I want you to agree with me

I want you to agree with me. I desperately want you to agree with me. I want you to see me, hear me, acknowledge me, and appreciate me. While I’m at it, I might as well say that I want you to praise me. I want you to praise me for what I do, for what I think, and for who I am. Why? Because I want to believe that I did the right thing and made the right choices.

What happens when you don’t agree with me or express an opinion that doesn’t match mine? I’ll feel that I didn’t do it right. Or rather, in most cases, I won’t consciously feel that way. Instead, my first line of defense kicks in, which makes me want to shout: “What do you mean, I didn’t do it right? You didn’t do it right!” When I acknowledge my feelings and don’t automatically slip into my primary reaction of pointing the finger at you, I realize what purpose my defense mechanism serves. It protects me from feeling that I made a mistake. But why do I want to be protected from that feeling?

The mere suggestion that I did something wrong terrifies me. It directly relates to my belief that I can’t do it right—I can never do it right. Experiencing that belief feels awful. Seeing that belief confirmed is even worse. I’d rather become frustrated and angry with you. I’d rather shout and point the finger at you than be confronted with my belief that I can’t do it right. Why does the idea that I can’t do anything right feel so bad? Can’t I see it’s an illusion? I’m doing some things right, right?

Believing that I can’t do it right is just a diversion. There’s a layer behind it, which whispers I’m not good enough. Not feeling good enough is even more distressing than believing that I can’t do anything right. So, when you give me the slightest reason to think I made a mistake, feeling that I did something wrong isn’t the core issue. The idea that I can’t do anything right isn’t what’s truly bothering me. No, I feel like I am the problem. I feel inadequate and insufficient. I feel like I’m not good enough. That’s a feeling I want to avoid at all costs.

As you might expect, I don’t consciously feel inadequate very often. My defense mechanism of blaming you filters out most threatening situations. Behind this trench stands the belief that I can’t do it right. Even if going there feels terrible, I prefer it over feeling that I’m not good enough. But we’re not quite there yet.

I can see a layer behind feeling insufficient that I practically never reach in daily life. Even when I get there, I barely touch it. That layer, which I currently perceive as my core belief, goes by the name “I’m no good.” The idea that I’m not good enough still allows for improvements. There’s no nuance in being no good, however. At this level, I feel inherently bad. I don’t feel loved, and I’m convinced I’m not worthy of love. I even believe I’m not lovable. So, when we seemingly disagree with each other, a chain reaction starts in me. Most of the time, it won’t penetrate all the layers of my psyche. During vulnerable moments, it will, and I’ll feel very bad about myself.

Looking outward for an escape from this feeling, I want you to agree with me. I need you to confirm my opinions and support the decisions I made. I’m begging you to tell me I didn’t do anything wrong. Because my deep-seated beliefs will probably prevent me from believing you, I want you to take another step and say I’m good enough. Ultimately, I’d like you to tell me I’m okay, I’m good.

It’s quite unlikely that I’ll accept what you say, though. It’s your word against mine. Your efforts face the brick wall of my beliefs. So, can I propose another solution? Let’s agree that you don’t overtly disagree with me. Let me believe that we agree with each other. Allow me to think we have a similar view of life. Please, don’t challenge or provoke me. But that won’t work either, will it? You and I aren’t alone. Asking you to agree with me is one thing. Expecting everyone else to do the same is another.

Rather than looking at you, wanting you to soothe my pain, I’ll look inward and continue the digging that’s brought me here. You can support me, though. Please disagree with me, even if I might become angry with you. Please challenge me, realizing I’ll sometimes hurt. Please give me as much of an opportunity to change, heal, and grow as you and I can handle.