One of the best meetings from the small group I was in last year
was based off a meditation that described a butterfly. It was one of the most
hilarious yet reflective meetings and the meditation was one that stuck with me
for a while. I mention this because this meditation came back to me today. This
post will be based a lot off this meditation. It would make this post REALLY long
to place all the text here, so I’ll place the link here with the disclaimer
that I’ll be referring to it.
Over the years, I’ve learned I have a strong sense of
initiative when it comes to my friendships. I’m often the one planning things,
reaching out asking to hang out, having an idea of my schedule whenever asked,
that sort of thing. It serves quite a purpose in the post-grad world when 40+
hours of life is consumed with thinking about work and it’s a lot harder to
keep in touch. And it makes me happy because putting in this effort means I’m
more likely to be able to spend time with people I care about. I’m able and
willing to put in that extra effort because making that time happen is
important to me. As is typical of my extroverted nature, friend time excites me
and it allows me to experience God in other people.
But everything has its limits and late last night and today,
I felt burned out by my constant initiative-taking. This created a chain
reaction where a few not-particularly-healthy Voices appeared in my head. Just
a sampling of the different ones that ran through my head:
The Voice of Doubt: “I wonder if people realize how much
effort I put in. They probably don’t.”
The Voice of Cynicism: “Everyone’s busy, so it’s not like
people will reach out.”
The Voice of Insecurity: “Everyone has other people to call
on/spend time with, so I’ll probably be out of the loop. It’s not like they
really need me anyway.”
Those Voices dampened the enthusiasm and energy I have for
making things with friends happen. The joy and the energy I gain from taking
initiative just wasn’t there. I was like the smashed butterfly with a broken wing,
sitting helpless on the ground while everyone else seems to be flying high. One
wing up….…weakly waving.......weakly……waving.
Almost right on cue, two kind-hearted friends of mine flew
in right in time to be with me in that state of vulnerability (despite not
in-person). During my lunchtime walk, one of my friends studying abroad heard
me out when I told her I had hit an emotional rut. She told me that I’m someone
a lot of my friends depend on, regardless of whether they make it clear or not,
and that my friendship came when she needed it. Another one of my friends had
messaged me during my lunch break and reminded me that I’m not the only one who
can feel sometimes like I’m carrying way too much of the load. In my head, I
imagined both of them stopping to take the time to repair my broken butterfly
wing. Slowly but surely, I started to feel a little bit better. I started to
spread my wings, fluttering bit by bit and slowly ascending to the sky on
mended wing.
The reassurance from those friends has been helping me
recover from my “reaching out” burnout. Whenever I start telling myself that my
friends don’t depend on me or don’t need me, I have that friend’s reminder
that, yeah, they do, and that I should be okay acknowledging that (as reluctant as I may be
to accept it). I’m also not the only one who puts in a ton of effort in
friendships. I have other friends who do the same and may know how I feel
sometimes. It’s not the false reality the negative Voices tell me: about how my
friends don’t really depend on me or that they don’t appreciate the effort.
This also gave me some time to reflect on the theme of, “What
is the Cost?” in context of my strong initiative-taking, a topic a good friend
of mine talked about on a retreat once. The cost of reaching out so much is
that I’m prone to burning myself out with the extent to which I pursue my
relationships. At the same time, the reward for my initiative is that I have an
added ability to maintain and grow those relationships further. This challenges
me to keep a better eye on myself that I don’t burn myself out pursuing
different relationships. But during that reflection time, I concluded that the
cost of an occasional burn-out every few months is worth spending the time and
effort that I spend on my friendships because I gain so much from my
interactions and relationships with different people. That gain makes it worth
it for me.
I’ve heard before that writing things out can be a form of
self-therapy. I find that to be true, considering I feel a lot better having
written this out. I feel my burn-out period will end soon and be replaced by a
sense of reinvigoration (while of course, keeping an eye on myself).
After this entire experience of today, I can hear a much
more positive voice within now telling me the following:
Fly, Butterfly, Fly.
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