Of course, it was difficult for me. She didn’t hide her pain or zip it up safely inside for the sake of others, the way I was used to doing. Theresa was living in the centre of that hurt, anger and confusion. I don’t think I had ever let myself go that far. Sure, I’d been hurt, but I didn’t allow myself to be wounded. I may not have known it then, but Theresa was already so far ahead of me. She was going to be authentic no matter what the cost. “I’m not even transparent,” she tells me now. “I’m translucent. I can’t hide stuff.” But at the time, that was all I was good at.

Holding my friend in her time of pain

Sitting across from her, I felt like such an impostor. I hid the fact that I was scared, that I hadn’t yet experienced that typhoon of emotion, the life event that brings you to your knees. How was I supposed to help her if I hadn’t gone through it myself? So I just listened. I let her talk. I let her be silent. I stood witness to where she was at that moment. It was all I knew how to do.

But to Theresa, even my slapdash style of help meant the world to her. “Certain people don’t know how to negotiate pain. You held my pain in your hands like a slippery warm egg. I knew it wouldn’t break, not in your hands.” To hear those words now, I’m in awe of her. The level of trust that she brought to our friendship made me begin to trust myself. I was going to need it. My own storm was already on the horizon.

She didn’t hide her pain or zip it up safely inside for the sake of others, the way I was used to doing

I was his rock

It’s been about eight months since I’ve spoken with my nephew. He’s 16 now and has changed into someone who I don’t really recognise. Maybe all parents feel this way, but I wasn’t supposed to be his parent. I was supposed to be the fun aunt, who got to take him out for ramen and gyoza, and to films where people swear in different languages. But as time went by, I began to really care about that boy. Maybe because someone had to. His home life wasn’t ever stable after the divorce of his parents. He needed a rock, and I was it.

That’s probably why it hurts so much more now that he’s not in my life. Sometimes I wonder what I could have done differently? Other times, I’m angry with myself for opening up my heart, only to get hurt. There are even times when I catch myself reminiscing about his childhood. I see us laughing so hard, we’re rolling on the floor. I know this is the path he’s chosen, that the journey to being a man has some parts where you travel alone. But it’s hard to let go. It’s hard to be hurt.

I understood loss

Some time later, I truly understood what Theresa was feeling. I haven’t gone through a failed adoption, but I experienced someone, whom I had opened my whole heart to, walk right out of my life. I understood loss. I understood those feelings of confusion, anger and hurt. I knew what it was like to be brought to your knees. If Theresa had seen me during this time, she would have recognised the vacant look in my eyes, the taste of heartache in the air. But I didn’t let her in on my suffering. I wasn’t as brave as she was. Still, throughout this whole process, Theresa has been on my mind. I realise now that she’s the strongest person I know. And not just for surviving life’s trials but for allowing me to see that fragile part of herself, for trusting me with her tired heart, for accepting my vain attempts to try to make her feel better. Whether I like it or not, she’s been trying to do that for me now.

If Theresa had seen me during this time, she would have recognised the vacant look in my eyes, the taste of heartache in the air

You may ask, what’s the point of vulnerability?

You may want to save yourself all that hurt. Stay at home and eat cup-o-noodles for one. I guess I could look at things that way too. But I’ve lived enough life to know that the lesson isn’t always visible. The thing about vulnerability is that sometimes you will get hurt, and you’ll get hurt bad. I don’t want to deny that that’s not a possibility, having gone through my own private tour of hell. But the experience of being vulnerable, of holding your precious heart out to someone else, opened my world so much more than it would have been. If I hadn’t let my nephew into my heart, I wouldn’t see the world the way I do now. The colours are richer, the feelings are deeper and the tastes are more immediate. And wouldn’t you want to read something from a writer who has tasted despair and hurt, joy and elation with all of her being rather than someone holed up in the middle of nowhere, not living?

What being vulnerable taught Theresa

Theresa has said that the experience of that adoption journey has made her more grateful for the two beautiful children she was finally able to adopt. “I definitely appreciate my kids more. I appreciate the kids for their strength. We all fought to get to each other.” And while she’s still healing from losing her first adopted child, she acknowledges all the gifts she’s gained because of it. “My children, when they hear that story someday about the brother they have but don’t have will be able to appreciate vulnerability as a strength. If that story hadn’t happened, they wouldn’t have happened. I want my kids to value vulnerability.”

Vulnerability deepens the connection between two people. it makes your life richer

But she also acknowledges that vulnerability is a never-ending process. “Parenthood, it flays you open on a daily basis. Things you didn’t think would hurt you, do. When my daughter doesn’t want to kiss me good night, it hurts. But it’s birthing. I keep telling myself that we’re not done yet,” she says. And we will never be done. But with each encounter, we will love deeper and hope deeper. We will not be afraid to show our hearts. Isn’t that what it means to be human?

