Neediness

I hate needing people.

I've spent a lot of my adult life actively cultivating toughness and independence. It hasn't come naturally. There's nothing wrong with seeking to be stronger and more capable, but I think I've crossed into a kind of unhealthy place. A place where I often feel like a failure if I have to call someone for help or prayer, or if I'm unable to, say, pick up and move a 50-inch TV. A place where my wrath is unleashed if anyone (especially a man) implies that I'm weak or can't handle myself. An island where I try to heal my hurts by telling myself I don't need anyone, people are undependable anyway, the only person I can always count on to have my back is me.

My parents, especially my dad, are the only people with totally free passage over my moat of self-reliance. When I was first navigating life and homeownership by myself, I had to let them help me. I couldn't do it all alone. Years later, that's still true more often than I like. But even though I don't think they should have to help their 33-year-old daughter maintain her lawn mower, or come over to let her cable guy in, I can handle it because I know that my neediness will never drive them away. They're not keeping accounts. They will still love and accept me no matter what. I don't feel that security with anyone outside my immediate family. That's not the fault of my close friends, who are steadfast, amazing, and have never given me reason to doubt them. It's just my own personal damage. I don't want to be a burden to anyone, making their lives difficult or giving them a reason to ditch me. And when it comes to church community, that's compounded by the vulnerability involved in talking about deeper needs. Handing people an opportunity to mock or shrug off or totally misunderstand your neediness is a scary, scary thing.

I generally don't have a problem accepting my dependence on God. I'm constantly aware that I'm dependent on Him for everything, including the air I breathe. But my feelings about needing other people do affect how I feel about my need of God. I constantly fight the (false) impression that He's exasperated with me, wondering when I'll ever get a grip and stop pestering Him all the time. I feel apologetic when I get too petition-y in prayer. I get annoyed that with every year, I feel more dependent on Him, not less, and shouldn't I have made progress by now? Last night I flipped through old sermon notes for encouragement and inspiration. Again and again, over more than a year's worth of sermons, I saw this theme reflected back at me:

God wants us to live in childlike dependence on Him.

We can't appreciate God's strength and power without knowing our own weakness.

Our self-image must be deconstructed before faith can become real.

The goal is not self-sufficiency, but Christ-sufficiency.

Needing God is not remedial Christianity, but mature Christianity.

Self-reliance is the enemy of our souls.

We were not created for autonomy.

The thing is, I like to be needed. I like to be there for others in practical ways. It gives me a chance to show that I care, and be part of God's work in their lives. It also helps me feel like my life means something. I fully understand the value of interdependence on the giving end, but have a hard time comprehending it on the receiving end. However, I recently had the revelation that spiritually healthy people are not afraid to be needed in a healthy way. If someone expects a relationship, even a casual friendship, to be 100% about her and her needs, something is wrong. If someone tears you down or cuts you out of his life for being too needy – in a normal way, not needy to a codependent, vampirish degree – the problem is with him, not you. That doesn't totally take away the pain or humiliation, but it helps.

Neediness is messy and unpleasant and uncomfortable. But it's an unavoidable part of being a human. Some people are just better at hiding or suppressing it than others.

Awkward.

Poor turtle needs a hug!

"Embrace the awkward" is a statement I hear a lot at church these days. My church is really trying to foster community, and from where I'm sitting, it's going well. But many of us often hesitate to approach new people, or get more "real" with people we already know, for fear of painful awkwardness. I know that's true of me. We're afraid of running out of witty conversation topics, or of stepping on someone's toes, or just of people thinking we're weird. Acknowledging this in a big group setting has been freeing for me. Instead of worrying about possible awkwardness, I can accept that there will be awkwardness and learn to be okay with it. Not that I've learned yet, but I'm getting there. Also, one of my pastors pointed out that it was pretty awkward for Jesus to become human and be among us.

Maybe we should also have a demonstration of awkward turtle. It's a useful and under-used gesture!

Across the Hall



I lived in a dorm for all four years of college (well, three years in a dorm and then one year in on-campus apartments). Despite the less-than-stellar lodging, it was one of the best times of my life. Recently my heart has been longing to live in a dorm again - or the grown-up version, living on a street or in a neighborhood with a bunch of friends. I'm generally still leery of the roommate thing, for many reasons - my innate protectiveness of my own space, combining belongings while still having to keep track of Mine and Yours, fear of someone's boyfriend being there all the time and preventing me from relaxing in my pajamas. But if I could have close community and keep my home and my space? That would be perfection.

What I miss about dorm life is the easy, spontaneous social interaction; the comfort of being one bee in a massive hive. Friends were naturally part of my days. I could be alone if I wanted to, but if I wanted company for a walk, or for dinner, or just to watch a favorite show, a friend could be available in five minutes. If all else failed, I could go to a common area and see who was around. Hanging out was flexible, not a commitment that had to be penciled in weeks ahead of time. (There was also an element of excitement, because you never knew who you might run into or where the day/night might take you.) As adults with responsibilities, we inevitably lose a lot of that freedom, but I don't believe we have to lose all of it. If I lived really close to a bunch of like-minded friends, there would be no reason why I couldn't call someone at 7:30 on a Monday night and say, "Hey, want to come over for a few minutes and talk while I fold this laundry?" Or, "I baked a cake, want to stop by and keep me from eating it all by myself?" They could also call me and say, "Could you come entertain the baby for half an hour so I can get something done?" It goes both ways.

I think a lot of people - married and single - long for this kind of day-to-day involvement in each other's lives. I'm experiencing a great sense of community at my church, which is something I've needed and prayed for for a long time, and I'm truly thankful and thrilled about it. But it's not quite the same as what I'm talking about here. I live across town from most of my friends, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. But hopefully this season of aloneness is temporary... in one way or another.