I love to be with people, to talk to people, to hug people, to love people. Heck, I even love to just do homework with people. In my eyes, most anything can be better with the right people by your side.
I have amazing friends.
They are people with whom I share my the greatest and worst experiences of my life, as well as anything in between. I love to be around them, and I try to plan fun social things with them almost constantly. Except, every now and then, things slow down. I then realize that I've been pouring a lot of myself into these sorts of things, and I start to wonder if anyone's pouring back. All it takes is for my friends to invite me to something—to initiate something friendly—then I'm right back on track. But sometimes my friends can be busy, and sometimes that invitation takes a little while. That's where it gets complicated.
You see, I have a really high social tolerance—or better yet, social need—compared to most people. If I could hang out with people everyday, I definitely would. However, most of my friends probably think that it's enough to hang out a few times a month—that's their minimum for social happiness.
My minimum is every other day.
That means that I'm constantly inviting friends to do things, and they come, but I feel the need to be social again before they do. (Sure, they may like being social more often than their minimum requires, but it's not so much of an emotional need like it is for me.) So I invite them to do something else, usually before they have time to feel that same social need. Then I notice what I'm doing. Then this happens:
Brain: Whoa. [Friend person] hasn't invited you to do anything in like, forever.
Me: You're right! The last time I saw [friend person] was a whole week ago when I organized [social event]! I need to talk to him!
Brain: Wait—wouldn't he have contacted you already if he wanted to see you?
Me: Oh my gosh, maybe you're right. Maybe he doesn't want to see me! But we're friends—I'll just text him and—
Brain: No! If he really wants to talk to you then he'll text you. Don't text him.
Me: But—
Brain: LET HIM PROVE HE LOVES YOU!!!
Me: Okay, jeez! I'll sit here and be sad for a few days until he either contacts me or I give in and contact him anyway.
*Two days later*
Me: Hey brain, I felt like you were being silly earlier, so I finally just sent [friend person] a text. He's doing great and we're going to hang out soon.
Brain: He didn't even notice that he hadn't heard from you for an entire week and a half?
Me: Wow, I guess not!
Brain: Does he even value your friendship? My goodness!
Me: I dunno. I think I'll be sad about this for a while before I dismiss it as hooblah.
Brain: Sounds like a plan.
If you couldn't tell, I have a problem with false expectations and imagined intent. Because I'm very social, I expect my friends to be just as social. When they aren't, I feel like something is wrong. I imagine that they must be upset with me, or that they don't want to be as close of friends as I thought.
These are the stories I tell myself, and I know they're wrong. It just takes me a little effort to disbelieve them, and sometimes it takes me a little time to come up with that effort.
A wise friend of mine once expressed that he had this same problem, but that he knew the solution. He said that he needed to be content with the love that others were willing to give him, and not to be upset that others didn't love him as much as he wanted them to.
It makes for a hard application, but I agree. To accept love afforded means to reject love expected. I love my friends, and I know they love me. I need to accept the love that they show me in their own personal ways—without being dissatisfied whenever they don't show their love for me as I would show it.