Vulnerability deepens the bond

When you’re vulnerable, it means you’re open. You’re allowing yourself to be yourself, to be authentic. In a relationship, this quality is non-negotiable. If you’re only going to hide behind your veneer, the other person will never truly get to know you with all your quirks and flaws. When we are vulnerable, it allows us to be receptive to love, and it gives the other person an opportunity to give love and practise compassion. Vulnerability deepens the connection between two people. And it makes your life richer.

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I was stood up yet again

But, as I was sitting in Starbucks, watching the minute hand move farther and farther away from six ‘o clock, I realised that I was mistaken. I had been stood up—again. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was in traffic, I thought to myself, even though I knew he lived five minutes away. I waited 45 minutes, hoping he would walk through those glass doors, apologising profusely for his lateness. But he didn’t show up. I was left to sit there alone, cruelly sandwiched between two couples. I could have called him for sure but I was tired of always calling people. For once, I wanted to be important enough for a man to remember.

As I drove home that evening, I didn’t cry. I wasn’t even angry. It was more like my heart was sighing, like it had already accepted the fact that I would never find a man, at least not one who cared about me and my feelings. If I had been prettier, would that have made a difference? I thought to myself. Maybe nicer eyes or clearer skin or bigger bust would have made him remember. But before I could descend into that well of self-doubt again, I heard his voice loud and clear—a seven-year-old saying to me, “Look for kindness.”

The rise and fall of my optimism

When I turned 33, I had felt like I had reached this pivotal age. I mean, Jesus died at that age. That was momentous. And here I was, still bitching and moaning that I didn’t have a man. Well, that year I was determined to do something different, something more proactive to change my single status. So I joined a dating service and I told all my friends that I was open to being set up.

The thing about starting a new project is that in the beginning, you’re so optimistic. I would say to myself, “Surely, in this sea of men, the one I want is out there looking for me.” But as the months dragged on, and the dates began to blend into one big bad date, I became less and less sure. By the middle of the year, a part of me had already given up.

One day, I was sitting with my seven-year-old nephew, bemoaning the state of my affairs. The poor kid had watched me come back from each date, looking depressed and feeling like love would never happen for me. “Look for kindness,” he said, trying to cheer me up.

“What?”

“Kindness, that’s what you need to look for, Aunty.”

I scoffed at him. I put on that air of what do you know, kid? I wasn’t about to take love advice from someone who thought the mall was a honeymoon destination or that fifty dollars was a lot of money to spend on a wedding ring. Didn’t he know? I was looking for kindness. I was trying to keep my heart open. But it just wasn’t working. Over the course of that year, I had been stood up more times then I’d like to count. One of the guys even fled the restaurant minutes after I arrived, saying that he had an emergency. And then, there were the weird ones like that one guy who thought it was a gallant show of affection to kiss my hand on the first date. There could not be enough hand sanitiser to get rid of that creepy feeling. My nephew didn’t get it. Who could blame him? He was seven. He was innocent to the storms of life. But in retrospect, it was me who didn’t get it.

Meet the 12-year-old sage

Of course, I ignored my nephew’s advice and kept pushing forward in dating. There were some high points I guess. It’s not like I didn’t experience kindness; I did. Men opened their car doors for me and made nice conversation but no one really seemed to care about getting to know me in particular. It was all surface stuff. At that point, I thought I was going to die an old maid. The week before I turned thirty-nine, I was weeping almost every day. “No!” I said to the universe, “I won’t turn 40 yet! Not until you give me what I want!” Now, the universe wasn’t going to listen to some bratty middle-aged woman who thought she deserved all the entitlement of a two-year-old.

When my birthday finally did arrive, no one wanted to go out with me. And I mean, no one. My parents finally convinced my nephew, age 12, to accompany poor aunty on her day out. Looking back on that day now, I feel bad. I spent the whole time recounting the horrors of my love life. Our conversation went something like this, “And then I dated him. Oh, and that was a disaster.” But my nephew didn’t even flinch. He listened patiently and nodded his head at all the proper times. Next to me, the boy looked like a darn sage. By the end of the day, when he said to me, “I’m sure you’ll find someone, Aunty” I almost believed him.

Being kind, finally

But when I heard my nephew’s voice on that drive home, it finally clicked. When he said look for kindness, it wasn’t about the guys at all. It was about me being kind to myself. That kindness and thoughtfulness I was searching for I already had within me. I just needed to find it and nurture it. If I couldn’t find it in myself then I wasn’t ever going to find it in someone else. Over the next couple of weeks, I realised that I needed to take time to get to know me and fill up my own worth. I needed to take my self-worth out of the relationship equation. No one would get to determine that anymore except for me. I was going to be kind to myself regardless if I had a man in my life or not.

I couldn’t really be mad at the guy who stood me up. How could I? Now that I know myself better, I realised that him not showing up that night was more a reflection on him rather than on my own worth. Yes, I was stood up again, but this time, it wasn’t my fault. In the end, he didn’t see all that he was missing. Thank goodness, I did.

The post Advice from a seven-year-old: Look for kindness appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.