Happy New Year, friends.
In the fall of 2021, I had set a goal for myself to publish a bi-weekly newsletter. “How do we create a practice to deepen as people?” I asked. “How do we commit to staying present to the endless excavation of the universe?” Seemed like a capacious enough theme that I could fit most of my reflections into it. And from November 2021 through March 2022, I did pretty well. And then things fell off.
My reasons for wanting to write a newsletter are pretty self-focused. Yes, I do enjoy reading others’ newsletters and enjoy connecting with people through mine. But my real motivation is to stay in the regular habit of writing and to hold myself accountable by sending it publicly to other people. And so, when I stop writing, I stop being accountable to developing myself as a writer. At this point, I could slink away silently, delete this newsletter, and nobody would ever know. But I am back after an embarrassing 6 months away from writing because I want to mend this part of my commitment to myself.
I’ve been thinking about mending recently because of a fantastic gift that I recently received: a darning loom. Basically, darning is the process of covering a hole or worn spot in fabric with a patch of weaving. Woven fabric is generally more durable than knit fabric but less flexible, which makes knitting the best choice for oddly-shaped garments like socks but weaving the best choice for small patches on high-wear spots. Darning can be done completely by hand, but a darning loom makes the process faster and the end product more durable and attractive. (“Attractive” is a relative term here since most of my darning is pretty darn ugly.)
I will be honest, few things create a sense of self-satisfaction, or even self-righteousness, more than darning a sock. “Look how I’m keeping it out of the landfill by mending it! I’m saving so much C02!” It’s about on par with hitting the gym or shopping at the farmer’s market as a vector for self-satisfied social media posts. I’ll try to keep that in check here. And while I actually am geeking out about finally being able to mend all of my hand-knit socks, today I’m mostly thinking about darning as a metaphor.
See, the last half of 2022 had me thinking a lot about relationships. This summer, I fell deeply in love with a new person who ended up ghosting me, resulting in the shortest relationship I’ve had since about 9th grade. Afterward, I also came to terms with the depth of an old wound in another one of my long-term ongoing relationships. In one case, the relationship felt like sock tossed out at the first sign of a hole. In the other case, it felt like a well-patched, well-beloved sock in need of some more mending.
I think relationships are the same way: which we end and which we mend depends on a number of different factors
Mending takes attention, skill, and time—attention enough to see that a hole or worn spot is developing, skill to intervene in the right way to effectively repair the garment, and time to actually carry out the repair. Not everyone has these things. For many people, the most realistic option is just to throw the sock away and find a new one. Even when an ideal option exists (mending the sock to keep it out of the landfill), sometimes the ideal just can’t be brought in to reality. That’s not a failure, it’s just the way things are.
I think relationships are the same way: which we end and which we mend depends on a number of different factors, including how much time we have to devote to a relationship, social support we have in other areas of our lives, and what kinds of relationship skills we have or have the resources to develop. And, of course, the wounds we’re bringing to the relationship.
I believe the person who ghosted me was acting out of some old and deep attachment wounds, which developed after being failed by their parents and many other people over the years. Even though I had been ghosted, for weeks I fought the impulse to try to save the relationship—as if I somehow had control of the other person’s behavior. At first I was in disbelief that either of us could leave such a tender, passionate love on the table and walk away. It was so difficult to completely accept the fact that neither of us was going to pick up that beautiful sock, which had an unfortunate hole that, from my perspective, looked pretty fixable. But what looked fixable to me was apparently not fixable from the other person’s perspective and that’s what I ultimately had to accept.
But as for my already-existing relationship—the well-beloved, well-worn pair of socks—I know that it’s worth putting in the effort to repair because each repair has paid dividends in emotional intimacy. And this is backed up by research:
Decades of research demonstrates that attachment styles are mutable and that we form stable bonds by engaging in productive conflict with another person, and then repairing our connection in the wake of that conflict — not by having a perfect, unbroken attachment pattern inside us from the start.
I’m sad that the person who ghosted me was not able to see things that way, but I need to focus my attention on the partner who does.
So this year for me is a re-do in many ways: finally repairing some clothes that had become unwearable; putting more effort into my relationship that needs it, and yes, returning to the practice of newsletter writing, as embarrassing as it is to admit that I have once again failed at regularly doing it. In general, most of my new year’s intentions/resolutions are about picking back up old practices rather than starting new ones.
I’m also re-doing my word for the year! I realized that I just didn’t fully engage with last year’s word “Presence,” and so I am starting again with the word “Present” for 2023.
I hope this January finds you well in all of your doings and re-doings.
Until next time,
Emily