On Self-Worth: 'Likes' Don't Equal Lovability

“Just because you don't like me, doesn't mean I'm unlovable.”

I wrote this in my journal one month ago. It felt like a true breakthrough. It only took me some 60 years to get there.

Not long ago, if someone didn't like me, I was heartbroken. For most of my life, after the age of 10 when most of us do not question our right to take up space, I equated my lovability with whether an individual liked me. My social interactions were, to a large extent, about winning people over, proving in some way that I was nice, accommodating, inclusive, all-loving.

Dating was my proving ground — I see now, the worst place to learn self-worth. But, like I do with most explorations in my life, I set out to master it. To learn the do's and don'ts with such nuance that each and every man would at least want a second date. The proof of my success would be in men asking me on a second date. And when that happened, I would do everything I could to keep it going. Be nice. Be agreeable -- but not too agreeable. Reasonable. Reasonably thoughtful. But not too thoughtful. "You think too much," was a phrase I'd heard since high school. Not from my teachers, of course, or even my friends. Just from boys. Boys who wanted to not feel the scrutiny of my curiosity, did not want to feel the probing of my thinking.

But rather than men feeling the coziness of my adoration, they seemed instead to retreat with cool admiration. "Wow, you're really deep," a first-date said once. It was meant as a compliment, I think. But I could feel that even when I was talking about something mundane, my true thoughts—my full attention on the subject—would probably blind him. Was it the way I leaned in and looked him in the eye? I tried so hard to not be deep, to appease him, make him feel like he'd at least want to get another cup of coffee with him.

But alas, no second date came.

I told my son about it, who at the time was just getting on his feet again. We were enjoying a second change at our mother-son relationship, living parallel dating lives. I told him about the “deep” accusation.

"I don't understand," I said. "Men keep referring to me as 'deep.'"

"Oh you are deep, Mom," he said.

"But I'm just talking about the weather. I'm not trying to be profound."

"It's nothing you do on purpose," my son said. "You just sit down across from someone and your soul reaches out and touches their soul. Not everyone is ready for that."

At that time, I wanted to be liked above all else. It didn't even matter if I liked them. In fact, sometimes I was so focused on them liking me, I hardly knew if I liked them or not. It was all about proving my self-worth to myself by collecting 'likes.' By that calculation, I was losing badly.

In the Co-Active® Training (CTI) leadership world, I am a Danger type. I don't need to get in the weeds about what these IM types mean, and how we give each other these designations -- you need to do the Leadership world to fully understand. But let's just say that for most of my life, I was trying to soften that Danger energy, dim the saber to make other people comfortable. The result was confusion of who I really am. In many ways, I was masking this incisive, bold, fierce and deeply loving energy with cultural prototypes of femininity that values niceness over kindness, pits bravery against lovability, and calls toughness even delivered with a smile as "masculine" -- or worse: bitchy.

When I received the Danger type designation, after one of my Leadership Retreats in Spain, so much fell into place. Almost immediately. Much of my life -- especially my deep resonance with martial arts -- made so much sense. There, in the dojo, I had always been myself: decisive, small, graceful, fierce, courageous, observant, quick, poetic and loving. But in the dojo of friendship and especially dating, I tried to dim all that. I put trying to make my date feel special above being authentic; I put being liked—or needed—above knowing I was lovable.

Touching people's souls is the ultimate act of courage. And love. And not everyone is ready for it. Not everyone is ready to have their parts lit up. When I show up fully as myself -- even in complete silence -- I am finally accepting that this presence alone can be disruptive. My presence can be unwelcome. The result might be—believe it or not—not everyone wants to be around me. Not everyone wants a second date. Literally and figuratively. And, up until a month ago, that cut straight to the heart of my self-worth.

Last month, I participated in an intensive training in another modality which I have dedicated two decades of my life. All said and done, the training was close to 70 hours. We were in close quarters, several hours a day. It was physical, emotional and energetic. From day one, there was a person in the group who clearly did not like me. Except she didn’t know me. I fought the old story of "too sensitive", tried not to take it personally. But after a few days, I reverted to my old heartbreak. It was personal. I searched my soul, asked the lead trainer about it and when it turned out there was truly nothing I could change to help the situation, I went back to just being myself.

Who else could I be, after all? Everyone else is taken.

So, I connected with others, enjoyed the growth I was experiencing. My self-worth was growing, despite one person avoiding me. As I grew, my body feeling powerful as I rehabbed injuries that had been limiting me for months, I stopped trying to win this person over. I stopped taking it personally. I did not try to talk with her anymore, to learn more about her; I simply stopped trying. And in that space, I allowed all the other love to come in.

In letting go of needing to be liked the one person who did not want to be around me, I made space for the rest of the people who did. I chose myself. I chose to not let someone else's story be mine. I owned my light. I owned my graceful power -- and in that my love shined through. I like to believe that my soul reached out and touched others’—when they were ready. I can't help but be deep. Even when I'm talking about the weather. When I am being myself, there is no such thing as small talk.

When you're ready for this -- when you're ready to be seen -- I am here for it. I am not for everyone, but for those who choose me, I am just right.