Being a highly sensitive person (HSP) is a special kind of curse. Sure, I might experience a deeper sense of love than others, but I also risk learning the hard lesson that there’s a very thin line between love and hate. Sometimes, I stand on the side dipped in hate. More often, however, I’m on the side dipped in love—except after a breakup, when that love tastes more like grief.
I wish I were the kind of person that could vehemently hate an ex. And trust me, the fact that I can’t is not for a lack of trying. I think living would be a lot easier if I didn’t always humanize my exes with thoughts like, “He was just being irritable because he never had a sense of home” or “He was afraid of being abandoned and that’s why he clung so tightly to you.” Worse yet, because I’m a therapist, my mind seems to think so deeply about the childlike selves of my exes. As if getting over my past wasn’t hard enough! Just thinking about how sad or angry they must have looked when they first started to feel the way they do now absolutely breaks my soul. Can you imagine the puppy-eyed faces my mind conjures when I'm trying to process my own pain, only to have my mind shift and process theirs instead?
So yes, hating my exes would be easier than this. Partly because of what I already mentioned, but also partly because I still feel responsible. Even when others insisted that I was not in the wrong, I still feel I must bear the full responsibility over my past relationships’ demises. This stems from clinging too tightly to the idea that I am “a good person” and believing that any deviation from that standard must not only be avoided, but internally shamed.
A good friend once warned me of the trouble of over identifying as “a good person.” To paraphrase them, when you tie your identity to “goodness,” hurting someone simultaneously fractures your sense of self. Thus, when I go through a breakup, I don't just doubt my goodness; I grieve the loss of the self that existed alongside the person I loved. I no longer want to laugh at the things I once did, because those memories become tainted with shame and sadness. It feels as if I will never get those moments back—and worse, I won't get me back.
So, how do I kill the childlike versions of my exes in my mind, climb out of the goodness trap, and get me back? Truthfully, I don’t know. Grad school prepared me to reflect feeling and meaning but it did not prepare me for this.
Maybe someone out there knows the answer. Will you show me the way?