Several years ago I took a long weekend, getting away for a total re-charge.  I had been feeling especially drained mentally, physically and emotionally; terribly tired, like I was coming down with something. 

Actually, as it turned out, I came up with something—-something I desparately needed to see about myself.  Something not so pretty.  Something that ran deep and functioned wide, full-throttle, on auto pilot.  Something that was robbing me of my very life force. 

It wasn’t until I came home that things began to unfold.

First things first—-the minute I walked in the door, I felt compelled to check messages. Answering machines ruled connections before texts and emails.  I lived for the blinking light, showing me how many people had called.  I reveled in creating pithy outgoing messages—-even writing little scripts and marking the copy, to get just the right inflection in my delivery.

Keep in mind that I was a girl who waxed all her mums.  If you don’t know what that means then you probably did not live in the South.  Getting a mum from one of the hunky football players before the big game, each week, was swoon material. They were gaudy things—streaming ribbons in school colors were emblazoned with the name of the player and his number, in glitter.  Little cowbells attached to the ribbons were an added bonus so those of us who received one, could be seen AND heard, coming down the hall between class.  

To keep the memory alive, and to confirm your popularity, if only to yourself and your family—the ritual was to preserve these hallowed momentos by melting wax over the flower itself to preserve it.   Then, the whole enchilada was pinned forever on the bulletin board in your room.  Those embalmed artifacts of affection and attention stayed frozen in position on that bulletin board long after I was grown and out of college. 

The need to feel popular and, therefore, “LOVED”—evolved into many iterations over time.  I kept a vigilant assessment of my popularity by the number of party invitations I received or the number of Christmas cards that stuffed my mailbox. (This was WAY back when people actually sent both) And as I said before, the minute I walked in the door from work or even from a walk around the block—I was checking that blinking-red light for the message count.  Today, the flying thumbs of text messengers, must represent the newest indicator of an obsession with popularity. 

But, back to the story…..Coming home from this particular weekend—even with my anwering machine, happily, blinking “22, 22, 22″—-I had a different reaction.  This time, listening to the messages, some internal switch flipped.  

Twenty of the twenty-two people calling, wanted something from me. Or, they wanted me to do something for them or make some phone call for them, or were asking me to borrow something or have me make some connection with someone else for them, or, set them up on a date with so-and-so, or, stay at my house for a week with the new puppy they were training. No kidding.   Even total strangers called, wanting me to help their group win a Trivial Pursuit tournament. And, oh by the way, could I bring that great guacamole I made, when I came???

My need to be needed—-to feel popular—which I had been mistaking for LOVE—-was wearing me out.  I needed to knead the takers from my life.  But, even bigger—-was the realization of what I needed to knead from myself.  My own manipulative, “people pleasing”  behavior had gotten me here.

 I created my own circumstances by becoming the “Go To Girl”.  I put myself in the front of the line in volunteering myself for everything and anything, all the time.   Do any of you ever remember  a time when you had your hand in the air, saying, “Pick Me!”, “Let Me!”  My arm had been on auto-pilot the majority of my life—-attached to my need to be needed and appreciated  and acknowledged.  

But the deeper look revealed the driving truth—-the whole time, I was GIVING…..to GET something.  There was always an agenda.  It wasn’t a conscious thing—-it was a deeply needy thing that propelled my decisions and propped up my fragile self-image—–until my body and my brain began to wear out, drained to the max. 

Here’s one thing you can take to the bank.  The mind, body, spirit connection really works to sustain us—-or to drain us….. for a purpose.   I needed to knead out and undo the knots of my own creation.  I needed to take responsibility for the monstrous, overextended calendar I had created.  I needed to go inside and take a good look at what I needed to do to create loving……from within.

After listening to those twenty-two messages, I called people back and resigned my position as pom-pom girl.  I thought of all those mums—-all the markers and glittter I had created for assurance that I mattered.  I remember trembling as I said “no”. 

Twenty plus years have passed since that weekend. I am better at catching my inner ”Yes, indeedy”.  My boundaries are better—because I have surrounded myself with dear friends who are graceful and powerful in showing me the way.  But, I still like to say “YES” to everything.  My hand still shoots into the air before my brain has a chance to say “Whoah, girl!”  I still have times when, just after saying “YES”, that everything inside goes “Clang, Bang, Boom”—which really means—”NO”.     I still need to knead my own dough, massaging my inner truth into shape.   I have come to the conclusion that it takes a lifetime to create a compassionate, loving inner world—-it is my responsibility to do so.  It is only from this constant, compasionate, agenda-less core that I can authentically see what needs to be.

What’s true for you?