I sometimes wonder why I care so much about what people think of me. About the opinions they hold.
It’s so much more important what I think of myself. I cognitively know this.
And yet, I still find myself wondering how I’m perceived. Whether someone likes me. Whether they find me interesting, attractive, funny, or worth getting to know.
I’ve had fun recently having crushes. That delightful little flutter of possibility. The curiosity of getting to know someone new. The anticipation of discovering where a connection might lead.
But I’ve also felt the sting of rejection on the other end of that.
Why?
Why does it sting?
And why am I sometimes more interested in how someone else feels about me than in how I feel about myself in their company?
How I show up. Who I become. The parts of myself I get to meet within the container of that encounter.
This isn’t a new a-ha, but something I’ve revisited in a way that feels more meaningful and real.
Everyone we meet is a mirror.
I think that’s one of the most beautiful parts of humanity and relationships.
We get to meet so many different people, encounter different perspectives, and discover things we admire and detest.
And, within that, we get to experience ourselves in different ways.
With some people, we’re silly and playful. With others, we’re intellectual, spiritual, adventurous, or deeply vulnerable. Some people bring out our confidence, while others seem to illuminate our insecurities.
And it’s not necessarily that these people are making us morph into someone else. It’s not that we’re changing ourselves to adapt to another person, although we certainly can do that, too.
It’s that there are so many parts of us. So many pieces of ourselves we haven’t fully explored, or perhaps haven’t had the opportunity to express.
Other people don’t necessarily change who we are. They reveal parts of us we haven’t had the opportunity to experience.
I recently met someone I couldn’t wait to tell about the little things I’d seen or thought.
Not because knowing them made me have those thoughts, but because I knew they’d think about them with me.
Mull them over. Turn them around. Look for meaning in the corners that other people in my life might not think to shine a light on.
And I loved that.
I loved having someone who was curious about the same peculiar things I was. Someone who wanted to wander down the little rabbit holes of thought with me, rather than simply nod politely and move on.
That part of me had always been there.
But in the company of this person, it was reflected and amplified.
And that got me wondering.
What if the real gift of a relationship isn’t simply getting to know another person, but getting to know ourselves through the experience of being known by them?
We often talk about relationships in terms of what someone brings into our lives.
They make us happy. They make us feel beautiful. They make us feel intelligent, desirable, interesting, or worthy of affection.
But perhaps they aren’t making us any of those things.
Perhaps they’re creating an environment in which something already present in us has room to emerge.
Think about the different people in your life.
There are people who bring out your silliness. People who inspire your intellectual curiosity. People with whom you feel deeply spiritual. People who make you feel adventurous, sensual, nurturing, or brave.
None of these people created those qualities.
They simply provided a space in which those parts of you could come out to play.
And isn’t that wonderful?
To think that we’re not one fixed, finished person, but a collection of qualities, curiosities, contradictions, desires, and possibilities.
That there are parts of ourselves we haven’t even met yet.
And that every relationship, however brief or lasting, offers us another opportunity to discover them.
Of course, not every reflection is flattering.
Some people bring our insecurities, fears, or defensiveness to the surface. Others reveal things about ourselves we thought we’d already worked through.
I’ve noticed that even when I’m simply enjoying getting to know someone, expectations can quietly creep in without my realizing it. And when things don’t unfold the way I’d hoped, I still feel that familiar sting of rejection. The sadness. The disappointment. And the uncomfortable realization that, despite everything I know about my own worth, I still sometimes allow someone else’s decision about me to influence how I feel about myself.
And isn’t that something worth examining?
Because the mirror doesn’t always show us what we want to see. Sometimes it shows us something we didn’t realize we were still carrying.
And that’s where I think I’ve been getting things a little backward.
I’ve spent so much time wondering what other people see when they look at me that I sometimes forget to pay attention to what I see when I’m with them.
Do I like who I am in their company?
Do I feel curious? Playful? Comfortable? Inspired?
Do I feel free to explore the different parts of myself, or do I find myself carefully selecting which ones I’m willing to reveal?
And perhaps most importantly, what does that encounter teach me about the kind of connection I want in my life?
Because maybe that’s the real gift.
Not simply the possibility of being chosen, but the opportunity to learn something about ourselves.
Which brings me back to rejection.
Perhaps part of the sting isn’t simply that someone didn’t choose us.
Perhaps it’s the loss of a possibility. The possibility of a relationship, certainly, but also the possibility of continuing to experience a particular part of ourselves in their company.
I think about that person I wanted to share all my little observations with.
I enjoyed who I was in that connection. I enjoyed the way my curiosity had somewhere to wander, the way my thoughts had someone else’s thoughts to dance with.
And if that connection doesn’t continue, I can be disappointed.
I can miss the person. I can miss the experience of being understood in that particular way.
But I don’t have to interpret the ending as a judgment of my worth.
Because that curious, thoughtful, peculiar part of me doesn’t disappear when someone stops reflecting it.
It was mine before we met.
And it remains mine afterward.
That’s the amazing things about relationships.
We meet people who illuminate different parts of us. Some stay long enough to explore those parts alongside us. Others offer only a fleeting glimpse.
But the beauty of the encounter doesn’t have to depend on its longevity.
And its value doesn’t have to depend on whether we’re chosen.
And instead of asking, Did they like me? I can begin asking, What did I discover about myself?
What did I enjoy?
What did I learn?
What parts of myself would I like to experience more often?
Because I don’t want to spend my life standing in front of mirrors, waiting for someone else’s reflection to tell me who I am.
I want to enjoy the discovery.
To appreciate the people who help me see myself in new ways, without forgetting that what they reveal belongs to me.
And maybe the next time I feel that little sting of rejection, I can remember that while the person may have walked away, the part of myself I met in their company is still here.
I don’t have to lose myself just because I’ve lost the mirror.
Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤︎
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