One of the greatest things about being in a relationship is the ability to get lost in something larger than yourself — to submerge your former identity beneath this new persona as part of a couple. But for me, this is also one of the pitfalls. I tend to lose myself in relationships so completely that my life starts to revolve around my significant other while my personal and professional growth grinds to a halt. Then inevitably the relationship ends, and I find myself returning to a life that no longer exists.
The most extreme example of this occurred more than a decade ago. Generally lost and unhappy, I moved to the outskirts of Massachusetts to live with my then-boyfriend in his hometown. It was a place I’d never heard of until my late teens, when I’d driven past it on my way to college at Brown University and thought, ‘People actually live out here?’ Then I dropped out of Brown, met my boyfriend, and became one of those people living out there.
I was cut off from family and friends in my new world, but that was okay, because by that point I didn’t have many friends left. I was estranged from most of my extended family and the talking that did happen with my immediate family usually wasn’t pleasant. This new place was totally unfamiliar, but that was fine too, because everything that was familiar reminded me of failure and broken things that needed to be fixed. It was easier to flee than fix those things. And so I did.
Eventually, that form of escape became a trap, as forms of escape often do. I had successfully left my old life behind, and now I had no life of my own. My boyfriend and I lived and worked together. My friends were his friends. My personal goals and dreams got placed on the back burner as we reveled in our shared experiences, which eventually turned to shared agony. Three years deep into what had increasingly become a co-dependent mess, the relationship came to its inevitable, ugly end. And I went to work rebuilding the life I’d discarded three years prior.
In a more recent relationship, my loss of self was less visible, but perhaps even more damaging. On the surface, my individual identity was still intact. I had friends and plenty of personal interests, and I stayed busy working as a freelance writer and music journalist.
But beneath appearances, my sense of self depended entirely too much on how this man saw me. I allowed his opinion of me to shape my own thoughts and perceptions, because I liked viewing myself through his eyes – glossed over, blind spots neatly placed over my imperfections and insecurities. When the relationship dissolved and I realized his appreciation for me was little more than a façade that hid a deep dislike for who I was, my sense of self disintegrated. It took months of support from family and friends and many sleepless nights spent staring at ceiling fans to rebuild a self-image that was not influenced by his judgment.
And there are other examples, most less extreme, all with the common thread of using love to compensate for or camouflage some deficiency in my identity or avoid a problem in my life. No doubt, love can create a very alluring comfort zone. But comfort zones are not the places where growth occurs, and using relationships as forms of escape or refuge never works. Eventually we’re left to face the very things we ran from. And we bear the emotional fallout of a failed relationship as an added burden.
I can’t say I’ve figured it all out. I’m still trying to draw the line between sharing with another person and neglecting and avoiding myself. I’m trying to find a balance between fostering intimacy and maintaining a personal identity independent of the relationship. I’m trying to build with a partner who will supply some motivation and encouragement to help me live my proverbial best life rather than serving as my crutch or avoidance system when I feel I can’t. I’m trying to resist the temptation to fall into another’s arms simply so I don’t have to look in the mirror.
Have you ever lost yourself in a relationship? Have you used love to avoid or camouflage some problem in your life? Sound off in the comments.
Lauren Carter is a Boston-based wordsmith who writes about music, pop culture, race and relationships. Connect with her on Twitter @ByLaurenCarter or check out her blog at www.bylaurencarter.com.
