You have to get used to the fact that there are going to be people who don’t like you.

That stern thought slapped me in the face inside my head, verbatim, the other night. I was feeling dismayed that some people I used to be closer friends with seem to be getting really close without me these days. I’m feeling left out, left behind, and that’s never a good feeling. It’s not that we aren’t still friendly with each other; there was no egregious offense that I’m aware of, we’ve had no great falling-out. It’s been a more gradual experience, which makes it harder, because I don’t have anything obviously causal to point to. My instinct is to dwell on what I may have done wrong. All that being said, I got fed up with myself on some level, because apparently the voice of reason inside my head came unbidden to tell me to suck it up.

When you’re raised by a narcissist and molded into a people-pleaser, you internalize any and all instances where people do not seem pleased. If someone is upset, it’s your fault. If someone is grouchy, it’s because of you. If someone stops asking you to hang out or isn’t really responsive when you repeatedly try to suggest plans, you’ve done something at some point to fuck it up.

I’ve been with my husband for almost nine years total (almost six of them married). I am still very much in a place where I have to actively tell myself, out loud, that if he sounds grumpy or upset, it isn’t because of me, nor is it my responsibility to fix his mood. Regulating his emotions – or anyone else’s – is not my job. Honestly, on tougher days, I need other people to tell me this too, to help keep my mind straight.

In case you’re like me and need those reminders, here it is again in bold type for you (er, us):

Other people’s feelings are not your fault. Regulating other people’s emotions is not your job.

My immediate reaction to the dawning certainty that I’m apparently “out of the club” was to wonder sadly what I’ve done to cause this to happen. That thought isn’t something I can easily banish, in part because I don’t have any evidence to disprove that possibility. I very well may have done or said something that impacted my relationship with these friends. I don’t know. What I do know, objectively, is that it could just as easily have nothing to do with me directly. Maybe they just have found a way to connect together that I wasn’t a part of. Maybe they’ve found more in common with each other and bonded over that.

To be clear, as much as I’m working on not faulting myself, I don’t fault them either. It isn’t about fault, and in spite of the language my own brain struck me with, it isn’t about popularity either. I’ve actually never cared about popularity or what most people think of me. To me, it is relatively easy to disregard the opinions of the general public; I don’t want to be disliked by the people that I like, though.

The challenge at hand is letting go of the need to make everyone happy and ensure their comfort, at one’s own expense. Traumatized brains think in extremes; if there are negative emotions at play, it’s a short downward spiral into despairing that everything is terrible and it’s all your fault. But the truth is, relationships change. They shift. Sometimes people grow together, and sometimes they grow apart. And if you operate under the assumption that you’re the linchpin, that a friendship or relationship lives and dies by what you do, you’ll fall on your own sword. True growth comes from honest and open communication, which is impossible to achieve if you’re too busy constantly freaking out that you’re fucking it up. Eventually, people stop trying to talk things out with you. (Thank you, my dear sweet husband, for never giving up on me.)

I want to rephrase that unbidden thought with which I opened this post, because while it was a good wake-up call, it didn’t really hit the nail on the head. It isn’t about whether or not people like me. It’s about my relationship with relationships, something I will always find challenging to navigate. I’m thankful to have made significant progress on this front, but, reminders always help. So, as before, here’s a reminder for you and for me:

You are not the linchpin in any of your relationships. You are only responsible for being the best version of yourself that you can be. And the absolute best-case scenario is that this is all a work in progress. Keep working on it.