Tables

I saw a post on Instagram the other day that resonated hard with me. I clicked to repost and started typing a caption and realized I had too much to say for just a quick caption, so I saved the original post to crockpot on it some more and determine what exactly I wanted to say about it.

Here's the post:

My crockpotting is done, so here's what this post made me feel.

A little over a year ago, I started building a new table because the table I was sitting at finally did what I had feared for a long time they would do: They scooted closer together and told me there was no longer room for me at their table. And to add insult to injury, they did it at a time when I was in an extremely low, unstable place already, and they knew that.

So at the time, I saw the move by the table as cruel and devastating. A table I had tried to find my place at for so long suddenly turned into Gretchen Wieners telling me "You can't sit with us."

For a while after it happened, I focused on that last part where they said I couldn't sit with them anymore. I let it get into every corner of my mind and I replayed the years I spent at the table over and over, belittling myself for not being cool enough or sophisticated enough or talented enough to sit at the table anymore.

And then one day at therapy, I slowed down enough to say the sentence again: A table I had tried to find my place at for so long suddenly turned into Gretchen Wieners telling me "You can't sit with us."

A table I had tried to find my place at for so long.

Wait.

Why did I spend so long trying to find my place at that table? Why did I ignore actual gifts and talents I have to instead try to fit in and take on talents I didn't really want in the first place in the hopes that the table would widen for me? Why was I so stressed all the time about fitting in, about being liked? Why was worrying about not fitting at this table making me bitter and angry all the time?

So I started building a new table for myself.

I've been building this new table for a bit now, and here's what I've found:

One - My new table is way smaller than my old table, but it's actually stronger, sturdier, and more fun being smaller. I invited these people to join my table rather than trying to make myself small enough to fit at a crowded table. And it's not that all the people at my table now are just like me, it's just that they appreciate me enough to accept and love me even on my worst days.

Two - Some people at my new table were people at my old table too. Sometimes not everyone at the old table agrees with Gretchen Wieners, and it's your job to figure out who those people are. I figured that out from some trial and error, but it was worth it. Sometimes you find gems of humans at shitty tables.

Three - I'm far enough removed from the situation and have done enough hard work in therapy to say that I'm now so thankful that the old table kicked me out because I might not have left otherwise, and then I would have missed out on what it's like to sit at a table that you crafted yourself that's filled with people who are so excited and happy you're there. I could go on about this for a while, but I found a picture that says it in fewer words better than I could have in a lot of words:

Enjoy the table that you're at. Let it be a place where you feel welcomed, embraced, loved, and cared for in a healthy way. And if that's not your table, tell your table's Gretchen Wieners to suck it and build your own damn table.