person. Better for me. Better for you.
I don’t know about you, but I am desperate for better us-es.