You could probably guess this upon first getting to know me, but I am really good at making friends with people. Not to brag, or anything. It’s just a skill I’ve accumulated over the years. People tend to like me. I, in return, tend to like people. I thrive off of them. The more people I know, the better off I am.
Or so I thought. Lately, I don’t know how to connect with others. Or maybe, I know how to connect with others too well. I find myself constantly reaching out to everyone I meet. I want to know their problems. I want to help them and love on them and make them feel better. But in doing so, I forget about myself. I don’t tell people when I am hurting, or when I need help. I feel like I have to be so strong for everyone else, like they are too fragile to handle the weight of my problems too. Thus, I pick them up, throw them on my shoulders, and carry them through their burdened journey and avoid going down my own path that desperately needs to be adventured on.
I know when the problem started. I know why it got worse. I know why it is so hard for me to let people in, but I’m not sharing it. I don’t know how. Or maybe I don’t want to? Maybe it’s my way of hiding my vulnerability. But aren’t we called to be vulnerable with one another? Aren’t we called to lean on one another?
God never asked me to walk alone. He never asked me to take on everyone’s burden. You see, this time last year I was starting my job as a freshman RA. While tackling that job, I quickly lost friends. It was too hard for people to schedule around the fact that my life no longer revolved around me, but instead around the girls that I took on as my charges. I had curfew, again. I had dorm events and devos. I had people that needed me, and my friends had plans that I didn’t fit into because of that. They wanted to go out after Midnight because they could. They wanted to go out for dinners and play games and do things that conflicted with the time I had to spend with my residents. And at first, that was okay. But then it continued. I felt left out, unwanted, and most importantly, unloved.
A few months later, and I finally started to connect to people again. I was open with people, telling them how I was feeling. I was telling them when things were wrong. I told them when I was hurting or in pain. At first, it worked out quite nicely and I was once again surrounded by people who loved me. And then, those people weren’t there either faster than I could blink my eyes. I kept picking these people who I thought would stick around, but instead, decided to serve a short time in my life and leave.
You see, that’s the problem with being able to friend well with lots of people. You are able to connect quickly, but that doesn’t mean the connection always lasts. To them, I served my time, and that was enough for them. They moved on, leaving me to move on too.
Here I am at the beginning of the school year, though, and I don’t trust people. Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of friends. I know they love me and that they would do anything for me. They’ve proven it so many times this year. Yet, I cannot for the life of me tell them what is wrong. I can’t tell them my hurts. I don’t want to talk about the fact that I’m stressed to the max. I don’t want to cry in front of them. I don’t trust them enough to be weak, and that’s not okay.
If anything, I’ve been reminded by people that it is okay to share my burdens. I’ve been reminded that I have friends that won’t leave me high and dry. And to be honest, I’ve been reminded of that fact by people I wouldn’t have ever expected to tell me things like that.
Like I said, God never called us to rely on ourselves, or do life by ourselves. People need people. We need friends, family, and we need God. So here I am, about to start my final year of college. I have people in my life that love me. I have people that are willing to talk to me, hear me out no matter what I have to say. More than that, they push me to talk to them even when it’s hard. Because of that, I know this year will be better than last year. And because of them, I know that I can rely on them just as much as they can rely on me, and for that, we will be better off.
“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?” Ecclesiastes 4: 9-11